
Class r'R^g. Td. 
Rnnlf , L. £(a L 



1 



^ 7^ 2-^ 




fr~ 




Sir Tho' Lawrence T'inx' 



HWSmiOiSc 



71. 



X, 



THE 


POETICAL WORKS 


OP 


THOMAS MOORE. 


A NEW EDITION, 


FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION. 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 


fUgantli} SllotrahL 


BOSTON: 


PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 


1856. 






A-»; QvoL^-t^ € 



OJd^^jJa 



u 






^ 



nt^/^^X 



TO THK 

MAEQUIS OF LANSDOWNE. 

IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRAN'JE OP 

NEARLY FORTY YEARS OF MUTUAL ACaUATNTANCE 

AND FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS INSCRIBED, 

WITH THE SINCEREST FEELINGS OP AFFECTKW 

AND RESPECT, 



THOMAS MOORE. 



CONTENTS 



FA OS 

Preface to the Fikst Volumb.... 17 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Preface, by the Editor 

Dedication to Joseph Atkinson, Esq. 

Fragments of College Exercises 

Is there no call, no consecrating cause. ....... 

Variety 

To a Boy, with a Watch. Written for a friend 

Song 

To 

Song 26 

Song 26 

Reuben and Rose. A tale of romance 26 

Did not 27 

To 27 

To Mrs. , on some calumnies against 

her character 28 

Anacreontic 28 

To Julia, in allusion to some illiberal criticisms 28 

To Julia 28 

TheShrine. To 29 

To a Lady, with some manuscript Poems, on leaving the 

country 29 

To Julia 29 

To 30 

Nature's Labels. A fragment 30 

ToJuIia. On her birthday 30 

A Reflection at Sea 30 

Cloris and Fanny 31 

The Shield 31 

To Julia, weeping 31 

Dreams. To 31 

To Rosa. Written during illness 32 

Song 32 

The Sale of Loves 32 

To 33 

To 33 

On the Deatli of a Lady 33 

Inconstancy 34 

The Natal Genius. A dream. To , the 

morning of her birthday , . . . 34 

Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to be written by Julia, on the 

death of her brother 34 

To the large and beautiful Miss , in 

allusion to some partnership in a lottery share. Im- 
promptu 35 



A Dream 35 

To 35 

Anacreontic 35 

To Julia 36 

Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb of her mother. . 36 

Sympathy. To Julia 36 

The Tear 37 

The Snake 37 

To Rosa 37 

Elegiac Stanzas 37 

Love and Marriage 37 

Anacreontic 38 

The Surprise 33 

To Miss , on her asking the autlior why 

she had sleepless nights 38 

The Wonder 38 

Lying 39 

Anacreontic 39 

The Philosopher Aristippus to a Lamp, which had been 

given him by Lais 39 

To Mrs. — — , on her beautiful translation of V^oiture's 

Kiss 

Rondeau 

Song 



Written in a commonplace book, called " The Book of 
Follies " 

To Rosa 

Light sounds the Harp 

From the Greek of Meleager 

Song 

The Resemblance 

Fanny, dearest 

The Ring, to 

To the Invisible Girl 

The Ring, a tale 

To , on seeing her with a 

white veil and a rich girdle 

Written in the blank leaf of a lady's commonplace book 

To Mrs. Bl , written in her album 

To Cara, after an interval of absence 

To Cara, on the dawning of a new-year's day 

To ,1801 

The Genius of Harmony, an irregular ode 

I found her not — the chamber seemed 

To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her " Psvche " 

From the High Priest of Apollo to a Virgin of Delphi. . . 

Fragment 

A Night Thought 

The Kiss 

(7) 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Song 55 

The Catalogue 55 

Imitation of Catullus to himself 55 

O woman, if through sinful wile 56 

Nonsense 56 

Epigram, from the French 56 

On a Squinting Poetess 56 

To 56 

To Rosa 56 

ToPhillis 57 

To a Lady on her singing 57 

Song On the birthday of Mrs. . Written in Ire- 
land, 1799 57 

Song 57 

Morality A familiar epistle. Addressed to J. Atkinson, 

Esq.,M. R. I. A 58 

The Telltale Lyre 59 

Peace and Glory. Written on the approach of war 59 



Song 

Love and Reason 

Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear 

Aspasia 

The Grecian Girl's Dream of the Blessed Islands. To 

her lover 

To Cloe, imitated from Martial 

The Wreath and the Chain 

To 

To 's Picture 

Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 

To his Serene Highness the Duke of Montpensier, on his 

portrait of the Lady Adelaide Forbes 

The Fall of Hebe. A dithyrambic ode 

Rings and Seals 

To Miss Susan B— ckf— d. On her singing 

Impromptu, on leaving some friends 

A Warning. To 

To 

Woman 

To 

A Vision of Philosophy 

To Mrs 

To Lady Heathcote, on an old ring found at Tunbridge 

Wells 

The Devil among the Scholars. A fragment 



ODES OF ANACREON. 

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH TERSE, WITH NOTES 

Jiedication to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.. 77 

Advertisement 77 

Index to the Odes 77 

An Ode by the Translator 78 

Corrections of the preceding Ode, suggested by an emi- 
nent Greek Scholar, 78 

Re.narks on Anacreon 79 

ODES. 

I I saw the smiling bard of pleasure 84 

II. Give me the harp of epic song 85 

III. Listen to the Muse's lyre 85 

IV. Vulcan ! hear your glorious task 85 

V. Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul 86 

VI. As late I sought the spangled bowers 86 

VII. The women tell me every day 87 



PAGE 

Vin. I care not for the idle state 87 

IX. I pray thee, by the gods above 88 

X. How am I to punish thee 88 

XL " Tell me, gentle youth, I pray tliee " 88 

XII. They tell how Atys, wild with love 89 

XIIL I will, I will, the conflict's past 89 

XIV. Count me, on the summer trees 90 

XV. Tell me why, my sweetest dove 91 

XVI. Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 92 

XVII. And now with all thy pencil's truth 93 

XVIIL Now the star of day is high 95 

XIX. Here recline you, gentle maid 95 

XX. One day the Muses twin'd the hands 96 

XXI. Observe when mother earth is dry 96 

XXII. The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm. 97 

XXIIL I often wish this languid lyre 98 

XXIV. To all that breathe the air of heaven 98 

XXV. Once in each revolving year 99 

XXVI. Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms 99 

XXVII. We read the flying courser's name 100 

XXVIII. As, by his Lemnian forge's flame 100 

XXIX. Yes— loving is a painful thrill 101 

XXX. 'Twas in a mocking dream of night 101 

XXXI. Arm'd with hyacinthine rod 102 

XXXIL Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves 102 

XXXIII. 'Twas noon of night, when round the pole 103 

XXXIV. O thou, of all creation blest 103 

XXXV. Cupid once upon a bed 104 

XXXVI. If hoarded gold possess'd the power 105 

XXXVII. 'Twas night, and many a circling bowl ... 105 

XXXVIII. Let us drain the nectar'd bowl 106 

XXXIX. How I love the festive boy 106 

XL. I know that Heaven hath sent me here. . . 107 

XLI. When Spring adorns the dev\'y scene 107 

XLII. Yes, be the glorious re vel mine 107 

XLIIL While our rosy fillets shed 108 

XLIV. Buds of roses, virgin flowers 108 

XLV. Within this goblet, rich and deep 109 

XLVI. Behold, the young, the rosy spring 109 

XLVII. 'Tis true, my fading years decline 110 

XLVin. When my thirsty soul I steep 110 

XLIX. When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 110 

L. When wine I quaff, before my eyes HI 

LI. Fly not thus my brow of snow Ill 

LII. Away, away, ye men of rules 112 

LIII. When I behold the festive train 112 

LIV. Methinks, the pictur'd bull we see 113 

LV. While we invoke the wreathed spring. . . . 113 

LVI. He, who instructs the youthful crew 115 

LVII. Whose was the artist hand that spread. ... 115 

LVIII. When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion 116 

LIX. Ripen'd by the solar beam 117 

LX. .\ wake to life, my sleeping shell 117 

LXI. Youth's endearing charms are fled 118 

LXII. Fill me, boy, as deep a draught 118 

LXIIL To Love, the soft and blooming child 119 

LXIV. Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear 119 

LXV. Like some wanton filly sporting 119 

LXVI. To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine 120 

LXVII. Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 120 

LXVIII. Now Neptune's month our sky deforms... 120 

LXIX. They wove the lotus band to deck 120 

LXX. A broken cake, with honey sweet 121 

LXXI. With twenty chords my lyre is hung 121 

LXXII. Fare thee well, perfidious maid 121 

LXXIII. A while I bloom'd, a happy flower 121 

LXXIV. Monarch Love, resistless boy 121 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

LXX V. Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll'd 122 

LXXVI. Hither, gentle Muse of mine 122 

LXX VII. Would that I were a tuneful lyre 122 

LXXVIII. When Cupid sees how thickly now 122 

Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 122 

Let me resign this wretched breath 122 

I know thou lov'st a brimming measure 122 

I fear that love disturbs my rest 122 

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep 123 

Mix me, child, a cup divine 123 

EPIGRAMS FROM THE ANTHOLOGIA. 

Notice 123 

AvTtTraTpov T^iSoivtov, ets AnaKpcovra 123 

Tow avTov, CIS Tov avrov 124 

Tov avTov, eti TOV avrov 124 

Ttfu avTuv, Eti TOV avTOv 125 

Preface to the Second Volume 126 

POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 

Dedication to Francis, Earl of Moira 130 

Preface 131 

To Lord Viscount Strangford. Aboard the Phaeton frig- 
ate, off the Azores, by moonlight 132 

Stanzas 133 

To the Flying Fish 133 

To Miss Moore. From Norfolk, in Virginia, Nov. 1803 134 
A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. Written 

at Norfolk, in Virginia 135 

To the Marchioness Dowager of Donegall. From Ber- 
muda, January, 1804 136 

To George Morgan, Esq., of Norfolk, Virginia. From 

Bermuda, January, 1804 137 

Lines written in a storm at sea 139 

Odes to Nea : — 

Nay, tempt me not to love again 139 

I pray you, let us roam no more 140 

You read it in these spell-bound eyes 140 

A Dream of Antiquity 141 

Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be.... 142 

If I were yonder wave, my dear 142 

The Snow Spirit 143 

I stole along the flowery bank 143 

A Stiuly from the Antique 144 

There's not a look, a word of thine 144 

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq. From Bermuda 145 

The Steersman's Song. Written aboard the Boston frig- 
ate, 28th April i 146 

To the Firefly 146 

To the Lord Viscount Forbes. From the city of Wash- 
ington 147 

To Thomas Hume, Esq., M. D. From the city of Wash- 
ington 149 

Lines written on leaving Philadelphia 151 

Lines written at the Cohos, or Falls of the Mohawk 

River 151 

Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 152 

To the Honorable W. R. Spencer. From Buffalo, upon 

Lake Erie 153 

Ballad Stanzas 154 

A Canadian Boat Song. Written on the River St. Law- 
rence 155 

2 



ti.am 
To the Lady Charlotte Rawdon. From the banks of the 

St. Lawrence 155 

Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs. , of Montreal .... 158 

Written on passing Deadman's Island, in the Gulf of St 

Lawrence, late in the evening, September, 1804 158 

To the Boston Frigate, on leaving Halifax for England, 

October, 1804 159 

Preface to the Third Volume 160 



CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE: 

TWO FOEHS. ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BT AN 
IRISHMAN. 

Preface 162 

Corruption, an Epistle 164 

Intolerance, a Satire 169 

Appendix 173 

THE SCEPTIC, A Philosophical Satire. 

Preface 175 

The Sceptic 175 



TWOPENNY POST BAG. 

BY THOMAS BROWN THE YOUNGER. 

Dedication. To Stephen Woolriche, Esq 179 

Preface 180 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a Friend of the 

Author 180 

INTERCEPTED LETTERS, ETC. 

Letter I. From the Pr— nc — ss Ch — rl — e of W — 1— s 

to the Lady B— rb— a Ashl— y 181 

Letter II. From Colonel M'M— h— n to G— Id Fr— n- 

c— s L— ckie. Esq 182 

Postscript 183 

Letter III. From G — ge Pr — ce R — g — t to the E 

of Y th 184 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. P— tr — ck D — gen — n 

to theRight Hon.Sir J— hn N— ch— 1 185 

Letter V. From the Countess Dowager of C — rk to 

Lady 18b' 

Postscript 187 

Letter VI. From Abdallah, in London, to Mohassan 

in Ispahan 187 

Gazel 188 

Letter VII. From Messrs. L — ck — gt— n and Co. to 

, Esq 188 

Letter VIII. From Colonel Th— m— s to 

Sk— ff— ngt— n, Esq 189 

Appendix 190 

Letter IV. Page 185 190 

Letter VIL Page 188 191 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream 193 

Parody of a celebrated Letter 194 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Anacreontic to a Plumassier 196 

Extracts from the Diary of a Politician 197 

Epigram 197 

King Crack and his Idols. Written after the late Nego- 
tiation for a new M— n — stry 197 

What's my Thought like 198 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Catholic Delegate and 
li is R— y-I H— ghn— ss the D— e of C— b— 1— d .... 198 

Wreaths for the Ministers. An Anacreontic 198 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Dowager and her Maid 

on the Night of Lord Y— rm— th's Fete 199 

Horace, Ode XI. Lib. II. Freely translated by the 

Pr— ce R— g— t 199 

Horace, Ode XXII. Lib.'L Freely translated by Lord 

Eld— n 200 

The New Costume of the Ministers 201 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gentleman, upon 
the advantage of (what is called) " having Law on 

one's Side " 202 

Occasional Address for the Opening of the New Thea- 
tre of StSt— ph — n, intended to have been spoken by 
the Proprietor in full Costume, on the 24th of Novem- 
ber, 1812 202 

The Sale of the Tools 203 

Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad 204 

Eeenforcements for Lord Wellington 204 

Horace, Ode I. Lib. III. A Fragment 205 

Horace, Ode XXXVIII. Lib. I. A Fragment. Trans- 
lated by a Treasury Clerk, while waiting Dinner for 

the Right Hun. G— rge R— se 205 

Impromptu. Upon being obliged to leave a pleasant 
Party, from the Want of a Pair of Breeches to dress 

for Dinner in 205 

Lord Wellington and the Ministers 206 



IRISH MELODIES. 

Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegall. 206 

Preface 206 

Go where Glory waits thee 2)6 

War Song. Remember the Glories of Brien the Brave 207 

Erin ! the Tear and the Smile in thine Eyes 207 

O. breathe not his Name 208 

Wlien he, wlio adores thee 208 

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 208 

Fly not yet 208 

O, think not my Spirits are always as light 208 

Though the last Glimpse of Erin with Sorrow I see. . . 209 

Rich and rare were the Gems she wore 209 

As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters may glow 210 

The Meeting of the Waters 210 

How dear to me the Hour 210 

Take back the Virgin Page. Written on returning a 

blank Book 210 

The Legacy 211 

How oft has the Benshee cried 211 

We may roam through this World 21 1 

Eveleen's Bower 212 

liPt Erin remember the Days of old 212 

The Song of Fionnuala 213 

Come, send round the Wine 213 

Sublime was the Warning 213 

Believe me, if all those endearing young Charms 214 

Erin,0 Erin 214 

Drink to her 214 

O, blame not the Bard 215 



PAO> 

While gazing on the Moon's Light 215 

111 Omens 216 

Before the Battle 216 

After the Battle 217 

'Tis sweet to think 217 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress 217 

On Music 218 

It is not the Tear at this Moment shed 218 

The Origin of the Harp £18 

Love's Young Dream 219 

The Prince's Day 219 

Weep on, weep on '219 

Lesbia hath a beaming Eye 220 

I saw thy Form in youthful Prime 220 

By that Lake, whose gloomy Shore 220 

She is far from the Land 221 

Nay, tell me not, dear 221 

Avenging and bright 221 

What the Bee is to 'm Floweret 222 

Love and the Novice 222 

This Life is all checkered with Pleasures and Woes ... 223 

the Shamrock ^23 

At the mid Hour of Night 223 

One Bumper at Parting i 224 

'Tis the last Rose of Summer 224 

The young May Moon 224 

The Minstrel Boy 225 

The Song of O'Ruark, Prince of Breffni 225 

O, had we some bright little Isle of our own 225 

Farewell ! — But whenever you welcome the Hour 226 

O, doubt me not 226 

You remember Ellen ^6 

I'd mourn the Hopes 227 

Come o'er the Sea 227 

Has Sorrow thy young Days shaded 227 

No, not more welcome 228 

When first I met thee 228 

While History's Muse 229 

The Time I've lost in Wooing 229 

Where is the Slave 229 

Come, rest in this Bosom 230 

Tis gone, and forever 230 

1 saw from the Beach 230 

Fill the Bumper fair 231 

Dear Harp of my Country 231 

Preface to the Fourth Volume 232 

My gentle Harp 239 

In the Morning of Life 239 

As slow our Ship '. 239 

When cold in the Earth 240 

Remember thee 240 

Wreathe the Bowl 240 

Whene'er I see those smiling Eyes 241 

If thou'lt be mine 241 

To Ladies' Eyes 241 

Forget not the Field 249 

They may rail at this Life 242 

O for the Swords of former Time 243 

St. Senanus and the Lady 243 

Ne'er ask the Hour 243 

Sail on, sail on 243 

The Parallel 244 

Drink of this Cup 244 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

riie Fortune Teller 245 

O, ye Dead 245 

O'Doiiohue's Mistress 245 

Echo 246 

O, banquet not 246 

Thee, tliee, only thee 246 

Shall the Harp then be silent 247 

0,the Sight entrancing 247 

Sweet Imiisfallen 248 

'Twas one of those Dreams 248 

Fairest ! put on a while 249 

Guick ! we have hut a Second 249 

And doth not a Meeting like this 249 

The Mountain Sprite 250 

As vaiiquish'd Erin 250 

Desmond's Song 251 

They know nut my Heart 251 

I wish I was by that dim Lake 251 

She sung of Love 252 

Sing — .-ing — Music was given 252 

Though humble the Banquet 253 

Sing, sweet Harp 253 

Song of the Battle Eve 253 

The wandering Bard 254 

Alone in Crowds to wander on 254 

I've a Secret to tell thee 254 

Song of Innisfail 255 

The Night Dance 255 

There are Sounds of Mirth 255 

O, Arranmore, loved Arranmore 255 

Lay his Sword by his Side 256 

O, ci'uld we do with this World of ours 25G 

Tlie Wine Cup is circling 256 

The Dream of those Days 257 

From this Hour the Pledge is given 257 

Silence is in our festal Halls 257 

Appendix : 
Advertisement prefixed to the First and Second Num- 
bers 258 

Advertisement to the Third Number 259 

Letter to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegall, pre- 
fixed to the Third Number 259 

Advertisement to the Fourth Number 263 

Advertisement to the Fifth Number 263 

Advertisement to tlie Sixth Number 264 

Advertisement to the Seventh Number 265 

Dedication to the Marchioness of Headfort prefixed to 
the Tenth Number 265 

NATIONAL AIRS. 

Advertisement 266 

A Temple to Friendship. (Spanish Air.) 266 

Flow on, thou shining River. (Portuguese Air.) 266 

All that's bright must fade. (Indian Air.) 266 

So warmly we met. (Hungarian Air.) 2C7 

These Evening Bells. (Air. — The Bells of St. Peters- 
burg.) 267 

Should those fond Hopes. (Portuguese Air.) 267 

Reason, Folly, and Beauty. (Italian Air.) 267 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! (Sicilian Air.) 268 

Dost thou remember. (Portuguese Air.) 268 

O, come to me when Daylight sets. (Venetian Air.). . 268 

Oft in the stilly Night. (Scotch Air.) 269 

Hark ! the Vesper Hymn is stealing. (Russian Air.). . 269 

Love and Hope, (Swiss Air.) 269 



PAGE 

There comes a Time. (German Air.) 270 

My Harp has one unchanging Theme. (Swedish Air.) 270 
O, no— not e'en when first we loved. (Cashnierian Air.) 270 

Peace be around thee. (Scotch Air ) 270 

Common Sense and Genius. (French Air.) 270 

Then, fare thee well. (Old English Air.) 271 

Gayly sounds the Castanet. (Maltese Air.) 271 

Love is a Hunter Boy. (Languedocian Air.) 272 

Come, chase that starting Tear away. (French Air.) . . 272 

Joys of Youth, how fleeting ! (Portuguese Air.) 272 

Hear me but once. (French Air.) 272 

When Love was a Child. (Swedish Air ) 272 

Say, what shall be our Sport to-day .' (Sicilian Air.).. 273 

Bright be thy Dreams. (Welsh Air.) 273 

Go, then — 'tis vain. (Sicilian Air.) 273 

The Crystal Hunters. (Swiss Air.) 273 

Row gently here. (Venetian Air.) 274 

O, Days of Youth. (French Air.) 274 

When first that Smile. (Venetian Air.) 274 

Peace to the Slumberers. (Catalonian Air.) 274 

When thou shalt wander. (Sicilian Air.) 274 

Who'll buy my Love Knots ? (Portuguese Air.) 273 

See, tlie Dawn from Heaven. (To an Air sung at Rome 

on Christmas Eve.) 275 

Nets and Cages. (Swedish Air.) 275 

When through the Piazzetta. (Venetian Air.) 275 

Go, now, and dream. (Sicilian Air.) 276 

Take hence the Bowl. (Neapolitan Air.) 276 

Farewell, Theresa. (Venetian Air.) 27G 

How oft, when watching Stars. (Savoyard Air.) 277 

When the first Summer Bee. (German Air.) 277 

Though 'tis all but a Dream. (French Air.) 277 

When the Wine Cup is smiling. (Italian Air.) 277 

Where shall we bury our Shame. (Neapolitan Air.) . . 273 
Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy Schools. (Mahratta 

Air.) 278 

Here sleeps the Bard. (Highland Air.) 978 

Do not say that Life is waning 278 

The Gazelle 278 

No — leave my Heart to rest 279 

Where are the Visions 279 

Wind thy Horn, my Hunter Boy 279 

O, guard our Affection 279 

Slumber, O, slumber 279 

Bring the bright Garlands hither 279 

If in loving, singing 280 

Thou lov'st no more 280 

When abroad in the World 280 

Keep those Eyes still purely mine 280 

Hope comes again 281 

O say, thou best and brightest 281 

When Night brings the Hour 281 

Like one who, doom'd 281 

Fear not that, while around thee 281 

When Love is kind 282 

The Garland I send thee 282 

How shall I woo? 282 

Spring and Autumn 283 

Love alone 283 

SACRED SONGS. 

Dedication to Edward Tuite Dalton, Esq 283 

Thou art, O God. (Air.— Unknown.) 283 

The Bird, let loose. (Air. — Beethoven.) 284 

Fallen is thy Throne. (Air. — Martini.) 284 



CONTENTS. 



FAOE 

Who is the Maid ' St Jerome's Love. (Air. — Beetho- 
ven.) 284 

This World is all a fleeting Show. (Air. — Stevenson.) 285 
O Tliou wlio dry'st the Mourner's Tear. (Air. — 

Haydn.) 235 

Weep not for those. (Air. — Avison.) 285 

The Turf shall be my fragrant Shrine. (Air. — Steven- 
son.) 286 

Sound tlie loud Timbrel. Miriam's Song. (Air. — Av- 

Go, let me weep. (Air. — Stevenson.) 286 

Come not, O Lord. (Air. — Haydn.) 287 

Were not the sinful Mary's Tears. (Air. — Stevenson.) 287 
As down in the sunless Retreats. (Air. — Haydn.) .... 287 

But who shall see. (Air. — Stevenson.) 287 

Almighty God. Chorus of Priests. (Air. — Mozart.) . . 288 
O fair ! O purest ! St. Augustine to his Sister. (Air. — 

Moore.) 288 

Angel of Charity. (Air. — Handel.) 288 

Behold the Sun. (Air. — Lord Mornington.) 289 

Lord, who shall bear that Day. (Air. — Dr. Boyce.) .. 289 

O, teach me to love Thee. (Air. — Haydn.) 289 

Weep, Children of Israel. (Air. — Stevenson.) 289 

Like Morning, when her early Breeze. (Air. — Beetho- 
ven.) 290 

Come, ye Disconsolate. (Air. — German.) 290 

Awake, arise, thy Light is come. (Air. — Stevenson.). 290 

There is a bleak Desert. (Air. — Crescentini.) 291 

Since tirst thy Word. (Air. — Nicholas Freeman.).... 291 

Hark! 'tis the Breeze. (Air. — Kousseau.) 292 

Where is your Dwelling, ye sainted? (Air. — Hasse.). 292 
How lightly mounts the Muse's Wing. (Air. — Anon- 
ymous.) 2!S 

Go forth to the Mount. (Air. — Stevenson.) 293 

Is it not sweet to think hereafter. (Air. — Haydn.) . . . 293 

War against Babylon. (Air. — Novello.) 293 

The Summer Fete 294 

Dedication to the Honorable Mrs. Norton 294 

Preface to the Fifth Volume 304 

EVENINGS IN GREECE. 

First Evening 308 

Second Evening 315 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Dedication to the Miss Feildings 325 

The Vtice 325 

Cupid and Psyche 326 

Hero and Leander 326 

The Leaf and the Fountain 327 

Cephalus and Procris 327 

Youth and Age 328 

The Dying Warrior 328 

The Magic Mirror 328 

The Pilgrim 329 

The high-biirn Ladye 329 

The Indian Boat 339 

The Stranger 330 

A Melologue upon National Music 3:il 

Advertisement 331 



SET OF GLEES. 

MU9IC BY MOORE. 

PAO» 

The Meetmgofthe Ships 332 

Hip, hip, hurrah ! 333 

Hush, hush ! 333 

The Parting before the Battle 333 

The Watchman. A Trio 333 

Say, what shall we dance .' 334 

The Evening Gun 334 

BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. 

To-day, dearest ! is ours 334 

When on the Lip the Sigh delays 334 

Here, take my Heart 335 

O, call it by some better Name 335 

Poor wounded Heart 335 

The East Indian 335 

Poor broken Flower 336 

The pretty Rose Tree 336 

Shine out, Stars! 336 

The young Muleteers of Grenada 336 

Tell her, O, tell her 337 

Nights of Music 337 

Our first young Love 337 

Black and Blue Eyes 337 

Dear Fanny 337 

From Life without Freedom 338 

Here's the Bower 338 

I saw the Moon rise clear. (A Finland Love Song.) . . 338 

Love and the Sundial 338 

Love and Time 339 

Love's light Summer Cloud 339 

Love, wand'ring the golden Maze 339 

Merrily every Bosom boundeth. (The Tyrolese Song 

of Liberty.) 339 

Remember the Time. (The Castilian Maid.) 340 

O, soon return 340 

Love thee ? 340 

One dear Smile 340 

Yes, yes, when the Bloom 341 

The Day of Love 341 

Lusitanian War Song 341 

The young Rose 341 

When 'midst the Gay I meet 341 

When Twilight Dews 342 

Young Jessica 342 

How happy, once 342 

I love but thee 342 

Let Joy alone be remember'd now 343 

Love thee, dearest ! love thee ? 343 

My Heart and Lute 343 

Peace, peace to him that's gone ! 343 

Rose of the Desert 343 

'lis all for thee 344 

The Song of the Olden Time 344 

Wake thee, my dear 344 

The Boy of the Alps 344 

For thee alone 345 

Her last Words, at parting 345 

Let's take this World as some wide Scene 345 

Love's Victory 346 

Song of Hercules to his Daughter 346 

The Dream of Home 340 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

They teJl me Ihou'rt the favored Guest S47 

The young Iiidia.i Maid 347 

The Homewtrd Mwh 347 

Wake up, sweet Meiody 347 

Calm be thy Sleep 348 

The Exile 348 

The Fancy Fair 348 

If thou wouldst liave m« sing and play 348 

Still when Daylight 349 

The Summer Webs 349 

Mind not though Daylight 349 

They met but once 349 

With Moonlight beaming 349 

Child's Song. From a Mask 350 

The Halcyon hangs o'er Ocean 350 

The World was hush'd 350 

The two Loves 350 

The Legend of Puck the Fairy 351 

Beauty and Song 351 

When thou art nigh 351 

Song of a Hyperborean 352 

Thou bidd'st me sing 352 

Cupid armed 352 

Round the World goes 352 

O, do not look so bright and blest 353 

The Musical Box 353 

When to sad Music silent you listen 353 

The Language of Flowers 354 

The Dawn is breaking o'er us 354^ ' 



SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 

Here at thy Tomb. (By Meleager.) 354 

Saleof Cupid. (By Meleager.) 355 

To weave a Garland for the Rose. (By Paul, the Silen- 

tiary.) 355 

Why does she so long delay.' (By Paul, the Silen- 

tiary.) 355 

Twin'st thou with lofty Wreath thy Brow. (By Paul, 

tlie Silentiary.) , 356 

When the sad Word. (By Paul, the Silentiary.) .356 

My Mopsa is little. (By Philodemus.) 356 

Still, like Dew in silence falling. (By Meleager.) 356 

Up, Sailor Boy, 'tis Day 357 

In Myrtle Wreaths. (By Alcaeus.) 357 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 

Ask not if still I love 357 

Dear .'yes 358 

Unbind thee, Love 358 

There's something strange. (A Buffo Song.) 358 

Not from thee 358 

Guess, guess 358 

When Love, who ruled 359 

Still thou fliest 359 

Then first from Love 360 

Hush, sweet Lute 360 

Bright Moon 360 

Long Years have pass'd 360 

Dreaming forever 360 

Though lightly sounds the Song I smg. (A Song of the 

Alps.) 361 

The Russian Lover 361 



rAOB 
Preface to thb Sixth Volume 361 

LALLA ROOKH. 

Dedication 366 

The Veiled Prophet of Kborassan 369 

Paradise and the Peri 402 

The Fire Worshippers 413 

Preface to the Setewth Volume 438 

The Light of the Harem 444 

POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 

Lines on the Death of Mr. P—rc— v— 1 457 

Fum and Hum, the two Birds of Royalty 458 

Lines on the Death of Sh— r— d— n 459 

Epistle from Tom Crib to Big Ben, concerning some foul 
Play in a late Transaction 460 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS 

Preface 461 

Letter I. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

, of Clonkilty, in Ireland 461 

Letter II. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to the Lord Vis- 
count C— St — r — gh 463 

Letter IIL From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , Esq. 4C5 

Letter IV. From Phelim Connor to 467 

Letter V. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

469 

Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to his Brother, 

Tim Fudge, Esq., Barrister at Law 471 

Letter VII. From Phelim Connor to 474 

Letter VIIL From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , 

Esq 476 

Letter IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to the Lord Vis- 
count C— st gh 479 

Letter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

485 

Letter XI. From Phelim Connor to 485 

Letter XII. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 
486 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 

Dedication. To Lord Byron 489 

Preface • 489 

Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy Alliance A 

Dream 490 

Fable IL The Looking Glasses 491 

Fable IIL The Torch of Liberty 493 

Fable IV. The Fly and tlie Bu 'lock 493 

Fable V. Church and State... 494 

Fable VL The Little Grand Lama 496 

Fable VIL The Extinguishers 498 

Fable VIIL Louis Fourteenth's Wig 499 



CONTENTS. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 

PAGE 

Introductory Rhymes 501 

Extract 1 502 

Extract II 503 

Extract III 504 

Extract IV 504 

Extract V 505 

Extract VI 505 

Extract VII 507 

Extract VIII 508 

Extract IX 509 

Extract X 510 

Extract XI 510 

Extract XII 511 

Extract XIII 512 

Exuact XIV 514 

Extract XV 516 

Extract XVI 517 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Corry, in tlie Cliar- 
acter of Vapid, after tlie Play of the Dramatist, at the 

Kilkenny Theatre 518 

Extract from a Prologue written and spoken by tlie Au- 
thiir, at the Opening of the Kilkenny Theatre, Octo- 
ber, 18'j9 519 

The Sylph's Ball 519 

Remonstrance 520 

My Birthday .521 

Fancy 521 

Song. Fanny, dearest ! 522 

Translations from Catullus 522 

Tibullus to Sulpicia 523 

Imitation. From the French 323 

Invitation to Dinner, addressed to Lord Lansdowne . . . 523 
Verses to the Poet Crabbe's Inkstand. Written May, 

1S32 524 

To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort. Written at Lacock 

Abhey, January, 1832 525 

A Speculation 525 

To My Mother. Written in a Pocket Book, 1822 525 

Love and Hymen 525 

Lines on tlie Entry of the Austrians into Naples, 1821 . 526 

Preface to the Eighth Volume 527 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 

Preface 530 

First Angel's Story 532 

Second Angel's Story 536 

Tliird Angel's Story 548 



MISCELLANEOUS POEJIS. 

ticeptlcism 551 

A Juke versified 552 

On the Death of a Friend 552 



PAGl 

To James Corry, Esq., on his making me a Present of a 

Wine Strainer 553 

Fragment of a Character 552 

What sliall I sing thee .' To 553 

Country Dance and Quadrille 553 

Gazel 555 

Lines on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, Esq., of Dub- 
lin 555 

Genius and Criticism 556 

To Lady J*r**y, on being asked to write something in 

her Album 556 

To the same, on looking through her Album 557 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



To Sir Hudson Lowe 

Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government.... 
Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One-Pound Note. 

An Expostulation to Lord King 

The Sinking Fund cried 

Ode to the Goddess Ceres. By Sir Th— m— s L— th- 



br- 



A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess 

Memorabilia of Last Week 

All in the Family Way. A new Pastoral Ballad 

I |Ballad for the Cambridge Election 

ftlr. Roger Dodsworth 

Copy of an intercepted Despatch. From his Excellency 

Don Strepitoso Diabolo, Envoy Extraordinary to his 

Satanic Majesty 

The Millennium. Suggested by ths late Work of the 

Reverend Mr. Irv— ng " on Prophecy " 

The Three Doctors 

Epitaph on a Tuft Hunter 

Ode to a Hat 

News for Country Cousins 

A Vision. By the Author of Cliristabel 

The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland 

Cotton and Corn. A Dialogue 

The Canonization of Saint B — tt — rw — rth 

An Incantation. Sung by the Bubble Spirit 

A Dream of Turtle. By Sir W. Curtis 

The Donkey and his Panniers. A Fable 

Ode to the Sublime Porte 

Corn and Catholics 

A Case of Libel 

Literary Advertisement 

The Irish Slave 

Ode to Ferdinand 

Hat versus Wig 

The Periwinkles and the Locusts. A Salmagundlaii 

Hymn 

New Creation of Peers. Batch the First 

Speech on the Umbrella auestion. By Lord Eld— n. . 

A Pastoral Ballad. By John Bull 

A late Scene at Swanage 

Woe ! woe ! 

Tout pour la Tripe 

Enigma 

Dog Day Reflections. By a Dandy kept In Town 

The "Living Dog" and "The Dead Lion" 

Ode to D(m M iguel 

Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland 

The Limbo of lost Re|>utations. A Dream 

How to write by Proxy 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Imitation of the Inferno of Dante 587 

Lament for the Loss of Lord B— th— st's Tail £89 

The Cherries. A Parable 589 

Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat 590 

Preface to the Ninth Volume 590 

Ode to the Woods and Forests. By one of the Board. . 599 

Stanzas from the Banks of the Shannon 593 

The Annnal Pill 594 

•'If" and " Perhaps " 594 

Write on, write on. A Ballad 595 

Soni; of the departing Spirit of Tithe 595 

The Entlianasia of Van 596 

To the Reverend . One of the sixteen Requisition- 

ists of Niittingham 597 

Irish Antiquities 598 

A curious Fact 598 

New-fashioned Echoes 598 

Incantation. From the new Tragedy of " The Bruns- 

wickers " 599 

How to make a good Politician 600 

Epistle of Condolence. From a Slave Lord to a Cotton 

Lord 601 

The Ghost of Miltiades 601 

Alanning Intelligence — Revolution in the Dictionary — 

one Oalt at the Head of it 602 

Uesolutions passed at a late Meeting of Reverends and 

Right Reverends C03 

Sir Andrew's Dream 603 

A Blue Love Song. To Miss 604 

Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode 605 

Awful Event 605 

The Numbering of the Clergy. Parody on Sir Charles 

Han. Williams's famous Ode 606 

A sad Case 606 

A Dream of Hindostan 607 

The Brunswick Club 607 

Proposals for a Gyucecocracy. Addressed to a late Rad- 
ical Meeting 608 

Lord H— nl— y and St. Cecilia 609 

Advertisement 609 

Missing 610 

The Dance of Bishops ; or, the Episcopal Quadrille. A 

Dream 610 

Dick * * * *. A Character 611 

A corrected Report of some late Speeches 611 

Moral Positions. A Dream 612 

The Mad Tory and the Comet. Founded on a late dis- 
tressing Incident. . , 613 

From the Hon. Henry to Lady Emma 614 

Triumph of Higotry 615 

Translation from the Gull Language 615 

Notions on Reform. By a Modern Reformer 616 

Tory Pledges 617 

St. Jerome on Earth. First Visit 617 

St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit 618 

Tlioughts on Tar Barrels. (Vide Description of a late 

Fete.) 619 

The Consultation 619 

To tlie Rev. Ch— rl— s Ov— rt— n, Curate of Romald- 

kirk 620 

Scene from a Play, acted at Oxford, called " Matricula- 
tion" 621 



Late Titlie Case 621 

Fools' Paradise. Dream the First 629 

The Rector and his Curate ; or, One Pnund Two. ..... 623 

Paddy's Metamorpliosis 623 

Cocker, on Church Reform. Founded upon sime late 

Calculations 623 

Les Hommes Automates 624 

How to make One's Self a Peer. According to the 
nevi'est Receipt, as disclosed in a late .Heraldic 

Work 625 

The Duke is the Lad 625 

Ejiistle from Erasmus, on Earth, to Cicero, in the 

Shades 626 

Lines on the Departure of Lords C— st— r— gh and 

St— w— rt for the Continent 627 

To the Ship m which Lord C— st— r— gh sailed for tlie 

Continent 628 

Sketch of the First Act of a new Romantic Drama 629 

Animal Magnetism 629 

The Song o*" tlie Box 630 

Announcement of a new Thalaba. Addressed to Rob- 
ert Soufhey, Esq 631 

Rival Topics. An Extravaganza 632 

The Boy Statesman. By a Tory 632 

Letter from Larry O'Branigan to the Rev. Murtagh 

O'Mulligan 633 

Musings of an Unreformed Peer 633 

The Rev. Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad 634 

A Recent Dialogue 635 

The Wellington Spa 635 

A Character 635 

A Ghost StoiT 636 

Thoughts on the late destructive Propositions of the 

Tories. By a Common Councilman 637 

Anticipated Meeting of the British Association in the 

Year 2836 637 

Songs of the Church. No. 1 6X9 

Epistle from Henry of Ex— t— r to John of Tuara 639 

Song of Old Puck .640 

Police Reports. Case of Imposture 641 

Reflections. Addressed to the Author of the Article of 
the Church in the last Number of the Quarterly 

Review 642 

New Grand Exhibition of Models of the two Houses of 

Parliament 642 

Announcement of a new grand Acceleration Company 

for the Promotion of the Speed of Literature 643 

Some Account of the late Dinner to Dan 644 

New Hospital for Sick Literati 645 

Religion and Trade 646 

Musings, suggested by the late Promotion of Mrs. Neth- 

ercoat 646 

Intenjded Tribute to the Author of an Article in the last 
Number of the Quarterly Review, entitled " Roman- 
ism in Ireland " 647 

Grand Dinner of Type and Co. A poor Poet's Dream. 648 

Church Extension 64b 

Latest Accounts from Olympus 649 

The Triumphs of Farce 650 

Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs, and other Matters. In an 

Epistle from T. M. to S. R 65! 

Thoughts on Mischief. By Lord St— nl— y. (His first 

Attempt in Verse.) 652 

Epistle from Captain Rock to Lord L— ndh— t 653 

Captain Rock in London. Letter from the Captain to 
Terry Alt, Esq 654 



16 



CONTENTS. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND; 

BEina A 8E<lDBt, TO THE " PUDGE FAMILY II* PARI3." 

PAGE 

Preface 655 

Letter I. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. Rich- 
ard , Curate of , in Ireland 655 

Letter II. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth : 657 

Letter III. From Miss Fanny Fudge to her Cousin, 

Miss Kitty Stanzas (enclosed) to my Shadow ; 

or, Why ? — What ? — How ? 659 

Letter IV. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Rev. 
Richard 662 

Letter V. From Larry O'Branigan, in England, to his 
Wife Judy, at Mullinafad 663 

Letter VI. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth 665 

Letter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge to her Cousin, 
Miss Kitty . Irregular Ode 669 

Letter VIII. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to the Rev. Mor- 
timer O'MuUigan 670 

Letter IX. From Larry O'Branigan to his Wife Judy. 672 

Letter X. From the Rev. Mortimer O'Mulligan to the 
Rev 674 

Letter XL From Patrick Magan, Esq., to the Eev. 
Richard 675 



SONGS FROM M. P.; OR, THE BLUE STOCKING. 
677 



Song 

Boat Glee . 



rAOB 

Cupid's Lottery 678 

Song 678 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



At Night 

To Lady Holland. On Napoleon's Legacy of a Snuff- 
box , 

Epilogue. Written for Lady Dacre's Tragedy jf 
Ina 

The Daydream 

Song 

Song of the Poco-curante Society 

Anne Boleyn. Translation from the metrical " Histoire 
d'Anne Boleyn " 

The Dream of the Two Sisters. From Dante 

Sovereign Woman. A Ballad 

Come, play me that simple Air again. A Ballad 



Preface to the Tenth Volume. 



THE EPICUREAN: a Tale. 



ALCIPHRON: a Fraomewt 750 



Geke&al Ihdk. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



THOMAS MOORE. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIRST VOLUME. 

FixD\NG it to be the wish of ray Publishers 
tnat at least the earlier volumes of this col- 
lection should each be accompanied by some 
prefatory matter, illustrating, by a few bio- 
graphical memoranda, the progress of ray hum- 
ble literary career, I have consented, though 
not, I confess, without some scruple and hesita- 
tion, to comply with their request. In no 
country is there so much curiosity felt respect- 
ing the interior of the lives of public men as 
in England ; but, on the other hand, in no 
country is he who ventures to tell his own story 
so little safe from the imputation of vanity and 
self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in the first, 
as well as in the greater part of the second, 
volume of this collection were written between 
the sixteenth and the tv/enty-third year of the 
author's age. But I had begun still earlier, 
not only to rhyme but to pubhsh. A sonnet to 
my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel Whyte, written 
in ray fourteenth ye?.r, appeared at the time in 
a Dublin magazine, called the Anthologia, — 
the first, and, I fear, almost only, creditable 
attempt in periodical literature of which Ire- 
land has to boast. I had even at an earlier 
period (1793) sent to this magazine two short 
pieces of verse, prefaced by a note to the editor, 
requesting the iuse/ tion of the «• following at- 



tempts of a youthful muse ; " and the fear and 
trembling with which I ventured upon this 
step were agreeably dispelled, not only by the 
appearance of the contributions, but still more 
by my finding myself, a few months after, hailed 
as " Our esteemed correspondent, T. M." 

It was in the pages of this publication, — 
where the whole of the poem was extracted, — 
that I first met with the Pleasures of Memory ; 
and to this day, when I open the volume of the 
Anthologia which contains it, the very form 
of the type and color of the paper brings back 
vividly to my mind the deUght with which I 
first read that poem. 

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though amus- 
ingly vain, was a good and kind-hearted man ; 
and, as a teacher of pubHc reading and elocu- 
tion, had long enjoyed considerable reputation. 
Nearly thirty j^ears before I became his pupil, 
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, then about eight or 
nine years of age, had been placed by Mrs. 
Sheridan under his care ; ' and, strange to say, 
was, after about a year's trial, pronounced, both 
by tutor and parent, to be " an incorrigible 
dunce." Among those who took lessons from 
him as private pupils were several young ladies 
of rank, belonging to the great Irish families 
who stiU continued to lend to Ireland the en- 

1 Some confused notion of this fact has led the writer of 
a Memoir prefixed to the " Pocket Edition " of my Poems, 
printed nt Zwickau, to state that Brinsley Sheridan was my 
tutor ! — " Great attention was paid to his education by hij 
tutor, Sheridan." 

(17) 



18 



PREFACE. 



livening influence of their presence, and made 
their country seatK, through a great part of the 
year, the scenes of refined as well as hospitable 
festivity. The Miss Montgomerys, to whose 
rare beauty the pencil of Sir Joshua has given 
immortaUty, were among those whom my worthy 
prereptor most boasted of as pupils ; and, I re- 
member, his description of them long haunted 
my boyish imagination, as though they were 
not earthly women, but some spiritual " creatures 
of the element." 

About thirty or forty years before the period 
of which I am speaking, an eager taste for 
jjrivate theatrical performances had sprung up 
among the higher ranks of society in Ireland ; 
and at Carton, the seat of the Duke of Lein- 
ster, at Castletown, Marley, and other great 
houses, private plays were got up, of which, in 
most instances, the superintendence was in- 
trusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general the prol- 
ogue, or the epilogue, contributed by his pen. 
At ?ilarley, the seat of the Latouches, where 
the masque of Comus was performed, in the 
year 1776, while my old master supplied the 
prologue, no less distinguished a hand than that 
of our " ever-glorious Grattan," ' furnished the 
epilogue. This relic of his pen, too, is the 
more memorable, as being, I believe, the only 
poetical composition he was ever known to 
produce. 

At the time when I first began to attend his 
school, Mr. Whyte still continued, to the no 
small alarm of many parents, to encourage a 
taste for acting among his pupils. In this line 
I was long his favorite show scholar ; and 
among the playbDIs introduced in his volume, 
to illustrate the occasions of his own prologues 
and epilogues, there is one of a play got up in 
the year 1790, at Lady Borrowes's private 
theatre in Dublin, where, among the items of 
the evening's entertainment, is " An Epilogue, 
A Squeeze to St. Paul's, Master Moore." 

With acting, indeed, is associated the very 
first attempt at verse making to which my 
memory enables me to plead guilty. It was at 
a period, I think, even earlier than the date last 
mentioned, that, whUe passing the summer 
holidays, with a number of other young people, 
at one of those bathing-places, in the neighbor- 
hood of Dublin, which afford such fresh and 
healthful retreats to its inhabitants, it was pro- 
posed among us that we should combine to- 
gether in some theatrical performance ; and the 

1 Byron. 



Poor Soldier and a Harlequin Pantomime being 
the entertainments agreed upon, the parts of 
Patrick and the Motley hero fell to my share. 
I was also encouraged to write and recite an 
appropriate epilogue on the occasio;i ; and the 
following Unes, alluding to our speedy return 
to school, and remarkable only for their having 
lived so long in my memory, formed part of this 
juvenile effort : — 

Our Pantaloon, who did so aged look. 

Must now resume his youth, his task, his book : 

Our Harlequin, who skipp'd, laugh'd, danc'd, and died. 

Must now stand trembling by his master's side. 

I have thus been led back, step by step, 
from an early date to one still earlier, with the 
view of ascertaining, for those who take any in- 
terest in literary biography, at what period I 
first showed an aptitude for the now common 
craft of verse making ; and the result is — so 
far back in childhood lies the epoch — that I am 
really unable to say at what age I first began to 
act, sing, and rhyme. 

To these diff'erent talents, such as they were, 
the gay and social habits prevailing in Dublin 
afforded frequent opportunities of display ; 
while, at home, a most amiable father, and a 
mother such as in heart and head has rarelv been 
equalled, furnished me with that purest stim- 
ulus to exertion — the desire to please those 
whom Ave, at once, most love and most respect. 
It was, I think, a year or two after my entiance 
into college, that a masque written by m j self, 
and of which I had adapted one of the songs 
to the air of Haydn's Spirit Song, was acied, 
under our own humble roof in Aungier Street, 
by my elder sister, myself, and one or tviV) 
other young persons. The little drawing room 
over the shop was our grand place of representa- 
tion, and young — — , now an eminent professoi 
of music in Dublin, enacted for us the part of 
orchestra at the jjiano forte. 

It will be seen from all this, that, however 
imprudent and premature was my first appear- 
ance in the London world as an author, it is 
only lucky that I had not much earlier assumed 
that responsible character ; in which case the 
public would probably have treated my nursery 
productions in much the same manner in which 
that sensible critic, my Uncle Toby, would have 
disposed of the " work which the great Lipsius 
produced on the day he was born." 

While thus the turn I had so early shoMn 
for rhyme and song was, by the gay and socia- 
ble circle in which I lived, called so encour- 



PREFACE. 



19 



agingly into play, a far deeper feeiing — and, 
I should hope, power — was at the same time 
awakened in me by the mighty change then 
working in the political aspect of Europe, and 
the stirring influence it had begun to exercise 
on the spirit and hopes of Ireland. Born of 
Catholic parents, I had come into the world 
with the slave's yoke around my neck ; and it 
■was all in vain that the fond ambition of a 
mother looked forward to the Bar as opening a 
career that might lead her son to affluence and 
honor. Against the young Papist all such 
avenues to distinction were closed ; and even 
the University, the professed source of public 
education, was to him " a fountain sealed." 
Can any one now wonder that a people thus 
trampled upon should have hailed the first daz- 
zling outbreak of the French revolution as a 
signal to the slave, wherever suffering, that the 
day of his deliverance was near at hand ? I re- 
member being taken by my father (1792) to one 
of the dinners given in honor of that great 
event, and sitting upon the knee of the chair- 
man while the following toast was enthusiasti- 
call)' sent round: — "May the breezes from 
France fan our Irish Oak into verdure." 

In a few months after was passed the memo- 
rable Act of 1793, sweeping away some of the 
most monstrous of the remaining sanctions of 
the penal code ; and I was myself among the 
first of the young Helots of the land, who has- 
tened to avail themselves of the new privilege of 
being educated in their country's university, — 
though still excluded from all share in those 
college honors and emoluments by which the 
ambition of the youths of the ascendant class 
was stimulated and rewarded. As I well knew 
that, next to my attaining some of these dis- 
tinctions, my showing that I deserved to attain 
them would most gratify my anxious mother, I 
entered as candidate for a scliolarship, and (as 
far as the result of the examination went) suc- 
cessfully. But, of course, the mere barren 
credit of the effort was all I enjoyed for my 
pains. 

It was in this year (1794), or about the be- 
ginning of the next, that I remember having, 
for the first time, tried my hand at political sat- 
ire. In their very worst times of slavery and 
suffering, the happy disposition of my country- 
men had kept their cheerfulness still unbroken 
\nd buoyant ; and, at the period of which I am 
speaking, the hope of a brighter day dawning 
upon Ireland had given to the society of the 
middle classes in Dubiin a more than usual flow 



of hilarity and life. Among other gay results 
of this festive spirit, a club, or societv. was in- 
stituted by some of our most convivial citizens, 
one of whose objects was to burlesque, good 
humoredly, the forms and pomps of royalty. 
With this view they established a sort of mock 
kingdom, of which Dalkey, a small island near 
Dublin, was made the seat, and an eminent 
pawnbroker, named Stephen Armitage, much 
renowned for his agreeable singing, was the 
chosen and popular monarch. 

Before public affairs had become too serious 
for such pastime, it was usual to celebrate year- 
ly, at Dalkey, the day of this sovereign's acces- 
sion ; and, among the gay scenes that still live 
in my memory, there are few it recalls with 
more freshness than the celebration, on a fine 
Sunday in summer, of one of these anniver- 
saries of King Stephen's coronation. The pic- 
turesque sea views from that spot, the gay 
crowds along the shores, the innumerable boats, 
full of life, floating about, and, above all, that 
true spirit of mirth which the Irish temperament 
never fails to lend to such meetings, rendered 
the whole a scene not easily forgotten. Tlie 
state ceremonies of the day were performed, with 
all due gravity, within the ruins of an ancient 
church that stands on the island, where his 
mock majesty bestowed the order of knighthood 
upon certain favored personages, and among 
others, I recollect, upon Incledon, the celebrated 
singer, who arose from under the touch of the 
royal sword with the appropriate title of Sir 
Charles Melody. There was also selected, for 
the favors of the crown on that day, a lady of 
no ordinary poetic talent, Mrs. Battier, who had 
gained much fame by some spirited satires in the 
manner of Churchill, and whose kind encour- 
agement of my early attempts in versification 
were to me a source of much i^ride. This ladj', 
as was officially announced, in the course of the 
day, had been appointed his majesty's poetess 
laureate, under the style and title of Henrietta, 
Countess of Laurel. 

There could hardly be devised a more apt 
vehicle for lively political satire than this gay 
travesty of monarchical power, and its showy 
appurtenances, so temptingly supplied. The 
very day, indeed, after this commemoration, 
there appeared, in the usual record of Dalkey 
state intelligence, an amusing proclamation from 
the king, offering a large reward in cronebanes,^ 
to the finder or finders of his majesty's crown, 

1 IrUh halfpence, so called. 



20 



PREFACE. 



which, owing to his " having measured both 
sides of the road " in his pedestrian progress 
from Dalkey on the preceding night, had un- 
luckily fallen from the royal brow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that whatever 
natuial turn I may have possessed for the light- 
er skirmishing of satire should have been called 
into play by so pleasant a field for its exercise 
as the state affairs of the Dalkey kingdom af- 
forded ; and, accordingly, my first attempt in 
this line was an Ode to his Majesty, King Ste- 
phen, contrasting the happy state of security in 
which he lived among his merry lieges, with 
the " metal coach," and other such precautions 
against mob violence, said to have been adopted 
at that time by his royal brother of England. 
Some portions of this juvenile squib still live 
in my memory ; but they fall far too short of 
the lively demands of the subject to be worth 
preserving, even as juvenilia. 

In college, the first circumstance that drew 
any attention to my rhyming powers was my 
giving in a theme, in English verse, at one of 
the quarterly examinations. As the sort of short 
essays required on those occasions were consid- 
ered, in general, as a mere matter of form, and 
were written, at that time, I believe, invariably, 
in Latin prose, the appearance of a theme in 
English verse could hardly fail to attract some 
notice. It was, therefore, with no small anxiety 
that, when the moment for judging of the 
themes arrived, I saw the examiners of the dif- 
ferent divisions assemble, as usual, at the bottom 
of the hall for that purpose. Still more trying 
M-as it when I perceived that the reverend in- 
quisitor, in whose hands was my fate, had left 
the rest of the awful group, and was bending 
his steps towards the table where I was seated. 
Leaning across to me, he asked suspiciously, 
whether the verses which I had just given ia 
were my own ; and, on my answering in the 
afhi-mative, added these cheering words, " They 
do you great credit ; and I shall not fail to 
recommend them to the notice of the Board." 
Ibis result of a step, ventured upon with some 
little fear and scruple, was of course very grati- 
fying to me ; and the premium I received from 
the Board was a well-bound copy of the Travels 
of Anacharsis, together with a certificate, stating, 
in not very lofty Latin, that this reward had 
been conferred upon me, "propter laudabilem 
in vcrsibus componendis progressum." 

The idea of attempting a version of some of 
the Songs or Odes of Anacreon had very early 
occurred to me ; and a specimen of my first 



ventures in this undertaking may be found in 
the Dublin Magazine already refeiTcd to, where, 
in the number of that work for February, 1794, 
appeared a "Paraphrase of Anacreon's Fifth 
Ode, by T. Moore." As it may not be unin- 
teresting to future and better translators of the 
poet to compare this schoolboy experiment with 
my later and more labored version of the same 
ode, I shall here extract the specimen found in 
the Anthologia : — 

"Let us, with the clustering vine. 
The rose, Love's blushing flower, intwine. 
Fancy's hand our chaplets wreathing, 
Vernal sweets around us breathing. 
We'll gayly drink, full goblets quaffing, 
At frighted Care securely laughing. 

" Rose ! thou balmy-scented flower. 
Reared by Spring's most fo.stering power, 
Thy dewy blossoms, opening bright, 
To gods themselves can give delight; 
And Cypria's child, with roses crowned, 
Trips with each Grace the mazy round. 

" Bind my brows, — I'll tune the lyre. 
Love my rapturous strain shall fire. 
Near Bacchus' grape-encircled shrine. 
While roses fresh my brows intwine, 
Led by the winged train of Pleasures, 
I'll dance with nymphs to sportive measures." 

In pursuing further this light task, the or.ly 
object I had for some time in view was to lay 
before the Board a select number of the odes I 
had then translated, with a hope, — suggested 
by the kind encouragement I had already re- 
ceived, — that they might consider them as de- 
serving of some honor or reward. Having 
experienced much hospitable attention from 
Doctor Kearney, one of the senior fellows,' a 
man of most amiable character, as well as of re- 
fined scholarship, I submitted to his perusal tho 
manuscript of my translation as far as it had 
then proceeded, and requested his advice re- 
specting my intention of laying it before the 
Board. On this latter point his opinion was 
such as, with a little more thought, I might 
have anticipated, namely, that he did not see 
how the Board of the University could lend 
their sanction, by any public reward, to writings 
of so convivial and amatory a nature as were 
almost all those of Anacreon. He very good 
naturedly, however, lauded my translation, and 
advised me to complete and publish it. I was 
also indebted to him for the use, during my 



1 Appointed Provost of the University in the year 1799, 
and made afterwards Bishop of 



PREFACE. 



21 



task, of Spaletti's curious publication, giving 
a fac simile, of those pages of a MS. in the Vati- 
can Library which contain the Odes, or " Sym- 
posiacs," attributed to Anacreon." And here I 
shall venture to add a few passing words on a 
point which I once should have thought it prof- 
anation to question, — the authenticity of these 
poems. The cry raised against their genuine- 
ness by Robertellus and other enemies of Henry 
Stephen, when that eminent scholar fii'st in- 
troduced them to the learned world, may be 
thought to have long since entirely subsided, 
leaving their claim to so ancient a paternity 
safe and unquestioned. But I am forced to con- 
fess, however reluctantly, that there appear to me 
strong grounds for pronouncing these light and 
beautiful lyrics to be merely modern fabrica- 
tions. Some of the reasons that incline me to 
adopt this unwelcome conclusion are thus 
clearly stated by the same able scholar, to 
whom I am indebted for the emendations of my 
own juvenile Greek ode : — " I do not see how 
it is possible, if Anacreon had written chiefly in 
Iambic dimeter verse, that Horace should have 
wholly neglected that metre. I may add that, 
of those fragments of Anacreon, of whose gen- 
uineness, from internal evidence, there can be 
no doubt, almost all are written in one or other 
of the lighter Horatian metres, and scarcely one 
in Iambic dimeter verse. This may be seen by 
looking through the list in Fischer." 

The unskilful attempt at Greek verse from 
my own pen, which is found prefixed to the 
Translation, was intended originally to illus- 
trate a picture, representing Anacreon convers- 
ing with the Goddess of Wisdom, from which 
the frontispiece to the first edition of the work 
was taken. Had I been brought up with a due 
fear of the laws of prosody before my eyes, I 
certahily should not have dared to submit so 
untutored a production to the criticism of the 
trained prosodians of the English schools. At 

1 When the monument to Provost Baldwin, which stands 
til the hall of the College of Dublin, arrived from Italy, there 
came in the same packing case with it two copies of this 
work of Spaletti, one of which was presented by Dr. Troy, 
the Roman Catholic archbishop, as a gift from the Pope to 
the Library of the University, and the other (of which I was 
subsequently favored with the use) he presented, in like 
manner, to my friend. Dr. Kearney. Thus, curiously enough, 
while Anacreon in English was considered — and, I grant, 
on no unreasonable grounds — as a work to which grave 
collegiate authorities could not openly lend their sanction 
Anacreon in Greek was thought no unfitting present to be 
received by a Protestant bishop, through the medium of a 
Ca'VoIic »rchbishop, from the hands of his holiness, the 
Pope. 



the same time, I cannot help adding that, as far 
as music, distinct from metre, is concerned, I 
am much inclined to prefer the ode as originally 
written to its present corrected shape ; and that, 
at all events, I entertain but very little doubt as 
to w/iich of the two a composer would most 
willingly set to music. 

For the means of collecting the materials of 
the notes appended to the Translation, I was 
chiefly indebted to an old library adjoining St. 
Patrick's Cathedral, called, from the name of 
the archbishop who founded it. Marsh's Library. 
Through my acquaintance with the deputy li- 
brarian, the Rev. Mr. Cradock, I enjoyed the 
privilege of constant access to this collection, 
even at that period of the year when it is al- 
ways closed to the public. On these occasions 
I used to be locked in there alone ; and to the 
many solitary hours which, both at the time I 
am now speaking of and subsequently, I passed 
in hunting through the dusty tomes of this old 
library, I owe much of that odd and out-of-the- 
way sort of reading which may be found scat- 
tered through some of my earlier writings. 

Early in the year 1799, while yet in my nine- 
teenth year, I left Ireland, for the flrst time, and 
proceeded to London, with the two not very 
congenial objects, of keeping my terms at the 
Middle Temple, and publishing, by subscription, 
my Translation of Anacreon. One of those 
persons to whom, through the active zeal of 
friends, some part of my manuscript had been 
submitted before it went to press, was Doctor 
Laurence, the able friend of Burke ; and, as an 
instance, however slight, of that ready variety 
of learning, as well the lightest as the most 
solid, for which Laurence was so remarkable, 
the following extract from the letter written by 
him, in returning the manuscript to my friend 
Dr. Hume, may not be without some interest : — 

« Dec. 20, 1799. 

" I return you the four odes which you were 
so kind to communicate for my poor opinion. 
They are, in many parts, very elegant and poet- 
ical ; and, in some passages, Mr. Moore has add- 
ed a pretty turn not to be found in the original. 
To confess the truth, however, they are, in not 
a few places, rather more paraphrastical than 
suits my notion (perhaps an incorrect notion) 
of translation. 

" In the fifty-third ode there is, in my judg- 
ment, a no less sound than beautiful emendation 
suggested — would you suppose it ? — by a D utch 
lawyer. Mr. M. possibly may not be aware of 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



it. I have endeavored to express the sense of 
it in a couplet interlined with pencil. "Will you 
lUow me to add, that 1 am not certain whether 
the translation has not missed the meaning, too, 
in the former part of that passage which seems 
to me to intend a distinction and climax of pleas- 
ure : — ' It is sweet even to prove it among the 
briery paths ; it is sweet again, plucking, to cher- 
ish with tender hands, and carry to the fair, the 
flower of love.' This is nearly literal, including 
the conjectural correction of Mynheer Meden- 
bach. If this be right, instead of 

' 'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,' 
I would propose something to this effect : — 

'Tis sweet the rich perfume to prove, 
As by tlie dewy bush you rove ; 
'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid beauty thence, 



To wipe with tender hands awa*- 
The tears that on its blushes lay ;l 
Then, to the bosom of the fair, 
The flower of love in triumph bear. 

"I would drop altogether the image of the 
stems ' dropping with gems' I believe it is a 
confused and false metaphor, unless the painter 
should take the figure of Aurora from Mrs. 
Hastings. 

•'There is another emendation of the same 
critic, in the following line, which Mr. M. may 
seem, by accident, to have sufficiently expressed 
in the phrase of « roses shed their light.' 

"I scribble this in very great haste, but fear 
that you and Mr. Moore will find me too long, 
minute, and impertinent. Believe me to be, 
very sincerely, 

" Your obedient, humble servant, 

•' F. Laurence." 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.' 

The Poems which I take the liberty of pub- 
lishing, were never intended by the author to 
pass beyond the circle of his friends. He thought, 
with some justice, that what are called Occa- 
sional Poems must be always insipid and unin- 
teresting to the greater part of their readers. The 
particular .situations in which they were written ; 
the character of the author and of his associates ; 
all these peculiarities must be known and felt 
before we can enter into the spirit of such com- 
positions. This consideration would have always, 
I believe, prevented the author himself from sub- 
mitting these trifles to the eye of dispassionate 
criticism : and if their posthumous introduction 
to the world be injustice to his memory, or in- 
trusion on the public, the error must be imputed 
to the injudicious partiality of friendship. 

Mr. Little died in his one and twentieth 
year ; and most of these Poems were written at 

1 Query, if it ought not to be Ik ? The line might run, 

With tender hand the tears to brush, 

That give new softness to its blush (or, its flush). 

2 A portion of the Poems included in this and the succeed- 
ing volume were published originally as the works of "the 
/ate Thomas Little," with the Preface here given prefixed 
to them. 



SO early a period that their errors may lay claim 
to some indulgence from the critic. Their au- 
thor, as unambitious as indolent, scarce ever 
looked beyond the moment of composition ; but, 
in general, wrote as he pleased, careless whether 
he pleased as he wrote. It may likewise be re- 
membered, that they Avere all the productions 
of an age when the passions very often give a 
coloring too warm to the imagination ; and this 
may palliate, if it cannot excuse, that air of lev- 
ity which pervades so many of them. The " au- 
rea legge, s'ei place ei lice," he too much pur- 
sued, and too much inculcates. Few can regret 
this more sincerely than myself ; and if my friend 
had lived, the judgment of riper years would 
have chastened his mind, and tempered the lux- 
uriance of his fancy. 

Mr. Little gave much of his time to the study 
of the amatory writers. If ever he expected to 
find in the ancients that delicacy of sentiment, 
and variety of fancy, which are so necessary to 
refine and animate the poetry of love, he was 
much disappointed. I know not any one of 
them who can be regarded a.« a model in that 
style ; Ovid made love like a rake, and Proper- 
tius like a schoolmaster. The mythological al- 
lusions of the latter are called erudition by his 
commentators ; but such ostentatious display 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



2^ 



upon a subject so simple as love, would be now 
esteemed vague and puerile, and was even in 
his own times pedantic. It is astonishing that 
so many critics should have preferred him to 
the gentle and touching Tibullus ; but those 
defects, I believe, which a common reader con- 
demns, have been regarded rather as beauties 
by those erudite men, the commentators ; who 
fini a field for their ingenuity and research, in 
his Grecian learning and quaint obscurities. 

Tibullus abounds with touches of fine and 
natural feeling. The idea of his unexpected 
return to Delia, " Tunc veniam subito," ' &c., is 
imagined with all the delicate ardor of a lover ; 
and the sentiment of " nee te posse carere ve- 
lim," however colloquial the expression may 
have been, is natural, and from the heart. But 
the poet of Verona, in my opinion, possessed 
more genuine feeling than any of them. His 
life was, I believe, unfortunate ; his associates 
were wild and abandoned ; and the warmth of 
his nature took too much advantage of the lati- 
tude which the morals of those times so crimi- 
nally allowed to the passions. All this depraved 
his imagination, and made it the slave of his 
souses. But still a native sensibility is often 
very warmly perceptible ; and when he touches 
the chord of pathos, he reaches immediately the 
heart. They who have felt the sweets of return 
to a home from which they have long been ab- 
sent will confess the beauty of those simple 
unaffected lines : — 

O quid solutis est beatius curis ! 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrine 
Lahore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum 
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 

Carm. xxix. 

His sorrows on the death of his brother arc 
the very tears of poesy ; and when he complains 
of the ingratitude of mankind, even the inex- 
perienced cannot but sympathize with him. I 
wish I were a poet ; I should then endeavor to 
catch, by translation, the spirit of those beauties 
which I have always so warmly aimired.^ 

It seems to have been peculiarly the fate of 
Catullus, that the better and more valuable part 
of his poetry has not reached us ; for there is 
confessedly nothing in his extant works to au- 
thorize the epithet "doctus," so universally 



1 Lib. i. Eleg. 3. 

2 In the following Poems, will be found a translation of 
one of his finest Carniina ; but I fancy it is only a mere 
schoolhiiy's essay, and deserves to be praised for little more 
than tlie attempt 



bestowed upon him by the ancients. If time 
had suffered his other writings to escape, we 
perhaps should have found among them some 
more purely amatory ; but of those we possess, 
can there be a sweeter specimen of warm, yet 
chastened description than his loves of Acme 
and Septimius ? and the few little songs of dal- 
liance to Lesbia are distinguished by such an 
exquisite playfulness, that they have always 
been assumed as models by the most elegant 
modern Latinists. Still, it must be confessed 
in the midst of aU these beauties, 

Medio de fonte leporum 

Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis florihus angat.3 

It has often been remarked, that the ancients 
knew nothing of gallantry ; and we are some- 
times told there was too much sincerity in their 
love to allow them to trifle thus with the sem- 
blance of passion. But I cannot perceive that 
they were any thing more constant than the 
moderns : they felt all the same dissipation of 
the heart, though they knew not those seductive 
graces by which gallantry almost teaches it to 
be amiable. Wotton, the learned advocate for 
the moderns, deserts them in considering this 
point of comparison, and praises the ancients 
for their ignorance of such refinements. But ho 
seems to have collected his notions of gallantry 
from the insipid, fadeurs of the French romances, 
which have nothing congenial with the graceful 
levity, the " grata protervitas," of a Rochester 
or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poets of our 
own language were the models which Mr. Little 
selected for imitation. To attain their simplicity 
(" aevo rarissima nostro simplicitas " ) was his 
fondest ambition. He could not have aimed at 
a grace more difficult of attainment ; ■* and his 
life was of too short a date to allow him to per- 
fect such a taste ; but hoAv far he Avas likely to 
have succeeded, the critic may judge from his 
productions. 

I have found among his papers a novel, in 
rather an imperfect state, which, as soon as I 
have arranged and collected it, shall be submit- 
ted to the public eye. 



8 Lucretius. 

* It is a curious illustration of the labor which simplicity 
requires, that the Ramblers of Johnson, elaborate as they 
appear, were written with fluency, and seldom required re- 
vision ; while the simple language of Rousseau, which seemj 
to come flowing from the heart, was the slow production of 
painful labor, pausing on every word, and balancing evel 



24 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Where Mr. Little was born, or what is the 
genealogy of his parents, are points in which 
very few readers can be interested. His life was 
one of those humble streams which have scarcely 
a name in the map of life, and the traveller may 
pass it by without inquiring its source or direc- 
tion. His character was well known to all who 
were acquainted with him ; for he had too much 
vanity to hide its virtues, and not enough of art 
to conceal its defects. The lighter traits of his 
mind may be traced perhaps in his writings ; but 
the few for which he was valued live only in the 
remembrance of his friends. T. M. 



JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 

My dear Sir : — I feel a very sincere pleasure 
in dedicating to you the Second Edition of our 
friend Little's Poems. I am not unconscious that 
there are many in the collection which perhaps 
it would be prudent to have altered or omitted ; 
and, to say the truth, I more than once revised 
them for that purpose ; but, I know not why, I 
distrusted either my heart or my judgment ; and 
the consequence is, you have them in their ori- 
ginal form : 

Non possunt nostros multae, Faustine, lituras 
Emendare jocos ; una litura potest. 

I am convinced, however, that, though not 
quite a casuiste reldch6, you have charity enough 
to forgive such inoffensive follies : you know that 
the pious Beza was not the less revered for tho.'^e 
sportive Juvenilia which he published under a 
fictitious name ; nor did the levity of Bembo's 
poems prevent him from making a very good 
cardinal. Believe me, my dear friend, 

"With the truest esteem. 
Yours. T. M. 



FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXERCISES. 

Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus. Jut. 

Mark those proud boasters of a splendid line, 
Like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine, 
How heavy sits that weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow ; 
Those borrow'd splendors, whose contrasting 

light 
Throws back the native shades in deeper night. 



Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue. 
Where are the arts by which that glory grew ? 
The genuine virtues that with eagle gaze 
Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze ! 
Where is the heart by chemic truth refin'd, 
Th' exploring soul, whose eye had read mankind ? 
Where are the links that twin'd with heav'nly 

art, 
His country's interest round the patriot's heart } 



Justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia artna quibus 
nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes. — Livt. 



Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 
Approv'd by Heav'n, ordain'd by nature's laws, 
Where justice flies the herald of our way, 
And truth's pure beams upon the banners 
play? 

Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath 
To slumb'ring babes, or innocence in death ; 
And urgent as the tongue of Heav'n within, 
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin. 

O, 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should 

meet 
An echo in the soul's most deep retreat ; 
Along the heart's responding chords should i"un. 
Nor let a tone there vibrate — but the one ! 



J 



VARIETY 

Ask what prevailing, pleasing power 
AUures the sportive, wandering bee 

To roam, untired, from flower to flower, 
He'll tell you, 'tis variety. 

Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her changes see ; 

And own, upon Creation's face. 
The greatest charm's variety. 

For me, ye gracious powers above ! 

Still let me roam, unfix' d and free ; 
In aU things, — but the nymph I love, 

rU change, and taste variety. 

But, Patty, not a world of charms 

Could e'er estrange my heart from the 

No, let me ever seek those arms. 
There still I'll find variety. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



25 



TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. 

yniTTi.tr tor j friend. 

Is it not sweet, beloved youth, 

To rove through Erudition's bowers, 

And cull the golden fruits of truth, 
And gather Fancy's brilhant flowers ? 

And is it not more sweet than this, 
To feel thy parents' hearts approving, 

And pay them back in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving ? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea toQ is lighter ; 
This sweetens all the fruits of truth. 

And makes the flowers of fancy brighter. 

The little gift we send thee, boy. 
May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder. 

If indolence or siren joy 

Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 

Twill tell thee that the winged day 
Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavor ; 

That life and time shall fade away, 
While heav'n and virtue bloom forever ? 



SONG. 

If I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 

Its look is so shifting and new, 
That the oath I might take on it now 

The very next glance would undo. 

Those babies that nestle so sly 

Such thousands of arrows have got, 

That an oath, on the glance of an eye 
Such as yours, may be off in a shot. 

Should I swear by the dew on your lip. 
Though each moment the treasure renews, 
f my constancy wishes to trip, 
I may kiss off the oath when I choose. 

a sigh may disperse from that flower 

3oth the dew and the oath that are there ; 
Ad I'd make a new vow ev'ry hour, 
'o lose them so sweetly in air. 

Bulclear up the heav'n of your brow, 
iSr fancy my faith is a feather ; 
4 



On my heart I will pledge you my vow. 
And they both must be broken together ! 



TO 



Remember him thou leav'st behind, 
Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, 

Close as the tend'rest links can bind 
A heart as warm as heart can be. 

O, I had long in freedom rov'd, 

Though many seem'd my soul to share ; 
'Twas passion when I thought I lov'd, 

'Twas fancy when I thought them fair. 

Ev'n she, my muse's early theme, 
Beguil'd me only while she warm'd ; 

'Twas young desire that fed the dream. 
And reason broke what passion form'd. 

But thou — ah ! better had it been 
If I had still in freedom rov'd, 

If I had ne'er thy beauties seen, 
For then I never should have lov'd. 

Then all the pain which lovers feel 
Had never to this heart been known ^ 

But then, the joys that lovers steal. 
Should they have ever been my own ? 

O, trust me, when I swear thee this. 
Dearest ! the pain of loving thee. 

The very pain is sweeter bliss 
Than passion's wildest ecstasy. 

That little cage I would not part. 
In which my soul is prison'd now. 

For the most light and winged heart 
That wantons on the passing vow. 

StiU, my belov'd ! stiU keep in mind, 
However far remov'd from me. 

That there is one thou leav'st behind, 
Whose heart respires for only thee ! 

And though ungenial ties have bound 

Thy fate unto another's care. 
That arm, which clasps thy bosom rouftd, 

Cannot confine the heart that's there. 

No, no ! that heart is only mine 

By ties all other ties above. 
For I have wed it at a shrine 

Where we have had no priest but Love. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



SONG. 

When Time, ■who steals our years away, 

Shall steal our pleasures too, 
The mem'ry of the past wiU stay, 

And half our joys renew, 
f hen Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r 

Shall feel the wintry air, 
PLemembrance will recall the hour 

When thou alone M-ert fair. 
Then talk no more of future gloom ; 

Our joys shall always last ; 
For Hope shall brighten days to come. 

And Mem'ry gild the past. 

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, 

I drink to Love and thee : 
Thou never canst decay in soul, 

Thou'lt still be young for me. 
And as thy lips the teardrop chase, 

Which on my cheek they find. 
So hope shall steal away the trace 

That sorrow leaves behind. 
Then fill the bowl — away with gloom ! 

Our joys shall always last ; 
For Hope shall brighten days to come. 

And Mem'ry gild the past. 

But mark, at thoiight of future years 

When love shall lose its soul. 
My Chloe drops her timid tears. 

They mingle with ray bowl. 
How like this bowl of wine, my fair. 

Our loving life shall fleet ; 
Though tears may sometimes mingle there. 

The draught wiU still be sweet. 
Til en fill the cup — away with gloom ! 

Our joys shall always last ; 
For Hope will brighten days to come, 

And Mem'ry gild the past. 



'' SONG. 

Have you not seen the timid tear. 
Steal trembling from mine eye ? 

Have you not mark'd the flush of fear, 
■ Or caught the murmur'd sigh ? 

And can you think my love is chill, 
Nor fix'd on you alone ? 

And can you rend, by doubting still, 
A heart so much your own ? 

To you my soul's affections move, 
Devoutly, warmly true ; 



My life has been a task of love, 
One long, long thought of you. 

K all your tender faith be o'er, 
J£ still my truth you'll try ; 

Alas, I know but owe proof more • 
I'll bless your name, and die ! 



REUBEN AND POSE. 

A TALE OF ROMANCE. 

The darkness that hung upon Willumberg'a 
walls 
Had long been remember'd with awe and 
dismay ; 
For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, 
And it seem'd as shut out from the regions 
of day. 

Though the valleys were brighten' d by many a 
beam. 
Yet none could the woods of that castle il- 
lume ; 

And the lightning, which flash'd on the neigh- 
boring stream. 

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom ! 

" O, when shall this horrible darkness disperse ! " 

Said Willumberg's lord to the Seer of th« 

Cave ; — 

" It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, 

" Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the 

wave ! " 

And who was the bright star of chivalry then ? 
Who could be but Reuben, the flow'r of the 
age. 
For Reviben was first in the combat of men. 
Though Youth had scarce written his nam 
on her page. 

For Willumberg's daughter his young heart bd 
beat, — 
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of da.Ti, 
When with wand dropping diamonds, andsil- 
very feet, 
It walks o'er the flow'rs of the mountaiiand 
lawn. 

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally 3ver ? 

Sad, sad were the words of the Scer>f the 
Cave, 
That darkness should cover that castle frever, 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless uve ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



To the wizard she flew, saj-ing, " Tell me, O, tell ! 
Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my 
eyes ? " 
" Yes, yes — when a spirit shall toll the great 
bell 
Of the mouldering abbey, yo\ir Reuben shall 
rise ! " 

Twice, thrice he repeated *' Your Reuben shall 
rise ! " 
And Rose felt a moment's release from her 
pain ; 
And wip'd, while she listen' d, the tears from 
her eyes. 
And hop'd she might yet see her hero again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death, 
When he felt that he died for the sir-e of his 
Rose ; 
To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath. 
In the depth of the billows soon found his re- 
pose. — 

How strangely the order of destiny falls ! — 

Not long in the waters the warrior lay, 
AVhen a sunbeam was seen to glance over the 
walls. 
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the 
ray ! 

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light. 
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : 

Two days did she wander, and all the long night. 
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. 

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, 
And heard but the breathings of night in the 
air. 
Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, 
And saw but the foam of the white billow 
there. 

And often as midnight its veil would undraw, 
As she look'd at the light of the moon in the 
stream. 
She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw. 
As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the 
beam. 

And now the third night was begemming the 

sky; 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent recUn'd, 

There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, 

When — hark ! — 'twas the beU that came 

deep in the wind ! 



She startled, and saw, through the glimmering 

shade, 
A form o'er the waters in majesty gUde ; 
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was 

decay'd, 
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the 

tide. 

Was this what the Seer of the Cave had fore 
told ? — 
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon sho 
a gleam ; 
'Twas Reuben, but, ah ! he was deathly and cold, 
And fleeted away like the spell of a dream ! 

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought 
From the bank to embrace him, but vain her 
endeavor ! 

Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caugl t, 
And sunk to repose on its bosom forever ! 



DID NOT. 

'TwAS a new feeling — something more 
Than we had dared to own before, 

Which then we hid not ; 
We saw it in each other's eye. 
And wish'd, in every half-breath'd sigh, 

To speak, but did not. 

She felt my lips' impassion' d touch — 
'Twas the first time I dared so much. 

And yet she chid not ; 
But whisper'd o'er my burning brow, 
" O, do you doubt I love you now ? " 

Sweet soul ! I did not. 

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, 
I press' d it closer, closer stUl, 

Though gently bid not ; 
Till — O, the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd. 

And yet, who did not. 



TO 



y 



That wrinkle, when first I espied it, 
At once put my heart out of pain ; 

Till the eye, that was glowing beside it, 
Disturb'd my ideas again. 

Thou art just in the twilight at present, 
When woman's declension begins : 



28 JUVENILE TOEMS. 


When, fading from all that is pleasant, 


/ 

\/ TO 


She bids a good night to her sins. 


Yet thou still art so lovely to me. 


When I lov'd you, I can't but allow 


1 would sooner, my exquisite mother ! 


I had many an exquisite minute ; 


Repose in the sunset of thee, 


But the scorn that I feel for you now 


Than bask in the noon of another. 


Hath even more luxury in it. 




Thus, whether we're on or we're off. 


TO MRS 


Some witchery seems to await you ; 


To love you was plftasant enough. 


ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARACTER. 


And, 0, 'tis delicious to hate you ! 


Is not thy mind a gentle mind ? 




Is not that heart a heart refin'd ? 




Hast thou not every gentle grace. 




We love in woman's mind and face ? 


TO JULIA. 


And, 0, art thou a shrine for Sin 






IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS. 


To hold her hateful worship in ? 






Why, let the stingless critic chide 


No, no, be happy — dry that tear — 


With all that fume of vacant pride 


Though some thy heart hath harbor'd near. 


Which mantles o'er the pedant fool, 


May now repay its love with blame ; 


Like vapor on a stagnant pool. 


Though man, who ought to shield thy fame. 


0, if the song, to feeling true. 


Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee ; 


Can please th' elect, the sacred few, 


Though all the world look cold upon thee, 


Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taugiic, 


Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still 


Thrill with the genuine pulse of thought — 


Unharm'd by that surrounding chill ; 


If some fond feeling maid like thee. 


Like the famed drop, in crystal found,' 


The warm-ey'd child of Sympathy, 


Floating, while all was froz'n around, — 


Shall say, while o'er my simple theme 


Unchill'd, unchanging shalt thou be. 


She languishes in Passion's dream, 


Safe in thy own sweet purity. 


" He was, indeed, a tender soul — 




" No critic law, no chill control. 




" Should ever freeze, by timid art. 


ANACREONTIC. 


" The flowings of so fond a heart ! " 




Yes, soul of Nature ! soul of Love ! 


in lachrymas verterat orane merum. 


That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove. 


Tib. lib. i. eleg.5. 


Breath' d o'er my cradle warblings wild, 


Press the grape, and let it pour 


And hail'd me Passion's warmest child, — 


Around the board its purple show'r ; 


Grant me the tear from Beauty's eye. 


A.nd, while the drops my goblet steep, 


From Feeling's breast the votive sigh ; 


I'U think in woe the clusters weep. 


0, let my song, my mem'ry, find 




A shrine within the tender mind ; 


Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine ! 


And I will smile when critics chide. 


Heav'n grant no tears, but tears of wine. 


And I will scorn the fume of pride 


Weep on ; and, as thy sorrows flow. 


Which mantles o'er the pedant fool. 


I'll taste the luxury of woe. 


Like vapor round some stagnant pool. 


1 This alludes to a curious gem, upon which Claudian has 




left us some very elaborate epigrams. It was a drop of pure 




water enclosed within a piece of crystal. See Claudian. Epi- 




gram. " de Crystallo cui aqua inerat." Addison mentions a 


TO JULIA. 


curiosity of this kind at Milan ; and adds, " It is such a rarity 




as this that I saw at Vendouie in France, whicli they there 


Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dream. 


pretend is a tear that our Savior shed over Lazarus, and was 


A dream, I find, illusory as sweet : 


gathered up by an angel, who put it into a little crystal vial, 
and made a present of it to Mary Magdailea." — Mdison's 


One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem, 


Bemarks on several Parts of Italy. 
I 


Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit ! | 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



T'vo heard you oft eternal truth declare ; 

Your heart was only mine, I once believ'd. 
Ah ! shall I say that all your vows were air ? 

And must I say, my hopes were all deceiv'd ? 

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twin'd, 
That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal ; 

Julia — 'tis pity, pity makes you kind ; 

You know I love, and you would seem to feel. 

But shall I still go seek within those arms 
A joy in which affection takes no part ? 

No, no, farewell ! you give me but your charms, 
When I had fondly thought you gave your 
heart. 



THE SHRINE. 



y 



My fates had destin'd me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love ; 
And many an altar on my way 
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay ; 
For, if the saint was young and fair, 
I turn'd and sung my vespers there. 
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire, 
Is what your pretty saints require : 
To pass, nor tell a single bead, 
With them would be profane indeed ! 
But, trust me, all this young devotion 
Was but to keep my zeal in motion ; 
And, ev'ry humbler altar past, 
I now have reach'd the shrine at last ! 



TO A LADY, 

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON LEAVING THE 
COUNTRY. 

When, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here — 

Perchance some other friends to find, 
But surely finding none so dear — 

Haply the little simple page. 

Which votive thus I've trac'd for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment's thought for me. 

But, 0, in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, 
Let not the eye that seldom flows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 



For, trust me, they who never melt 
With pity, never melt with love ; 

And such will frown at all I've felt, 
And all my loving lays reprove. 

But if, perhaps, some gentler mind. 

Which rather loves to praise than blame, 

Should in my page an interest find. 
And linger kindly on my name ; 

Tell him — or, O, if gentler still. 
By female lips my name be blest : 

For, where do all affections thrill 
So sweetly as in woman's breast ? — 

Tell her, that he whose loving themes 
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er. 

Could sometimes wake from idle dreams. 
And bolder flights of fancy soar ; 

That Glory oft would claim the lay. 
And Friendship oft his numbers move ; 

But whisper then, that, '< sooth to say, 
" His sweetest song was giv'n to Love ! " 



TO JULIA. 

Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part, 
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever ; 

The heart will seek its kindred heart. 
And cling to it as close as ever. 

But must we, must we part indeed ? 

Is all our dream of rapture over ? 
And does not Julia's bosom bleed 

To leave so dear, so fond a lover ? 

Does she too mourn ? — Perhaps she may ; 

Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting : 
But why is Julia's eye so gay. 

If Julia's heart like mine i::> beating ? 

I oft have lov'd that sunny glow 

Of gladness in her blue eye gleaming — 

But can the bosom bleed with woe. 
While joy is in the glances beaming * 

No, no ! — Yet, love, I will not chide ; 

Although your heart icere fond of roving, 
Nor that, nor all the world beside 

Could keep your faithful boy from loving 

You'll soon be distant from his eye. 

And, with you, all that's worth possessing 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



O, then it will bo sweet to die, 

When life has lost its only blessing ! 



TC 



Sweet lady, look not thus again : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall 

A maid remembcr'd now with pain, 
Who was my love, my life, my all ! 

O, while this heart bewilder'd took 
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, 

Thus would she smile, and lisp, and look. 
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh ! 

Yes, I did love her — wildly love — 
She was her sex's best deceiver ! 

And oft she swore she'd never rove — 
And I was destin'd to believe her ! 

Then, lady, do not wear the smile 

Of one whose smile could thus betray ; 

Alas ! I think the lovely wile 
Again could steal my heart away. 

For, when those spells that charm'd my mind, 

On lips so pure as thine I see, 
I fear the heart which she resign'd 

Will err again, and fly to thee ! 



NATURE'S LABELS. 

A FEAGMENT. 

Ix vain we fondly strive to trace 

The soul's reflection in the face ; 

In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 

Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 

Boobies have look'd as wise and bright 

As Plato or the Stagirito : 

And many a sage and learned skull 

Has pecp'd through windows dark and dull. 

Since then, though art do all it can. 

We ne'er can reach the inward man, 

Nor (howsoe'er "learn'd Thebans" doubt) 

The inward woman, from without, 

Methinks 'twere well if Nature could 

(And Nature could, if Nature would) 

Some pithy, short descriptions write. 

On tablets large, in black and white. 

Which she might hang about our throttles. 

Like labels upon physic bottles ; 

And where all men might read — but stay - 

As dialectic sages say, 



The argument most apt and ample 
For common use is the example. 
For instance, then, if Nature's care 
Had not portray'd, in lines so fair. 
The inward soul of Lucy L-nd-n, 
This is the label she'd have pinn'd on. 

LABEL FIRST. 

Within this form there lies enshrin'd 

The purest, brightest gem of mind. 

Though Feeling's hand may sometimes thro^l 

Upon its charms the shade of woe. 

The lustre of the gem, when veil'd. 

Shall be but mellow' d, not conceal'd. 



Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, 
That Nature wrote a second label, 
They're her own words — at least suppose so 
And boldly pin it on Pomposo. 

LABEL SECOND. 

When I compos' d the fustian brain 
Of this redoubted Captain Vain, 
I had at hand but few ingredients. 
And so was forc'd to use expedients. 
I put therein some small discerning, 
A grain of sense, a grain of learning ; 
And when I saw the void behind, 
I fiU'd it up with — froth and wind ! 



TO JULIA. 



ON HER BIRTHDAY. 



When Time was entwining the garland of years, 
Which to crown my beloved was given. 

Though some of the leaves might be sullied with 
tears. 
Yet the flow'rs were all gather'd in heaven. 

And long may this garland be sweet to the eya^ 

May its verdure forever be new ; 
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh. 

And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 



A REFLECTION AT SEA. 

See how, beneath the moonbeam's smilo. 
Yon little billow heaves its breast, 

And foams and sparkles for a while, — 
Then murmuring subsides to rest 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



31 < 



Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on time's eventful sea ; 

And, having swell'd a moment there, 
Thus melts into eternity ! 



CLORIS AND FANNY. 
Cloris ! if I were Persia's king, 

I'd make mj' graceful queen of thee ; 
While Fanny, wild and artless thing, 

Should but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I'm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute, 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 



THE SHIELD. 

Sat, did you not hear a voice of death ! 

And did you not mark the paly form 
Which rode on the silvery mist of the heath. 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? 

Was it the wailing bird of the gloom. 

That shrieks on the house of woe all night ? 

Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb, 

To howl and to feed till the glance of light ? 

'Twas not the death bird's cry from the wood. 
Nor shivering fiend that hung on the blast ; 

'Twas the shade of Ilelderic — man of blood — 
It screams for the guilt of days that are past. 

See, how the red, red lightning strays. 

And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath ! 

Now on the leafless yew it plays, 

Where hangs the shield of this son of death. 

That shield is blushing with murderous stains ; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray; 
It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains, 

But neither can take the blood away ! 

Oft by that yew, on the blasted fleld. 
Demons dance to the red moon's light ; 

While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging 
shield 
Sings to the raving spirit of night ' 



TO JULIA, 

WEEPING. 

O, if your years are giv'n to care, 
If real Avoe disturbs your peace. 



Come to my bosom, weeping fair ! 
And I will bid your weeping ceasp 

But if with Fancy's vision'd fears. 

With dreams of woe your bosom thrill ; 

You look so lovely in your tears, 
That I must bid you drop them still. 



DREAMS. 



In slumber, I prithee how is it 

That souls are oft taking the air, 
And paying each other a visit, 

"WTiile bodies are heaven knows where ? 

Last night, 'tis in vain to deny it, 

Your Soul took a fancy to roam. 
For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, 

Come ask, whether mine was at home. 

And mine let her in with delight, 

And they talk'd and they laugh'd the time 
through ; 
For, when souls come together at night. 

There is no saying what they mayn't do ! 

And ^jnur little Soul, heaven bless her ! 

Had much to complain and to say. 
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her 

By keeping her prison'd all day. 

" If I happen," said she, " but to steal 
♦' For a peep now and then to her eye, 

" Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 
*' Just venture abroad on a sigh ; 

" In an instant she frightens me in 

'« With some phantom of prudence or temt 

" For fear I should stray into sin, 
" Or, what is still worse, into error ! 

" So, instead of displaying my graces, 
" By daylight, in language and mien 

" I am shut up in corners and places, 
«' Where truly I blush to be seen ! " 

Upon hearing this piteous confession, 

My Soul, looking tenderly at her, 
Declar'd, as for grace and discretion. 

He did not know much of the matter ; 



JUVENILE POEM&. 



" But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit ! " he said, 
" Be at home after midnight, and then 

• I will come when your lady's in bed, 
" And we'll talk o'er the subject again." 

So she whisper'd a word in his ear, 
I suppose to her door to direct him. 

And, just after midnight, my dear. 

Your polite little Soul may expect him. 



J 



TO ROSA. 



WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. 

The wisest soul, by anguish torn, 
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew , 

And when the shrining casket's worn. 
The gem within will tarnish too. 

But love's an essence of the soul. 

Which sinks not with this chain of clay ; 

Which throbs beyond the chill control 
Of with'ring pain or pale decay. 

And surely, when the touch of Death 
Dissolves the spirit's earthly ties, 

Love still attends th' immortal breath, 
And makes it purer for the skies ! 

O Rosa, when, to seek its sphere. 
My soul shall leave this orb of men, 

That love which form'd its treasure here. 
Shall be its best of treasures then ! 

And as, in fabled dreams of old, 

Some air-born genius, child of time. 

Presided o'er each star that roU'd, 

And track'd it through its path sublime ; 

So thou, fair planet, not unled, 

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray ; 

Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed. 
Shall linger round thy earthly way. 

Let other spirits range the sky, 
And play around each starry gem ; 

I'll bask beneath that lucid eye. 
Nor envy worlds of suns to them. 

And when that heart shall cease to beat, 
And when that breath at length is free. 

Then Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet, 
And mingle to e*^rnity ! 



SONG. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Is fair — but O, how fair. 
If Pity's hand had stol'n from Love 

One leaf to mingle there ! 

If every rose with gold were tied. 

Did gems for dewdrops fall. 
One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 

Were sweetly worth them all. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Our emblem well may be ; 
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 

Must keep its tears for me. 

— J 

THE SALE OF LOVES. 

I DREAMT that, in the Paphian groves, 

My nets by moonlight laying, 
I caught a flight of wanton Loves, 

Among the rosebeds playing. 
Some just had left their silv'ry shell, 

While some were full in feather ; 
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell, 
Were never yet strung together 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses ! 
They're new and bright. 
The cost is light. 
For the coin of this isle is kisses. 

First Cloris came, with looks sedate. 

The coin on her lips was ready ; 
" I buy," quoth she, " my Love by weight, 
"Full grown, if you please, and steady." 
"Let mine be light," said Fanny, "pray — 

" Such lasting toys undo one ; 
" A light little Love that will last to-day, — 
" To-morrow I'll sport a new one." 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp'd misses ! — 
There's some will keep. 
Some light and cheap. 
At from ten to twenty kisses. 

The learned Prue took a pert young thing. 
To divert her virgin Muse with. 

And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing. 
To indite her billet-doux with. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



33 



Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair 

Her only eye, if you'd ask it; 
And Tabitha begg'd, old toothless fair, 

For the youngest Love in the basket. 
Come buy my Loves, &c. &c. 

But 07ie was left, when Susan came, 

One worth them all together ; 
At sight of her dear looks of shame. 
He smil'd, and prun'd his feather. 
She wish'd the boy — 'twas more than whim — 

Her looks, her sighs betray' d it ; 
But kisses were not enough for him, 
I ask'd a heart, and she paid it ! 
Good by, my Loves, 
Good by, my Loves, 
'Twould make you smile to've seen us 
First trade for this 
Sweet child of bliss. 
And then nurse the boy between us. 



The world had just begun to steal 
Each hope that led me lightly on ; 

I felt not, as I us'd to feel, 

And life grew dark and love was gone. 

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear, 

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath. 

No circling arms to draw me near — 
'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death. 

But when I saw that gentle eye, 

O ! something seem'd to tell me then. 

That I was yet too young to die. 

And hope and bliss might bloom again. 

With every gentle smile that crost 

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home 

Some feeling, which my heart had lost, 
And peace, which far had learn' d to roam. 

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live, 
Hope look'd so new and Love so kind. 

That, though I mourn, I yet forgive 
The ruin they have left behind. 

I could have lov'd you — O, so well ! — 
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows, 

Is but a bright, beguiling spell. 

That "inly lives while passion glows: 



But, when this early flush declines, 
When the "heart's sunny morning fleets, 

You know not then how close it twines 
Round the first kindred soul it meets. 

Yes, yes, I could have lov'd, as one 

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall; 

Finds something dear to rest upon, 
Which pays him for the loss of all. 



Never mind how the pedagogue proses, 

You want not antiquity's stamp ; 
A lip that such fragrance discloses, 

! never should smell of the lamp. 

Old Cloe, whose withering kiss 
Hath long set the Loves at defiance, 

Now, done with the science of bUss, 
May take to the blisses of science. 

But for you to be buried in books — 

Ah, Fanny, they're pitiful sages. 
Who could not in owe of your looks 

Read more than in millions of pages. 

Astronomy finds in those eyes 

Better light than she studies above ; 

And Music would borrow your sighs 
As the melody fittest for Love. 

Y''our Arithmetic only can trip 

If to count your own charms you endeavor , 
And Eloquence glows on your lip 

When you swear, that you'll love me forever 

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 

Of arts is assembled in you; — 
A course of more exquisite science 

Man never need wish to pursue. 

And, O ! — if a Fellow like me 

May confer a diploma of hearts. 
With my lip thus I seal your degree. 

My divine little Mistress of Arts ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. 

Sweet spirit ! if thy airy sleep 

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs. 

Then will I weep, in anguish weep. 
Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes 



U JUVENILE POEMS. 


But if thy sainted soul can feel, 


Which was to bloom through all thy years ; 


And mingles in our misery ; 


Nor yet did I forget to bind 


Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal — 


Love's roses, with his myrtle twin'd. 


Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. 


And dew'd by sympathetic tears. 


The beam of mom was on the stream, 


Such was the wild but precious boon 


But sullen clouds the day deform : 


Which Fancy, at her magic noon. 


Like thee was that young, orient beam, 


Bade me to Nona's image pay ; 


Like death, alas, that sullen storm ! 


And were it thus my fate to be 




Thy little guardian deity. 


Thou wert not form'd for living here. 


How blest around thy steps I'd play ! 


So link'd thy soul was with the sky ; 




Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear. 


Tliy life should glide in peace along, 


We thought thou wert not form'd to die. 


Calm as some lonely shepherd's song 


/ 


That's heard at distance in the grove ; 


/ "~ 


No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 


J 

INCONSTANCY. 


No thorns along thy pathway lie, 
But all be beauty, peace, and love. 


AxD do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, 




When surely there's nothing in nature more 


Indulgent Time should never bring 


common ? 


To thee one blight upon his wing. 


Slie vows to be true, and while vowing she 


So gently o'er thy brow he'd fly ; 


leaves me — 


And death itself should but be felt 


And could I expect any more from a woman ? 


Like that of daybeams, when they mett. 




Bright to the last, in evening's sky ! 


0, woman ! your heart is a pitiful treasure : 




And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, 





When he held that you were but materials of 




pleasure, 


ELEGIAC STANZAS, 


And reason and thinking were out of your 


SUPPOSED TO BE WEITTEN BY JULIA, ON THE DEATH OF EEB 


sphere. 


BKOTIIER. 




Though sorrow long has worn my heart ; 


By your heart, when the fond sighmg lover can 


Though every day I've counted o'er 


win it. 


Hath brought a new and quick'ning smart 


He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid ; 


To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 


But, 0, while he's blest, let him die at the 




minute — 


Though in my earliest life bereft 


If he live but a day, he'U be surely betray'd. 


Of tender links by nature tied ; 




Though hope dcceiv'd, and pleasure left ; 




Though friends betray'd and foes belied ; 


THE NATAL GENIUS. 


I still had hopes — for hope will stay 


A DBEAH. 


After the sunset of delight ; 


To , 


So like the star which ushers day. 




We scarce can think it heralds night ! — 


THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY. 




In witching slumbers of the night, 


I hop'd that, after all its strife. 


I dreamt I was the airy sprite 


My wearj' heart at length should rest, 


That on thy natal moment smil'd : 


And, fainting from the waves of life, 


And thought I wafted on my wing 


Find harbor in a brother's breast. 


Those flow'rs which in Elysium spring, 




To crown my lovely mortal child. 


That brother's breast was warm with truth, 




Was bright with honor's purest ray ; 


With olive branch I bound thy head, 


He was the dearest, gentlest youth — 


Heart's ease along thy path I shed. 


Ah, why then was he torn away ? 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



3fi 



He should have stay'd, have linger'd here 
To soothe his Julia's every woe ; 

He should have chas'd each bitter tear, 
And not have caus'd those tears to flow. 

We saw within his soul expand 
The fruits of genius, nurs'd by taste ; 

While Science, with a fost'ring hand, 
Upon his brow her chaplet plac'd. 

We saw, by bright degrees, his mind 
Grow rich in all that makes men dear ; - 

Enlighten'd, social, and refin'd. 
In friendship firm, in love sincere. 

Such was the youth we lov'd so well. 
And such the hopes that fate denied ; — 

We lov'd, but ah ! could scarcely tell 
How deep, how dearly, till he died ! 

Close as the fondest links could strain, 
Twin'd with my very heart he grew ; 

And by that fate which breaks the chain, 
The heart is almost broken too. 



TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL 
MISS 

rN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTIEET SHARE. 
IMPROMPTU. 

— Ego pars Virq. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies. 
Where in blanks and in prizes we deal ; 

But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, 
Should so long have remain' d in the wheel ? 

If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, 

To me such a ticket should roll, 
A sixteenth, Heav'n knows ! were sufficient for 
me ; 

For what could / do with the whole ? 



A DREAM. 

I THOUGHT this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid's burning shrine : 

I thought he stole thy heart away. 
And plac'd it near to mine. 

I saw thy heart begin to melt. 
Like ice before the sun ; 

Till both a glow congenial felt, 
And mingled into one ! 



TO 



^ 



With all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 

And I will send you home your heart, 
K you will send back mine to me. 

We've had some happy hours together. 
But joy must often change its wing ; 

And spring would be but gloomy weather, 
If we had nothing else but spring. 



'Tis not that I expect to find 

A more devoted, fond, and true one, 

With rosier cheek or sweeter mind — 
Enough for me that she's a new one. 

Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
Where we have loiter'd long in bliss ; 

And you may down that pathway rove, 
While I shall take my way through this. 



ANACREONTIC. 

" She' never look'd so kind before — 
" Yet why the wanton's smile recall ? 

"I've seen this witchery o'er and o'er, 
" 'Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all ! " 

Thus I said, and, sighing, drain'd 

The cup which she so late had tasted ; 

Upon whose rim still fresh remain'd 
The breath, so oft in falsehood wasted. 

I took the harp, and would have sung 
As if 'twere not of her I sang ; 

But still the notes on Lamia hung — 
On whom but Lamia could they hang ? 

Those eyes of hers, that floating shine. 
Like diamonds in some Eastern river ; 

That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, 
A world for every kiss I'd give her. 

That frame so delicate, yet warm'd 
With flushes of love's genial hue ; — 

A mould transparent, as if form'd 
To let the spirit's light shine through. 

Of these I sung, and notes and words 
Were sweet, as if the very air 

From Lamia's lip hung o'er the chords, 
And Lamia' .« voice still warbled there ! 



36 JUVENILE POEMS. 


But when, alas, I turn'd the theme, 


'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal, 


And when of vows and oaths I spoke, 


By nature warm'd and led by thee. 


Of truth and hope's seducing dream — 


In every breeze was taught to feel 


The chord beneath my finger broke. 


The breathings of a Deity. 




Guide of my heart ! still hovering round, 


False harp ! false woman ! — such, 0, such 


Thy looks, thy words are still my own — 


Are lutes too frail and hearts too willing ; 


I see thee raising from the ground 


Any hand, whate'er its touch. 


Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown, 


Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 


And hear thee say, " This humble bough 




«' Was planted for a doom divine ; 


And when that thrill is most awake, 


" And, though it droop in languor now, 


And when you think Heav'n's joys await 


" Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! 


you, 


" Thus, in the vale of earthly sense. 


Tlie nymph will change, the chord will break. 


♦' Though sunk a while the spirit lies. 


Love, Music, how I hate you ! 


*• A viewless hand shall cull it thence, 




" To bloom immortal in the skies ! " 


TO JULIA. 


All that the young should feel and know, 




By thee was taught so sweetly well, 


I SAW the peasant's hand unkind 


Thy words fell soft as vernal snow. 


From yonder oak the ivy sever ; 


And all was brightness where they fell ! 


They seem'd in very being twin'd ; 


Fond soother of my infant tear. 


Yet now the oak is fresh as ever ! 


Fond sharer of my infant joy, 




Is not thy shade still lingering here ? 


Not so the widow'd ivy shines : 


Am I not still thy soul's employ ? 


Torn from its dear and only stay, 


0, yes — and, as in former days. 


In drooping widowhood it pines, 


When, meeting on the sacred mount. 


And scatters all its bloom away. 


Our nymphs awak'd their choral lays. 




And danc'd around Cassotis' fount ; 


Thus, Julia, did our hearts intwine. 


As then, 'twas all thy wish and care, 


Till Fate disturb' d their tender ties : 


That mine should be the simplest mien, 


Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, 


Mj'' lyre and voice the sweetest there. 


While mine, deserted, droops and dies ! 


My foot the lightest o'er the green : 




So still, each look and step to mould. 




Thy guardian care is round me spread. 


HYMN OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, 


Arranging every snowy fold. 




And guiding every mazy tread. 


AT THE 1-OMB OF HEK MOTHEE. 


And, when I lead the hymning choir. 


0, LOST, forever lost — no more 


Thy spirit stiU, unseen and free. 


Shall Vesper light our dewy way 


Hovers between my lip and lyre. 


Along the rocks of Crissa's shore. 


And weds them into harmony. 


To hymn the fading fires of day ; 


Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave 


No more to Tempi's distant vale 


Shan never drop its silv'ry tear 


In holy musings shall we roam, 


Upon so pure, so blest a grave. 


Through summer's glow and winter's gale. 


To memory so entirely dear ! 


To bear the mystic chaplets home.' 




1 The laurel, for the common uses of the temple, for adorn- 


— ■ 


ing the altars and sweeping the pavement, was supplied by 




a vee near tlie fountain of Castalia ; but upon all important 


SYMPATHy. 


occtvsions, they sent to Tempe for their laurel. We find, in 




Pausk Jas, that this valley supplied the branches, of which 


TO JULIA. 


the temple was originally constructed ; and Plutarch says, in 




his Dialogue on Music, " The youth who brings the Tcmpic 


sine me sit nulla Venus. Sulpicij 


luurel to Delphi is alvs-ays attended by a player on the flute." 
AXAa firiv xat tco KaraKOiii^ovTi iraiSt TJjvTeinKKriv Sacpvtiv 


Our hearts, my love, were form'd to be 


I 


The genuine twins of Sympathy, 



JUVJiNILE POEMS. 



They live with one sensation : 
In joy or grief, but most in love, 
Like chords in unison they move. 

And thriU with like vibration. 

How oft I've heard thee fondly say, 
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play 

When mine no more is moving : 
Since, now, to feel a joy alo7ie 
Were worse to thee than feeling none 

So twinn'd are we in loving ! 



THE TEAE. 

On beds of snow the moonbeam slept, 
And chilly was the midnight gloom. 

When by the damp grave Ellen wept — 
Fond maid ! it was her Lindor's tomb ! 

A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air 
Congeal'd it as it flow'd away : 

All night it lay an icedrop there. 
At morn it glitter' d in the ray. 

An angel, wand'ring from her sphere. 
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem. 

To dew-ey'd Pity brought the tear, 
And hung it on her diadem ! 



THE SNAKE. 

My love and I, the other day, 
Within a myrtle arbor lay, 
When near us, from a rosy bed, 
A little Snake put forth its head. 

" See," said the maid with thoughtful eyes — 

" Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 

" Who could expect such hidden harm 

" Beneath the rose's smiling charm ? " 

Never did grave remark occur 
Less apropos than this from her. 

I rose to kill the snake, but she. 
Half smiling, pray'd it might not be. 
' No," said the maiden — and, alas, 

Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it — 
" Long as the snake is in the grass, 

" One maij, perhaps, have cause to dread it : 

" But when its wicked eyes appear, 

" And when we know for what they mnk so. 



' One must be very simple, dear, 
" To let it wound one — don't you think so 



TO ROSA. 

Is the song of Rosa mute ? 
Once such lays inspired her lute ! 
Never doth a sweetei ■^ong 
Steal the breezy lyre along, 
When the wind, in odors dying, 
Wooes it with enamor'd sighing 

Is my Rosa's lute unstrung ? 
Once a tale of peace it sung 
To her lover's throbbing breast — 
Then was he divinely blest ! 
Ah ! but Rosa loves no more. 
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er ; 
And her lute neglected lies ; 
And her boy forgotten sighs. 
Silent lute — forgotten lover — 
Rosa's love and song are over ! 



ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
Sic juvat. perire. 

When wearied wretches sink to sleep. 
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie ! 

How sweet is death to those who weep. 
To those who weep and long to die ! 

Saw you the soft and grassy bed. 

Where flow'rets deck the green earth's breast i 
'Tis there I wish to lay my head, 

'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. 

O, let not tears embalm my tomb, — 
None but the dews at twilight given ! 

O, let not sighs disturb the gloom, — 

None but the Avhispcring winds of heaven . 



LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 

Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum 

Secundus, eleg. vil 

Still the question I must parry, 
StiU a wayward truant prove : 

Where I love, I must not marry ; 
Where I marry, cannot love. 

Were she fairest of creation, 

With the least presuming mind , 



38 JUVENILE POEMS. 


Learned without affectation ; 




Not deceitful, yet refin'd; 


TO MISS 


Wise enough, but never rigid ; 


ON HEK ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD 


Gay, but not too lightly free ; 


SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. 


Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid ; 




Fond, yet satisfied with me : 


I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, 




And in thy breath his pinion dips. 


Were she all this ten times over, 


Who suns him in thy radiant eyes. 


All that heav'n to earth allows, 


And faints upon thy sighing lips : 


I should be too much her lover 




Ever to become her spouse. 


I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep 




That us'd to shade thy looks of Hght ; 


Love will never bear enslaving ; 


And why those eyes their vigil keep, 


Summer garments suit him best ; 


When other suns are sunk in night ? 


Bliss itself is not worth having. 




If we're by compulsion blest. 


And I w411 say — her angel breast 




Has never throbb'd with guilty sting ; 




Her bosom is the sweetest nest 




Where Slumber could repose his wing ! 


ANACREONTIC. 




I fxll'd to thee, to thee I drank. 


And I will say — her cheeks that flush, 


I nothing did but drink and fill ; 


Like vernal roses in the sun. 
Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush. 


The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 
'Twas drinking, filling, drmking still. 


Except for what her eyes have done ' 




Then tell me, why, thou child of air ! 


At length I bid an artist paint 


Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? 


Thy image in this ample cup, 
That I might see the dimpled saint. 
To whom I quafl"d my nectar up. 


What is her heart's impassion'd care ? — 
Perhaps, sylph ! perhaps, 'tis love. 


Behold how bright that purple lip 




Now blushes through the wave at me ; 




Every roseate drop I sip 


THE WONDER. 


Is just like kissing wine from thee. 






Come, tell me where the maid is found, 


And still I drink the more for this : 


Whose heart can love without deceit, 


For, ever when the draught I drain. 


And I will range the world around. 


Thy lip invites another kiss. 


To sigh one moment at her feet. 


And — in the nectar flows again. 






0, tell me where's her sainted home. 


So here's to thee, my gentle dear. 


What air receives her blessed sigh. 


And may that eyelid never shine 


A pilgrimage of years I'll roam 


Beneath a darker, bitterer tear 


To catch one sjjarkle of her eye ! 


Than bathes it in this bowl of mine ! 






And if her cheek be smooth and bright. 


THE SURPRISE. 


While truth within her bosom lies. 


I'll gaze upon her morn and night. 




Till my heart leave me through my eye* 


Chi.or-s, I swear, by all I ever swore, 




That from this hour I shall not love thee more. 


Show me on earth a thing so rare, 


«* What ! love no more ? 0, why this alter'd 


I'll own all miracles are true ; 


vow ? " 


To make one maid sincere and fair, 


Because I cannot lov« thee more — than now ! 


0, 'tis the utmost Heav'n can do ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



LYING. 

Che con le lor bugie pajon divini. Mauro d'Arcano. 

I DO confess in many a sigh, 
My lips have breath'd you many a lie ; 
And who, with such delights in view, 
Would lose them for a lie or two ? 

Nay, — look not thus, with brow reproving 
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. 
If half we tell the girls were true, 
If half we swear to think and do. 
Were aught but lying's bright illusion. 
This world would be in strange confusion. 
If ladies' eyes were, every one, 
As lovers SAvear, a radiant sun. 
Astronomy must leave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. 
O, no — believe me, lovely girl. 
When nature turns your teeth to pearl, 
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire. 
Your amber locks to golden wire. 
Then, only then can Heaven decree, 
That you should live for only me, 
Or I for you, as night and morn. 
We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn. 

And now, my gentle hints to clear, 
For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever you may chance to meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, 
Long as you're false and he believes you, 
Long as you trust and he deceives you. 
So long the blissful bond endures. 
And while he lies, his heart is yours : 
But, O, you've whollj' lost the youth 
The instant that he tells you truth. 



ANACREONTIC. 

Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 

'Twill chase that pensive tear ; 
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, 
But, 0, 'tis more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 

'Twill steal away thy mind : 
But, truer than love's dream. 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade ; 

These flow'rs were cuU'd at noon ; — 
Like woman's love the rose will fade, 

But, ah ! not half so soon. 



For though the flower's decay' d, 
Its fragrance is not o'er ; 

But once when love's betray' d, 
Its sweet life blooms no more. 



THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPTJS* 

TO A LAMP WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS 

Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna. 

Martial., lib. xiv. epig. 39. 

" O, LOVE the Lamp " (my Mistress said), 
♦' The faithful Lamp that, many a night, 

" Beside thy Lais' lonely bed 

" Has kept its little watch of light. 

" Full often has it seen her weep, 
" And fix her eye upon its flame, 

<♦ Till, wearj', she has sunk to sleep, 
"Repeating her beloved's name. 

" Then love the Lamp — 'twill often lead 

" Thy step through learning's sacred way; 
" And when those studious eyes shall read, 
" At midnight, by its lonely ray, 

" Of things sublime, of nature's birth, 
•' Of all that's bright in heaven or earth, 
" O, think that she, by whom 'twas given, 
" Adores thee more than earth or heaven I " 

Y''es — dearest Lamp, by every charm 

On which thy midnight beam has hung ; ' 

1 It does not appear to have been veiy difficult to heconie 
a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of 
learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just 
wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to 
have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose. 
The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly 
understood that the founder of a new sect, in forming his 
ethical code, might consult either fancy or temperament, atid 
adapt it to his own passions and propensities ; so that Ma- 
homet, with a little more learning, might have flourished as 
a philosopher in those days, and would have required but the 
polish of the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in mo- 
rality. In the science of nature, too, though some valuable 
truths were discovered by them, they seemed hardly to know 
they were truths, or at least were as well satisfied with 
errors ; and Xenophanes, who asserted that the stars wero 
igneous clouds, lighted up every night and extinguished 
again in the morning, was thought and styled a philosopher, 
as generally as he who anticipated Newton in deveUpping 
the arrangement of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch, de Placit. 
Philosoph. lib. ii. cap. 13. It is impossible to read this trea- 
tise of Plutarch, without alternately admiring the genius, 
and smiling at the absurdities of the philosophers. 

2 The ancients had their lucern«cubicularia; or bed-cham- 
ber lamps, which, as the Emperor Galienus said, "nil era* 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



The head reclin'd, the graceful arm 
Across the brow of ivory flung ; 

The heaving bosom, partly hid, 

The sever'd lip's unconscious sighs. 

The fringe that from the half-shut lid 
Adown the cheek of roses lies : 

By these, by all that bloom untold. 
And long as all shall charm my heart, 

I'll love my little Lamp of gold — 
My Lamp and I shall never part. 

And often, as she smiling said. 

In fancy's hour, thy gentle rays 
Shall guide my visionary tread 

Through poesy's enchanting ma7;e. 
Thy flame shall light the page refin'd, 

Where still we catch the Chian's breath, 

Where stUl the bard, though cold in death. 
Has left his soul unquench'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 

O man of Ascra's dreary glades.' 
To whom the nightly warbling Nine ' 

A wand of inspiration gave,' 
Pluck'd from the greenest tree, that shades 

The crystal of Castalia's wave. 

Then, turning to a purer lore, 
We'U cull the sages' deep-hid store, 
From Science steal her golden clew. 
And every mystic path pursue. 
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, 
Through labyrinths of wonder flies. 

'Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 
How fleeting is this world below, 
Where all that meets the morning light. 
Is chang'd before the fall of night ! * 



nieininere ; " and, with the same commendation of secrecy, 
Pra.\ag(ira addresses her lamp in Aristoplianes, E<itA';f. We 
may judge how fimcifiil they were, in the use and embellish- 
ment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna, 
which we find in the Romanum Museum, Mich. Ang. Cauaei, 
p. 127. 

1 Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's 
light to the wretched village of Ascra. Epy. kui "H^cp. 
/. 251. 

2 Jii/vvx"^' oTCixov, T£piKaWta oaaav leiaai. Theog. v. 10. 
s Kai fioi oKriTtrpov ciof, Ja^v/jj cpidq^ta n^ov. Id. v. 30. 
* 'Peu/ to bXa ■nuTiii.iov Siktiu, as expressed among the 

dogmas of Heraclitus the Ephesian, and with the same image 
by Seneca, in whom we find a beautiful diffusion of the 
tliought. " Nemo est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora nostra 
rapiuntur fluminum more ; quidquid vides currit cum tem- 
pore. Niliil ex his qus videnms injuiet Ego ipse, dum 
loquor mutari ipsa, mutatus sum," &c. 



I'U teU thee, as I trim thy fire, 

" Swift, swift the tide of being runs, 

" And Time, who bids thy flame expire, 
" Win also quench yon heaven of san^ ' 

O, then if earth's united power 
Can never chain one feathery hour ; i 
If every print we leave to-day 
To-morrow's wave will sweep away ; 
Who pauses to inquiie of heaven 
Why were the fleeting treasures given, 
The sunny daye, the shady nights, 
And aU their brief but dear delights, . 
Which heaven has made for man to use, 
And man should think it crime to lose ? 
Who that has cuU'd a fresh- blown rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindful of the blushing ray, 
In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the scented sigh, 
With which it dies and loves to die. 

Pleasure, thou only good on earth ! ' 
One precious moment giv'n to thee — 

O, by my Lais' lip, 'tis worth 
The sage's immortality, 

Then far be all the wisdom hence, 
That would our joys one hour delay! 

Alas, the feast of soul and sense 

Love calls us to in j'outh's bright day, 
K not soon tasted, fleets away. 

Ne'er wert thou form'd, njy Lamp, to shed 
Thy splendor on a lifeless page ; — 

Whate'er my blushing Lais said 

Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 

'Twas mockery all — her glance of joy 

Told me thy dearest, best employ." 

1 Aristippus considered motion as the principle of happi- 
ness, in which idea he differed from the Epicureans, who 
looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, 
and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a 
violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses. 

2 Maupertuis has been still more explicit than this philos- 
opher, in ranking the pleasures of sense above the subllmest 
pursuits of wisdom. Speaking of the infant man, In his pro- 
duction, he calls him, "une nouvelle creature, qui pourra 
comprendre les choses les plus sublimes, et ce qui est bien 
au-dessus, qvii pourra gouter les mernes plaisirs." See his 
V6nus Physique. This appears to be one of the efforts of 
Fontenelle's gallantry of manner, for which the learned 
President is so well and justly ridiculed in the Akakia of 
Voltaire. 

Maupertuis may be thought to have borrowed from the 
ancient Aristippus that indiscriminate tlieory of pleasures 
which he has set forth in his Essai de Philosophe Morale, 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



And, soon as night shall close the eye 

Of heaven's young wanderer in the west ; 
WTien seers are gazing on the sky, 

To find their future orbs of rest ; 
Then shall I take my trembling way, 

Unseen but to those worlds above, 
And, led by thy mysterious ray. 

Steal to the night bower of my love. 



TO MES. 



ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION OF VOITURE I 

KISS. 

Mon Ime sur mon l^vre 6toit lors toute entifere, 
Pour savourer le miel qui sur la votre etoit j 

Mais en me retirant, elle resta derriere, 
Tant de ce doux plaisir I'ainorce I'a restoit. 

VoiTURE. 

How heav'nly was the poet's doom. 
To breathe his spirit through a kiss ; 

And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss ! 

And, sure his soul return'd to feel 
That it again could ravish'd be ; 

For in the kiss that thou didst steal, 
His life and soul have fled to thee. 



RONDEAU. 

«♦ Good night ! good night ! " — And is it so? 

And must I from my Rosa go ? 

O Rosa, say " Good night ! " once more, 

And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er. 

Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall find us saying, still, ♦' Good night." 

And still '< Good night," my Rosa, say — 
But whisper still, '< A minute stay ; " 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it ; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight. 
To Hsten to our sweet •' Good night." 

«♦ Good night ! " you'll murmur with a sigh, 

And tell me it is time to fly : 

And I will vow, will swear to go, 

While still that sweet voice murmurs *' No ! " 

and for whic?i lie was so very justly condemned. Aristippus, 
according to Laertius, held firi Siaipcoeiv re fiiofiiv hiovr^, 
which irrational sentiment has been adopted by Maupertuis : 
•• Tant qu on ne considere que I'etat present, tous les plaisirs 
sent du menie genre," &c. &c. 
6 



Till slumber seal our weary sight — 

And then, my love, my soul, " Good night ! ' 



SONG. 

Why does azure deck the sky ? 

'Tis to be like thy looks of blue ; 
■WTiy is red the rose's dye r 

Because it is thy blushes' hue. 
All that's fair, by Love's decree. 
Has been made resembling thee ! 

Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 

Why are solar beams so bright ? 

That they may seem thy golden hairl 

AU that's bright, by Love's decree. 

Has been made resembling thee ! 

Why are nature's beauties felt ? 

O, 'tis thine in her we see ! 
Why has music power to melt ? 

O, because it speaks like thee. 
All that's sweet, by Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 



TO ROSA. 

Like one who trusts to summer skie* 
And puts his little bark to sea. 

Is he who, lur'd by smiling eyes. 
Consigns his simple heart to thee. 

For fickle is the summer vrind. 
And sadly may the bark be tost ; 

For thou art sure to change thy mind, 
And then the wretched heart is lost ! 



WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE BOOK, 

CALLED " THE BOOK OF FOLLIES ; " 



TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. 

This tribute's from a wretched elf, 
Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 
The book of life, which I have trac'd. 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of folUes scribbled o'er and o'er. 
One folly bringing hundreds more. 
Some have indeed been writ so neat. 
In characters so fair, so sweet. 



JUVENILE POEMS 



That those who judge not too severely, 
Have said they lov'd such follies dearly. 
Yet still, O book ! the allusion stands ; 
For these were penn'd by female hands ; 
The rest — alas ! I ovm. the truth — 
Have all been scribbled so uncouth 
That Prudence, with a with'ring look, 
Disdainful, flings away the book. 
Like thine, its pages here and there 
Have oft been stain'd with blots of care ; 
And sometimes hours of peace, I own, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shown. 
White as the snowings of that heav'n 
By which those hours of peace were given. 
But now no longer — such, O, such 
The blast of Disappointment's touch ! — 
No longer now those hours appear ; 
Each leaf is sullied by a tear : 
Blank, blank is ev'ry page with care. 
Not ev'n a folly brightens there. 
Will they yet brighten ? — never, never ! 
Then shut the book, O God, forever ! 



TO ROSA. 

Sat, why should the girl of my soul be in tears. 

At a meeting of rapture like this, 
When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of 
years 

Have been paid by one moment of bliss .' 

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight. 

Which dwells on her memory yet ? 
Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing 

night, 
From the warmth of the sun that has set ? 

O ! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile. 
That smile, which is loveliest then ; 

And if such are the drops that delight can 
beguile, 
Thou shalt weep them again and again. 



LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 

Light sounds the harp when the combat is over. 
When heroes arc resting, and joy is in bloom ; 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the 
lover. 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 
But, when the foe returns, 
Again the hero burns ; 



High flames the sword in his hand once more : 
The clang of mingling arms 
Is then the sound that charms. 
And brazen notes of war, that stirring trumpets 

pour ; — 
Then, again comes the Harp, when the com oat 
is over — 
WTien heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloom ^ 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the 
lover, 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. 

Light went the harp when the War- God, 
reclining, 
Lay lull'd on the white arm of Beauty to rest. 
When round his rich armor the myrtle ijng 
twining. 
And flights of young doves made his helmet 
their nest. 

But, when the battle came, 
The hero's eye breathed flame : 
Soon from his neck the white arm was flung j 
While, to his Avakening ear. 
No other sounds were dear 
But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets 

sung. 
But then came the light harp, when danger was 
ended. 
And Beauty once more luU'd the War- God to 
rest ; 
When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, 
And flights of young doves made his helmet 
their nest. 

FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER.» 

Fill high the cup with liquid flame. 
And speak my Heliodora's name. 
Repeat its magic o'er and o'er. 
And let the sound my lips adore. 
Live in the breeze, till every tone. 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 

Give me the wreath that withers there. 
It was but last delicious night. 

It circled her luxuriant hair. 

And caught her eyes' reflected light. 

O, haste, and twine it round my brow, 

'Tis all of her that's left me now. 

1 EyX^h f"' ^aXiv ciTTc, vaXiv, TtaXiv, HXidfufidf 
Eiirt, avf aKiinrco ra yXvKV niay' oviiiia. 
Kat HOI Toi/ (ifitx^cvTa iivpuis KUt xSiJoi' covra, 

Mtiaixocvv'iv KCivas, aix(piT(6ci aretpavov 
AaKpvci ipiXcpaa-Tov tSuv pu&nv, oiivtKa kiivcv 
AXX'iOi k' ov KoXirut; fiiieTCfJOis eaupa. 

Brukck. AnaUct. toni. i. p 2Sl 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



4i 



And see — each rosebud drops a tear, 
To find the nymph no longer here — 
No longer, where such heavenly charms 
As hers should be — within these arms. 



/ 



SONG. 



Fly from the world, O Bessy ! to me. 

Thou wilt never find any sincerer ; 
I'll give up the world, O Bessy ! for thee, 

I can never meet any that's dearer. 
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh. 

That our loves will be censur'd by many ; 
All, all have their follies, and who will deny 

That ours is the sweetest of any ? 

When j'our lip has met mine, in communion so 
sweet. 

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ? — 
Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ? — 

No, rather 'twas heav'n that did it. 
So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, 

So little of wrong is there in it. 
That I wish all your errors were lodg'd on your 

lip. 
And I'd kiss them away in a minute. 

Then come to your lover, O, fly to his shed, 

From a world which I know thou despisest ; 
And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed 

As e'er on the couch of the wisest. 
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, 

And thou, pretty innocent, fcarest, 
I'U tell thee, it is not the chiding of heav'n, 

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest. 

And, O, while we lie on our death bed, my love, 

Looking back on the scene of our errors, 
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, 

And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. 
And each to the other embracing will say, 

" Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven." 
Xhy last fading glance will illumine the way, 

And a kiss be our passport to heaven ! 



THE RESEMBLANCE. 

vo cercand' io. 

Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui 
La desiata vostra forma vera- 

Petrarc. Sonett. 14. 

Yes, if 'twere any common love, 
That led my pliant heart astray, 



I grant, there's not a power above. 
Could wipe the faithless crime away. 

But, 'twas my doom to err with one 

In every look so like to thee 
That, underneath yon blessed sun. 

So fair there are but thou and she. 

Both born of beauty, at a birth. 

She held with thine a kindred sway. 

And wore the only shape on earth 

That could have lured my soul to stray. 

Then blame me not, if false I be, 

'Twas love that wak'd the fond excess ; 

My heart had been more true to thee. 
Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less. 



FANNY, DEAREST. 

Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn. 

Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should turn 

To tears when thou art nigh. 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 

So busy a life I live. 
That even the time it would take to weep 

Is more than my heart can give. 
Then bid me not to despair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 
The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine, 

Would be sure to take cold in tears. 

Reflected bright in tliis heart of mine, 

Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 
But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine, 

K dimm'd too often with sighs. 
They lose the half of beauty's light. 

Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 
And 'tis but to see thee.truly bright 

That I keep my eyebeam clear. 
Then wait no longer tdl tears shall flow, 

Fanny, dearest — the hope is vain ; 
If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 

I shall never attempt it with rain 



THE RING. 



No — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring : 
O, think, how many a future year, 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Of placid smile and downy wing, 
May sleep wthin its holy sphere. 

Do not disturb their tranquil dream, 

Though love hath ne'er the mystery warm'd ; 

Yet heav'n will shed a soothing beam, 
To ble'ss the bond itself hath forra'd. 

15 ut then, that eye, that burning eye, — 
O, it doth ask, with witching power, 

It heaven can ever bless the tie 

Where love inwreaths no genial flower ? 

A.way, away, bewildering look. 

Or all the boast of virtue's o'er ; 
Go — hie thee to the sage's book, 

And learn from him to feel no more. 

I cannot warn thee : every touch. 
That brings my pulses close to thine, 

Tells me I want thy aid as much — 
Ev'n more, alas, than thou dost mine. 

Yet, stay, — one hope, one effort yet — 

A moment turn those eyes away. 
And let me, if I can, forget 

The light that leads my soul astray. 

Thou say'st that we were born to meet, 
That our hearts bear one common seal ; — 

Think, Lady, think, how man's deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel. 

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought. 
Like daybcams through the morning air. 

Hath gradual stole, and I have caught 
The feeling ere it kindled there ; 

The sympathy I then betray'd. 

Perhaps was but the chUd of art, 
The guile of one who long hath play'd 

With all these wily nets of heart. 

O, thine is not my earliest vow ; 

Though few the years I yet have told. 
Canst thou believe I've lived till now. 

With loveless heart or senses cold ? 

No — other nymphs to joy and pain 

This Avild and wandering heart hath mov'd ; 

With some it sported, wild and vain. 
While some it dearly, truly, lov'd. 

The cheek to thine I fondly lay. 
To theirs hath been as fondly laid ; 



The words to thee I warmly sivy. 
To them Have beeii as warmly said. 

Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, 
Worthless alike, or fix'd or free ; 

Think of the pure, bright soul thou ait, 
And — love not me, O, love not me. 

Enough — now, turn thine eyes again ; 

What, still that look and stiU that sigh ! 
Dost thou not feel my counsel then ? 

O, no, beloved, — nor do I. 



TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL. 

They try to persuade me, my dear little sprite. 
That you're not a true daughter of ether and 

light, 
"Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms 
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms ; 
That, in short, you're a woman ; your lip and 

your eye 
As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 
But I toill not believe them — no, Science, to you 
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu : 
Still flying from Nature to study her laws. 
And dulling delight by exploring its cause. 
You forget how superior, for mortals below. 
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they 

know. 
O, who, that has e'er enjoyed rapture complete, 
Would ask hoio we feel it, or lo/ii/ it is sweet ; 
How rays are confus'd, or how particles fly 
Through the medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh j 
Is there one, who but once would not rather 

have known it. 
Than written, witlji Harvey, whole volumes 

upon it ? 

As for 3'ou, my sweet-voiced and invisible love. 
You must surely be one of those spirits, that 

rove 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, 
When the star of the west on his solitude shines. 
And the magical fingers of fancy have hung 
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a 

tongue. 
O, hint to him then, 'tis retirement alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between. 
His song to the world let him utter unseen. 
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres, 
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



45 



Sweet spirit of mystery ! how I should love, 
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove, 
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh, 
Inhaling forever your song and your sigh ! 
'!Mid the crowds of the world and the mxirmurs 

of care, 
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of 

the air, 
And turn with distaste from the clamorous crew. 
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you. 

Then, come and be near me, forever be mine, 
We shall hold in the air a communion divine. 
As sweet as, of old, was imagin'd to dwell 
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell. 
And oft, at those lingering moments of night. 
When the heart's busy thoughts have put slum- 
ber to flight, 
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, 
Such as angel to angel might whisper above. 
Sweet spirit ! — and then, could you borrow the 

tone 
Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy song 

known. 
The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd 
With her being forever my heart and my mind. 
Though lonely and far from the light of her smile. 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while. 
Could you shed for a moment her voice on my 

ear, 
I will think, for that moment, that Cara is near ; 
That she comes with consoling enchantment to 

speak, 
And kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek, 
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by. 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh. 

Fair spirit ! if such be your magical power. 
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; 
And, let fortune's realities frown as they will, 
Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for me still. 



THE RING.» ' 
Annulus ille viri. — Otid. Smor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. 



The happy day at length arriv'd 

When Rupert was to wed 
The fairest maid in Saxony, 

And take her to his bed. 

I I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious 
intentions of frightening the nursery by this story : I rather 
hope — though the manner of it leads me to doubt — that his 



As soon as morn was in the sky, 

The feast and sports began ; 
The men admir'd the happy maid, 

The maids the happy man. 

In many a sweet device of mirth 

The day was pass'd along ; 
And some the featly dance amus'd, 

And some the dulcet song. 

The younger maids with Isabel 
Disported through the bowers, 

And deck'd her robe, and crown'd her head 
With motley bridal flowers. 

The matrons all in rich attire, 

Within the castle walls. 
Sat listening to the choral strains 

That echo'd through the halls. 

Young Rupert and his friends repair'd 

Unto a spacious court. 
To strike the bounding tennis ball 

In feat and manly sport. 

The bridegroom on his finger wore 

The wedding ring so bright. 
Which was to grace the lily hand 

Of Isabel that night. 

And fearing he might break the gerd, 

Or lose it in the play, 
He look'd around the court, to see 

Where he the ring might lay. 

Now, in the court a statue stood. 
Which there full long had been ; 

It might a Heathen goddess be, 
Or else, a Heathen queen. 

Upon its marble finger then 

He tried the ring to fit ; 
And, thinking it was safest there. 

Thereon he fasten'd it. 

And now the tennis sports went on, 
Till they were wearied all, 



design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers 
those monsters of the fancy to the " speciosa miracula " ol 
true poetic imagination. 

I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this 
Btory in a German author, Fromman upon Fascination, book 
iii. part vi. eh. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that 
Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among many other 
stories equally diabolical and interesting. E. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



And messengers announc'd to them 
Their dinner in the hall. 

Young Rupert for his wedding ring 

Unto the statue went ; 
But, O, hoAv shock'd was he to find 

The marble finger bent ! 

The hand was clos'd upon the ring 

"With firm and mighty clasp ; 
In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, 

He could not loose the grasp ! 

Then sore surpris'd was Rupert's mind — 

As well his mind might be ; 
" I'll come," quoth he, " at night again, 

" When none are here to see." 

He went unto the feast, and much 

He thought upon his ring ; 
And marveU'd sorely what could mean 

So very strange a thing ! 

The feast was o'er, and to the court, 

He hied without delay, 
Resolv'd to break the marble hand 

And force the ring away. 

But, mark a stranger wonder still — 

The ring was there no more, 
And yet the marble hand ungrasp'd, 

And open as before ! 

He search'd the base, and all the court. 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder' d mind. 

Within he found them all in mirth. 

The night in dancing ilew ; 
The youth another ring procur'd, 

And none the adventure knew. 

And now the priest has join'd their hands;, 

The hours of love advance : 
Rupert almost forgets to think 

Upon the morn's mischance. 

Within the bed fair Isabel 

In blushing sweetness lay. 
Like flowers, half open'd by the dawn, 

And waiting for the day. 

And Ptupert, by her lovely side, 
In youthful beauty glows, 



Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast 
His beams upon a rose. 

And here my song would leave them both. 

Nor let the rest be told, 
If 'twere not for the horrid tale 

It yet has to unfold. 

Soon Rupert, 'twixt his bride and him, 

A death-cold carcass found ; 
He saw it not, but thought he felt 

Its arms embrace him round. 

He started up, and then return' d. 

But found the phantom still ; 
In vain he shrunk, it clipp'd him round, 

With damp and deadly chill ! 

And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
'Twas like the smeU from charnel vaults 

Or from the mould'ring grave ! 

Ill fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
" O, save me from this horrid fiend, 

" My Isabel ! my life ! " 

But Isabel had nothing seen. 

She look'd around in vain ; 
And much she mourn'd the mad conceit 

That rack'd her Rupert's brain. 

At length from this invisible 

These words to Rupert came : 
(0 God ! while he did hear the words 

What terrors shook his frame !) 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring 

" Thou gav'st to-day for me ; 
«• And thou'rt to me forever wed, 

" As I am wed to thee ! " 

And all the night the demon lay 

Cold chilling by his side, 
And strain'd him with such deadly grasp, 

He thought he should have died. 

But when the dawn of day was near, 

The horrid phantom fled. 
And left th' aff"righted youth to weep 

By Isabel in bed. 

And all that day a gloomy cloud 
Was s( en on Rupert's brows ; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 47 


Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 
But strove to cheer her spouse. 


And told him all, and ask'd him how 
These horrors to prevent. 


And, as the day adranc'd, he thought 
Of coming night with fear : 

Alas, that he should dread to view 
The bed that should be dear ! 


The father heard the youth, and then 

Rctir'd a while to pray ; 
And, having pray'd for half an hour. 

Thus to the youth did say : 


At length the second night arriv'd. 
Again their couch they press'd ; 

Poor Rupert hop'd that all was o'er, 
And look'd for love and rest. 


" There is a place where four roads meet, 

" Which I will tell to thee ; 
" Be there this eve, at fall of night, 

" And list what thou shall see. 


But 0, when midnight came, again 
The fiend was at his side, 

And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 
With howl exulting cried : — 


" Thou'lt see a group of figures pass 

" In strange disorder'd crowd, 
" Travelling by torchlight through the roads. 

♦' With noises strange and loud. 


"Husband, husband, I've the ring, 
" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 

'« And thou'rt to me forever wed, 
" As I am wed to thee ! " 


"And one that's high above the rest, 

" Terrific towering o'er, 
" Will make thee know him at a glance, 

" So I need say no more. 


In agony of wild despair. 
He started from the bed ; 

And thus to his bewilder'd wife 
The trembling Rupert said : 


" To him from me these tablets give, 

" They'll quick be understood ; 
" Thou need'st not feai-, but give them straight 

" I've scrawl'd them with my blood." 


" Isabel ! dost thou not see 
" A shape of horrors here, 

" That strains me to its deadly kiss, 
" And keeps me from my dear ? " 


The nightfall came, and Rupert aU 

In pale amazement went 
To where the cross roads met, as he 

Was by the Father sent. 


'♦ No, no, my love ! my Rupert, I 
" No shape of horrors see ; 

" And much I mourn the fantasy 
" That keeps my dear from me." 


And lo ! a group of figures came 

In strange disorder'd crowd. 
Travelling by torchlight through the roads, 

With noises strange and loud. 


This night, just like the night before, 

In terrors pass'd away. 
Nor did the demon vanish thence 

Before the dawn of day. 


And, as the gloomy train advanc'd, 

Rupert beheld from far 
A female form of wanton mien 

High seated on a oar. 


Said Rupert then, " My Isabel, 
" Dear partner of my woe, 

"To Father Austin's holy cave 
" This instant will I go." 


And Rupert, as he gazed upon 

The loosely-vested dame, 
Thought of the marble statue's look. 

For hers was just the same. 


Now Austin was a reverend man, 
Who acted wonders maint — 

Whom all the country round believ'd 
A devil or a saint ! 


Behind her walk'd a hideous form. 
With eyeballs flashing death ; 

Whene'er he breath' d, a sulphur'd smoke 
Came burning in his breath. 


To Father Austin's holy cave 
Then Rupert straightway went ; 


He seem'd the first of all the crowd, 
Terrific towering o'er • 



48 JUVENILE POEMS. 


"Yes, yes," said Rupert, " this is he, 


Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, 


'• And I need ask no more." 


The hour when Love unbound it. 


Then slow he went, and to this fiend 




The tablets trembling gave, 
Who look'd and read them with a yell 
That would disturb the grave. 


WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF OF A 


LADY'S COMMONPLACE BOOK. 




Here is one leaf reserv'd for me, 


And when he saw the blood-scrawl'd name, 


From all thy sweet memorials free ; 


His eyes with fury shine ; 


And here my simple song might tell 


" I thought," cries he, " his time was out, 


The feelings thou must guess so well. 


" But he must soon be mine ! " 


But could I thus, within thy mind, 




One little vacant corner find, 


Then darting at the youth a look • 


Where no impression yet is seen. 


Which rent his soul with fear, 


Where no memorial yet hath been, 


He went unto the female fiend, 


0, it should be my sweetest care 


And whisper'd in her ear. 


To write my name forever there ! 


The female fiend no sooner heard 




Than, with reluctant look, 




The very ring that Rupert lost, 


TO MRS. BL . 


She from her finger took. 






WEITTEN IN HER ALBUM. 


And, giving it unto the youth, 


They say that Love had once a book 


With eyes that breath'd of hell, 


(The urchin likes to copy you), 


She said, in that tremendous voice, 


Where, all who came, the pencil took. 


Which he remember'd well : 


And wrote, like us, a line or two. 


" In Austin's name take back the ring. 


'Twas Innocence, the maid divine. 


" The ring thou gav'st to me ; 


Who kept this volume bright and fair. 


«' And thou'rt to me no longer wed, 


And saw that no unhaUow'd line 


•' Nor longer I to thee." 


Or thought profane should enter there ; 


He took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 


And daily did the pages fill 


He home return'd again ; 


With fond device and loving lore. 


His wife was then the happiest fair, 


And every leaf she turn'd was still 


The happiest he of men. 


More bright than that she turn'd before. 




Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft. 




How light the magic pencil ran ! 


TO 


Till Fear would come, alas, as oft. 


. . ^ 


And trembling close what Hope began. 


01^ SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH 


A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, 


GIRDLE. 


And Jealousy would, now and then. 




Ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf. 


JAapyaptrai Sn^ovcFi SaKpvtov ^oov. 

Jlp. NicEPHOR. in Oneirocritico. 


Which Love had still to smooth again. 


Put off the vestal veil, nor, 0, 


But, ah ! there came a blooming boy, 


Let weeping angels view it ; 


Who often turn'd the pages o'er 


Your cheeks belie its virgin snow. 


And wrote therein such words of joy. 


And blush repenting through it. 


That all who read them sigh'd for more. 


Put off the fatal zone you wear ; 


And Pleasure was this spirit's name, 


The shining pearls around it 


And though so soft his voice and look, 

i 



JUVENILE POEMS. 49 


Yet Innocence, whene'er he came, 
Would tremble for her spotless book. 


Far from the weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 


For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore. 

With earth's sweet nectar sparkling bright ; 
And much she feafd lest, mantUng o'er, 

Some drops should on the pages light. 


She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen. 

And gentler blows the night wind's breath. 

Yet no — 'tis gone — the storms are keen, 
The infant may be chill'd to death ! 


And so it chanc'd, one luckless night, 
The urchin let that goblet fall 

O'er the fair book, so pure, so white, 
And sullied lines and marge and all ! 


Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded. 
His little eyes lie cold and still ; — 

And yet, perhaps, they are not clouded 
Life and love may light them still. 


In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried 
To wash those fatal stains away ; 

Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide. 
The leaves grew darker every day. 


Thus, Cara, at our last farewell, 

When, fearful ev'n thy hand to touch, 

I mutely asked those eyes to tell 
K parting pain'd thee half so much : 


\nd Fancy's sketches lost their hue, 
And Hope's sweet lines were all effac'd. 

And Love himself now scarcely knew 
What Love himself so lately trac'd. 


I thought, — and, 0, forgive the thought, 
For none was e'er by love inspir'd 

Whom fancy had not also taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desir'd. 


At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 
(For how, alas ! could Pleasure stay ?) 

And Love, while many a tear he shed, 
Reluctant flung the book away. 


Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind. 

Though yet to that sweet mind unknown, 
I left one infant wish behind. 

One feeling, which I called my own. 


The index now alone remains, 

Of all the pages spoil' d by Pleasure, 

And though it bears some earthy stains, 
Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. 


blest ! though but in fancy blest. 
How did I ask of Pity's care. 

To shield and strengthen, in thy breast, 
The nursling I had cradled there. 


And oft, they say, she scans it o'er. 
And oft, by this memorial aided, 

Brings back the pages now no more, 

And thinks of lines that long have faded. 


And, many an hour, beguil'd by pleasure. 
And many an hour of sorrow numbering, 

I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, 
I left within thy bosom slumbering. 


I know not if this tale be true. 

But +hus the simple facts are stated ; 

And X refer their truth to you, 

Since Love and j'ou are near related. 


Perhaps, indifference has not chLU'd it. 
Haply, it j'et a throb may give — 

Yet, no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it ; 
Say, dearest— tfoes the feeling live ? 


TO CARA, 

AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. 


TO CARA, 


Conceal'd within the shady wood 
A mother left her sleeping child, 

And flew, to cull her rustic food, 
The fruitage of the forest wild. 

But storms upon her pathway rise. 

The mother roams, astray and weeping ; 
7 


ON THE DAWNING OP A NEW YEAR's DAt 

When midnight came to close the year. 
We sigh'd to think it thus should take 

The hours it gave us — hours as dear 
As sympathy and love could make 

Their blessed moments, — every sun 

Saw us, my love, more closely one. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 
Which came a new year's light to shed, 

That smile we caught from eye to eye 
Told us, those moments were not fled ; 

O, no, — we felt, some future sun 

Should see us still more closely one. 

Thus may we ever, side by side, 
From happy years to happier glide ; 
And still thus may the passing sigh 

We give to hours, that vanish o'er us, 
Be foUow'd by the smiling eye. 

That Hope shaU shed on scenes before us ! 



TO 



1801. 



To be the theme of every hour 

The heart devotes to Fancy's power, 

When her prompt magic fills the mind 

With friends and joys we've left behind, 

And joys return and friends are near, 

And all are welcom'd with a tear : — 

In the mind's purest seat to dwell, 

To be remember' d oft and well 

By one whose heart, though vain and wild. 

By passion led, by youth beguLL'd, 

Can proudly still aspire to be 

All that may yet M'in smiles from thee : — 

If thus to live in every part 

Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart ; 

If thus to be its sole employ 

Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, 

Believe it, Mary, — O, believe 

A tongue that never can deceive. 

Though, erring, it too oft betray 

Ev'n more than Love should dare to say, — 

In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour, 

In crowded hall or lonely bower, 

The business of my life shall be. 

Forever to remember thee. 

And though that heart be dead to mine, 

Since Love is life and wakes not thine, 

I'll take thy image, as the form 

Of one whom Love had fail'd to warm, 

Which, though it yield no answering thrill. 

Is not less dear, is worshipp'd still — 

I'll take it, wheresoe'er I stray. 

The bright, cold burden of my way. 

To keep this semblance fresh in bloom. 

My heart shall be its lasting tomb, 

And Memory, with embalming care. 

Shall keep it fresh and fadeless there. 



THE GENIUS OF HARMONY. 

AN IRREGULAR ODE. 

Ad harmoniam canere miindum. 

Cicero dc JVat. Dear. lib. iil 

There lies a shell beneath the waves, 
In many a hollow winding wreath' d, 
Such as of old 
Echoed the breath that warbling sea maids 
breath'd ; 

This magic shell, 
From the white bosom of a siren fell. 
As once she wander' d by the tide that laves 
Sicilia's sands of gold. 
It bears 
Upon its shining side the mystic notes 

Of those entrancing airs,' 
The genii of the deep were wont to swell, 
When heaven's eternal orbs their midnight mu- 
sic roU'd ! 
O, seek it, wheresoe'er it floats ; 
And, if the power 
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear, 
Go, bring the bright shell to my bower, 
And I will fold thee in such downy dreams 
As lap the Spirit of the Seventh Sphere, 
When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his 
ear ! - 

And thou shalt own. 
That, through the circle of creation's zone, 
Where matter slumbers or where spirit beams; 

1 In the " Histoire Naturelle des Antilles," there is an ac- 
count of some curious shells, found at Curacoa, on the back 
of which were lines, filled with musical characters so dis- 
tinct and perfect, that the writer assures us a very charming 
trio was sung from one of them. " On le nomme musical, 
parcequ'il porte sur le dos des lignes noiratres pleines de 
notes, qui ont une espece de cle pour les mettre en cliant, de 
sorte que I'on diroit qu'il ne manque que la lettre cette ta- 
blature naturelle. Ce curieux gentilhomme (M. du Montel) 
rapporte qu'il en avu qui avoient cinq lignes, une cle, et des 
notes, qui fonnoient un accord parfait. Uuelqu'un y avoit 
ajoute la lettre, que la nature avoit oubliee, et la faisoit 
chanter en forme de trio, dont Pair etoit fort agrealde." — 
Chap. xix. art. 11. The author adds, a poet miglit imagine 
that these shells were used by the sirens at their com erts. 

2 According to Cicero, and his commentator, Macrobius, 
the lunar tone is the gravest and faintest on the planetary 
heptachord. " Uuam ob causam summus ille coeli stellifer 
cursus, cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto et excitato mo- 
vetur sono; gravissimo autem hie lunaris atque infimus." — 
Somn. Scip. Because, says Macrobius, "spiritu ut in extre- 
mitate lang'iescente jam volvitur, et propter angustias quibus 
penultimus orbis arctatur impetu leniore convertitur." — In 
Somn. Scip. lib. ii. cap. 4. In tlieir musical arrangement of 
heavenly bodies, the ancient writers are not very intelligi- 
ble. — See Ptolem. lib. iii. 



Jin^NILE POEMS. 



51 



From the pellucid tides,' that whirl 
The planets through their maze of song, 
To the small rill, that weeps along 
Murmuring o'er beds of pearl ; 
From the rich sigh 
Of the sun's arrow through an evening skj-,' 
To the faint breath the tuneful osier yields 

On Afric's burning fields ; ^ 
Thou'lt wondering own this universe divine 

Is mine ! 
That I rcspii-e in all and all in me. 
One mighty mingled soul of boundless har- 
mony. 

Welcome, welcome, mystic shell ! 
Many a star has ceas'd to burn,* 
Many a tear has Saturn's urn 
O'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept,* 
Since thy aerial spell 
Hath in the waters slept. 
Now blest I'll fly 
With the bright treasure to my choral sky, 
Where she, who wak'd its early swell, 
The Siren of the heavenly choir, 
Walks o'er the great string of my Orphic Lyre ; * 

I.eone Hebreo, pursuing the idea of Aristotle, that the 
heavens are animal, attributes their harmony to perfect and 
reciprocal love. " Non pero manca fra lore II perfetto et re- 
cii)roco amore : la causa principale, che ne mostra il loro 
amore, 4 la lor amicitia armonica et laconcordanza, che per- 
pefuamente si trova in loro." — Dialog, ii. di Amore, p. 58. 
Tliis " reciproco amore " of Leone is the 0(Aori;f of the an- 
cient Empedocles, who seems, in his Love and Hate of the 
Elements, to liave given a glimpse of the principles of attrac- 
tion and repulsion. See tlie fragment to which I allude in 
Laertius, AXXotc iicv (piXorriri, awtpxajicv', K. t. X., lib. viii. 
cap. 2, n. 19. 

1 Leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of vortices in 
the heavens, which he borrowed from Aiiaxagoras, and pos- 
sibly suggested to Descarteis 

2 Ileraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, conjectures 
that tlie idea of the harmony of the spheres originated with 
this poet, who, in representing the solar beams as arrows, 
supposes them to emit a peculiar sound in tlie air. 

3 In the account of Africa which D'Ablancourt has trans- 
lated, there is mention of a tree in that country, whose 
branches when shaken by the hand produce very sweet 
sounds. " Le meme auteur (Abenzegar) dit, qu'il y a un 
Certain arbre, qui produit des gaules comine d'osier, et qu'en 
les prenant i. la main et les branlant, elles font une espfece 
d'harinonie fort agreable," &c. &;c. — UAfrique de Marmol. 

< Alluding to the extinction, or at least the disappearance, 
of some of those tixed stars, which we are taught to consider 
as suns, attended each by its system, Descartes thought 
that our earth might formerly have been a sun, which became 
obscured by a thick incrustation over its surface. This prob- 
ably suggested the idea of a central fire. 

5 Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the sea to be a tear, 
Tiji' ^aXarrav jitv CKaXei civat 6aKovov (De Viti) ; and some 
sne else, if i .mistake not, has added the planet Saturn as the 
source of it. Empedocles, with similar afiectation, called 



Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of some blissful sou. :' 
While thou — 
O son of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee ! 
Beneath Hispania's sun, 
Thou'lt see a streamlet run. 
Which I've imbued with breathing melody ; * 
And there, when night winds down the current 

die, 
Thou'lt hear how like a harp its waters sigh • 
A liquid chord is every wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that blows.® 

There, by that wondrous stream, 
Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike dream. 
As never bless'd the slumbers even of him,'" 
Who, many a night, with his primordial lyre," 
Sate on the chill Pangsean mount,'^ 
And, looking to the orient sJira, 
Watch'd the first flowing of that sacred fount, 

From which his soul had drunk its fire. 
O, think what visions, in that lonely hour, 
Stole o'er his musing breast : 
What pious ecstasy '^ 

the sea "the sweat of the earth:" iVowrri rns yis- See 
RittershusiKS vpon Porphyry, Num. 4L 

6 The system of the harmonized orbs was styled by tue 
ancients the Great Lyre of Orpheus, for which Lucian thu* 
accounts : — /; (Ss Avpq ettu/zitoj eouo-o tt/v rov Ktiovixcvuv 
aarpwv apftoviav (rvvcSaXXcTo. k, r. X. in Aslrolog, 

^ Ai£(Ai' l//uxaf icnpidjiovg rniq airrpnt;, rvf (^£ 5' tKOornj- 
TTpoi iKaiTTov, Ktu tpSiSanai 'aZ E12 OXHiMA — " Distrib- 
uting the souls severally among the stars, and mounting each 
soul upon a star as on its chariot." — Plato, Timcsits. 

8 This musical river is mentioned in the romance of Achii 
les Tatius. Erti irorapov . . iii/ ^e aK'ivaai ^i.Xm tuv 
vSaroi XaXovvTOi. The Latin version, in supplying the 
hiatus which is in the oiiginal. has placed the river in His- 
pania. " In Hispania. quoque fluvius est,quem primo aspec 
tu," &c. &c. 

9 These two lines are tran.slated from the words of Achi'- 
les Tatius. Eav yap oXiyos avcjioi £ij ra; Sivag einreari, to 
licv v6o}p (OS x<M>^1 Kpoverai. to 6c irvcv/ia rov i'f'nros TtXr/K- 
rpov yivtrai. ro pcvfia 6e <uj Kidapa XaXa. — Lib. ii. 

10 Orpheus. 

11 They called his lyre apxaioTpnirov sxraxopSov Op^jtu, 
See a curious work by a professor of Greek at Venice, enti 
tied " Hebdomades, sive septera de septenario libri." — Lib 
iv. cap. 3, p. 177. 

1- Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme veneration of 
Orpheus for Apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to 
the Pangfflan mountain at daybreak, and there wait ihe 
rising of the sun, that he might be the first to hail its beams. 
ETTcyeipnixeva; re ms vvktos, Kara rqv ioyQivriv em to npi'S 
TO KaXoviiCfOf Ilayyatov, npoaenei/e ra; ayaroXas, li'a iSrj 
Toi' 'HAioi/ TTpioTov. — KaTaaTcptcjt, 24. 

13 Tliere are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us, which 
contain sublime ideas of the unity and magnificence of tho 
Deity. For instance, those which Justin Martyr has pic» 
duced : 



52 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose seal upon this new-born world imprest ' 
The various forms of bright divinity ! 

Or, dost thou know what dreams I wove, 
'Mid the deep horror of that silent bower,'' 
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber ? 
When, free 
From every earthly chain, 
From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of 
pain. 
His spirit flew through fields above. 
Drank at the source of nature's fontal number,' 
And saw, in mystic choir, around him move 
The stars of song, Heaven's burning minstrelsy ! 
Such dreams, so heavenly bright, 
I swear 
By the great diadem that twines my hair. 
And by the seven gems that sparkle there,'' 

Mingling their beams 
In a soft iris of harmonious light, 

O, mortal ! such shall be thy radiant dreams. 



I FOUND her not — the chamber seem'd 
Like some di-vanely-haunted place. 

Where fairy forms had lately beam'd. 
And left behind their odorous trace ! 

Obro; rjev xoXkeiov jj ovpavov eartjptKTat 

Xpvasiu) tvi ^povtD, K. T. \. M Orcec CohortaU 

It is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned 
amongst the fabrications, which were frequent ui tlie early 
times of Christianity. Still, it appears duutjtfui to whom 
they are to be attributed, being too ])ious for tlie Pagans, and 
too poetical for the Fathers. 

1 In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attributes a figured 
seal to Apollo, with wliich he imagines that deity to have 
stamped a variety of forms upon the universe. 

2 Alluding to the cave near Saraos, where Pythagoras de- 
voted the greater part of his days and nights to meditation 
and the mysteries of his philosophy. lamblkh. de Fit. This, 
as Holstein remarks, was in imitation of the Magi. 

3 The tetractys, or sacred number of the Pythagoreans, on 
which they solemnly swore, and which they called irayav 
Ufaov pvaeois, "the fountain of pereimial nature." Lucian 
Sas riaiculed this religious arithmetic very cleverly in his 
Sale of Pliilo-opliers. 

♦ This (Tiadem is intended to represent the analogy be- 
tween the notes ot music and the prismatic colors. We find 
in Plutarch a vague intimation of this kindred harmony in 
colors and sounds. — Otpi; tc xai axori, psra <pojvr]i rt xai 
(puiTOi Tr}v appovtav eiTi(puitnvai, — DeMusica. 

Cassiodorus, whose idea I may be supposed to have bor- 
rowed, says, in a letter upon music to Boetius, " Ut diadema 
oculis, varia luce gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate soni, 
blanditur auditui." This is indeed the only tolerable thought 
in the letter. — Lib. ii. Variar. 



It felt, as if her lips had shed 
A sigh around her, ere she fled. 
Which hung, as on a melting lute, 
When aU the silver chords are mute, 
There lingers still a trembling breath 
After the note's luxurious death, 
A shade of song, a spirit air 
Of melodies which had been there. 

I saw the veil, which, all the day, 

Had floated o'er her cheek of rose ; 
I saw the couch, where late she lay 

In languor of divine repose ; 
And I could trace the hallow'd print 

Her hmbs had left, as pure and warm, 
As if 'twere done in rapture's mind. 

And Love himself had stamp' d the form 

O my sweet mistress, where wert thou ? 

In pity fly not thus from me ; 
Thou art my life, my essence now, 

And my soul dies of wanting thee. 



MRS. HENRY TIGHE, 

ON BEADING HER "PSYCHE." 

Tell me the witching tale again. 
For never has ray heart or ear 

Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain. 
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 

Say, LoA'e, in all thy prime of fame, 
When the high heaven itself was thine ; 

When piety confess'd the flame. 
And even thy errors were divine ; 

Did ever Muse's hand, so fair, 

A glory round thy temples spread ? 

Did ever lip's ambrosial air 

Such fragrance o'er thy altars shed ? 

One maid there was, who round her 1)to 
The mystic myrtle wildly wreath'd ; — 

But all her sighs were sighs of fire. 
The myrtle wither' d as she breath'd. 

O, you, that love's celestial dream. 

In all its purity, would know, 
Let not the senses' ardent. beam 

Too strongly through the vision glow. 

Love safest lies, conceal'd in night. 

The night where heaven has bid him lie ; 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



53 



(), shed not there unhallow'd light, 
Or, Psyche knows, the boy will fly.' 

Sweet Psyche, many a charmed hour. 
Through many a wild and magic waste, 

To the fair fount and blissful bower '■' 
Have I, in dreams, thy light foot trac'd ! 

Where'er thy joys arc number'd now. 
Beneath whatever shades of rest. 

The Genius of the starry brow ' 
Hath bound thee to thy Cupid's breast ; 

Whether above the horizon dim, 

Along whose verge our spirits stray, — 

Half sunk beneath the shadowy rim, 
Half brighten'd by the upper ray, * — 

Thou dwellest in a world, all light. 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other souls, the guardian bright 

That Love was, through this gloom, to thee ; 

Still be the song to Pysche dear, 
The song, whose gentle voice was given 

To be, on earth, to mortal ear, 
An echo of her own, in heaven. 



FROM THE HIGH PRIEST OF APOLLO 

TO A VIRGIN OF DELPHI.* 
Cum digno digna 

SULPICIA. 

" Who is the maid, with golden hair, 
" With eye of fire, and foot of air, 

I See the story in Apnleius. With respect to this beauti- 
ful allegory of Love and Psyche, there is an ingenious idea 
Buggested by the senator Buonarotti, in his " Oi;servazioni 
Bopra alcuni frammenti di vasi antici." He thinks the fable 
is t;Uven from some very occult mysteries, which had long 
been celebrated in honor of Love ; and accounts, upon this 
Bupposition, for the silence of the more ancient authors upon 
the subject, as it was not till towards the decline of pagan 
Kuperstition, that writers could venture to reveal or discuss 
such ceremonies. Accordiufjly, observes tliis author, we find 
Lucian and Plutarch treating, without reserve, of the Dea 
t^yria, as well as of Isis and Osiris ; and Apuleius, to whom 
we are indebted fi^r the beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, 
has also detailed some of the mysteries of Isis. See the 
Giomale di Litterati d'ltalia, torn, xxvii. articol. 1. See also 
the observations upon the ancient gems in the Museum Flo- 
rentinum, vol. i. p. 156. 

I cannot avoid remarking here an error into which the 
French Encyclopedistes have lieen led by M. Spon, in their 
article Psyche. They say " Petrone (itit un recil de la pompe 
«uptiale de ces deu.x a.uans (Amour et Psyche). Deji, dit- 



" Whose harp around my altar swells, 
" The sweetest of a thousand shells ? " 
'Twas thus the deity, who treads 
The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 
Day from his eyelids — thus he spoke, 
As through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphelia is the Delphic fair,' 
With eyes of fire and golden hair, 
ApheUa's are the airy feet. 
And hers the harp divinely sweet ; 
For foot so light has never trod 
The laurell'd caverns' of the god, 
Nor harp so soft hath ever given 
A sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. 

" Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
" In looser pomp, her locks of gold, 
'« And bid those eyes more fondly shine 
" To welcome down a Spouse Divine ; 
"Since He, who lights the path of years - 
•' Even from the fount of morning's tears 
" To where his setting splendors burn 
'< Upon the western sea-maid's urn — 
" Doth not, in all his course, behold 
" Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. 



il," iScc. &;c. The Psyche of Petronius, however, is a ser- 
vant maid, and the marriage which he describes is that of 
the young Pannychis. See Spon's Recherclies curieuses, & « 
Dissertat. 5. 

2 Allusions to Mrs. Tighe's Poems. 

3 Constancy. 

* By this image the Platonists expressed the middle state 
of the soul between sensible and intellectual existence. 

6 This poem, as well as a few others in the following vol- 
ume, formed part of a work which I had early projected, and 
even announced to the public, but whicli, luckily, perhaps, 
for myself, had been interrupted by my visit to America in 
the year 1803. 

Among those impostures in which the priests of the pagan 
temples are known to have indulged, one of the most favor 
ite was that of announcing to some fair votary of the shrine 
that the God himself had become enamoured of her beauty, 
and would descend in all his glory, to pay her a visit vvitiiin 
the recesses of the fane. An adventure of this description 
formed an episode in the classic romance which I iiad 
sketched out ; and the short fragment, given above, "^elonge 
to an epistle by which the story was to have been intro- 
duced. 

6 In the 9th Pythic of Pindar, where Apollo, in the same 
manner, requires of Chiron some information respecting the 
fair Cyrene, the Centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologijes 
for telling the God what his omniscience must know so jier- 
fectly already : 

El (!£ yc xor) Kai irao irocpov at>Tt(pcpilat, 
Epto,- 

' AXX' CIS 6a(pi>(AiSn yvaXa Brjaoiiai rait. 

EuRiPiP- Ion. V "6. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



*' Tell her, he conies, iu blissful pride, 

•' His lip yet sparkling with the tide 

" That mantles in Olyminan bowls, — 

" The nectar of eternal souls ! 

•' For her, for her he quits the skies, 

" And to her kiss from nectar flies. 

" O, he would quit his star-thron'd height, 

" And leave the world to ])ine for light, 

" Might he but pass the hours of shade, 

•* Beside his peerless Delphic maid, 

" She, more than earthly woman blest, 

"He, more than god on woman's breast ! " 

There is a cave beneath the steep,' 
Where living rills of crystal weep 
O'er herbage of the loveliest hue 
That ever spring begemra'd with dew : 
There oft the greensward's glossy tint 
Is brighten'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad's feet, — 
Scarce touching earth, their step so fleet, — 
Til at there, by moonlight's ray, had trod, 
In light dance, o'er the verdant sod. 
" There, there," the god, impa'ssion'd, said, 
" Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
" And the dim orb of lunar souls "■' 
" Along its shadowy pathway rolls — 
'• There shall we meet, — and not ev'n He, 
"The God who reigns immortally, 
" Where Babel's turrets paint their pride 
" Upon th' Euphrates' shining tide, ■* — 
" Not ev'n when to his midnight loves 
"In mystic majesty he moi-es, 
" Lighted by many an odorous fire, 
" And hymn'd by all Chaldea's choir, — 
«' E'er yet, o'er mortal brow, let shine 
" Such effluence of Love Divine, 
" As shall to-night, blest maid, o'er thine." 

Happy the maid, whom heaven allows 
To break for heaven her virgin vows ! 



1 The Cor>'cian Cave, which Pausanias mentions. The 
inhabitants of Parnassus lield it sacred to the Corycian 
nyinphs, who were children of tlie River Plistus. 

2 See note 1. p. 102. It should seeru that lunar spirit"! 
were of a purer order than spirits in general, as Pythag- 
oras was said by his followers to have descended from 
the regions of tlie moon. The heresiarch Manes, in the same 
manner, imagined that the sun and moon are the residence 
»f Christ, and that the ascension was notliing more than his 
Bight to those orbs. 

3 The temple of Jupiter Belus, at Babylon ; in one of 
whose towers there was a large chapel set apart for these 
celestial assignations. " No man is allc wed to sleep here," 
says Herodotus ; " but the apartment is appropriated to a fe- 
male, wh-'vn if wc believe tha Chaldean priests, the deity 



Happy the maid ! — her robe of shame 
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame, 
AVhose glory, with a lingering trace, 
Shines through and deifies her race!* 



FRAGMENT. 

Pity me, love ! I'll pity thee, 
If thou indeed has felt like me. 
All, all my bosom's peace is o'er ! 
At night, which loas mj' hour of calm, 
When from the page of classic lore, 
From the pure fount of ancient lay 
My soul has drawn the placid balm, 
Which charm'd its every grief away, 
Ah ! there I find that balm no more. 
Those spells, which make us oft forget 
The fleeting troubles of the day, 
In deeper sorrows only whet 
The stings they cannot tear away. 
When to my pillow rack'd I fly. 
With wearied sense and wakeful eye, 
While my brain maddens, where, O, where 
Is that serene consoling pray'r. 
Which once has harbinger'd my rest, 
When the still soothing voice of Heaven 
Hath seem'd to whisper in my breast, 
'• Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven I " 
No, though I still in semblance pray, 
My thoughts are wandering far away. 
And even the name of Deity 
Is murmur' d out in sighs for thee. 



A NIGHT THOUGHT. 

How oft a cloud, with envious veil. 

Obscures yon bashful light. 
Which seems so modestly to steal 

Along the waste of night ! 

'Tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs 

Obscure with malice keen 
Some timid heart, which only longs 

To live and die unseen. 

selects from the women of the countr-, as his favorite.' 
Lib. i. cap. 181. 

* Fontenelle, in his playful rifachnento of the learned nja- 
terials of Van-Dale, has related in his own inimitable man- 
ner an adventure of this kind which was detected and 
exposed at Alexandria. See L'Histoire des Oracles, dissert, 
2, chap. vii. Crebillon, too, in one of his most amusing litlla 
stories, has made the Genie Mange-Taupes, of the Isle Jon- 
quille, assert this privflege of spiritual beings in a muniiei 
rather formidable to the husbands of the island. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



55 



THE KISS. 

Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss, 
On which my soul's beloved swore 
That there should come a time of bliss. 
When she would mock my hopes no more. 
And fancy shall thy glow renew. 
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night. 
And none shall steal thy holy dew 
Till thou'rt absolv'd by rapture's rite. 
Sweet hours that are to make me blest, 
.Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal. 
And let my love, my more than soul, 
Come blushing to this ardent breast. 
Then, while in every glance I drink 
The rich o'erflowings of her mind, 
O, let her all enamour' d sink 
In sweet abandonment resign' d. 
Blushing for all our struggles past, 
4nd murmuring, " I am thine at last ! " 



J- 



SONG. 

Think on that look whose melting ray 
For one sweet moment mix'd with mine, 

A.nd for that moment seem'd to say, 
" I dare not, or I would be thine ! " 

Think on thy ev'ry smile and glance. 
On all thou hast to charm and move ; 

A.nd then forgive my bosom's trance, 
Nor tell me it is sin to love. 

O, noi to love thee were the sin ; 

For sure, if Fate's decrees be done, 
Thou, thou art destin'd still to Avin, 

As I am destin'd to be won ! 



' THE CATALOGUE. 

•' Come, tell me," says Rosa, as kissing and kiss'd. 

One day she reclin'd on my breast ; 
" Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list 

" Of the nymphs you have lov'd and caress'd." 
Rosa ! 'twas only my fancy that roved. 

My heart at the moment was free ; 
But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved, 

And the number shall finish with thee. 

My tutor was Kitty ; in infancy wild 
She taught me the way to be blest ; 

She taught me to love her, I lov'd like a child, 
But Kitty could fancy the rest 



This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 

I have never forgot, I allow : 
I have had it bi/ rote very often before. 

But never by heart until now. 

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all 
flame. 

But my head was so full of romance 
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame. 

And I was her knight of the lance. 
But Martha was not of this fanciful school, 

And she laugh'd at her poor little knight ; 
While I thought her a goddess, she thought me 
a fool, 

And I'll swear she was most in the right. 

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, 

Again I was tempted to rove ; 
But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books 

That she gave me more logic than love. 
So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly 

To those sweeter logicians in bliss. 
Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye. 

And convince us at once with a kiss. 

0, Susan was then all the world unto me. 

But Susan was piously given ; 
And the worst of it was, we could never agree 

On the road that was shortest to Heaven. 
" O, Susan ! " I've said, in the moments of mirth- 

" What's devotion to thee or to me ? 
•♦ I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, 

" And believe that that heaven's in thee ! " 



IMITATION OF CATULLUS. 

TO HIMSELF. 

Miser Catullc, desinas ineptire, &;c. 

Cease the sighing fool to play ; 
Cease to trifle life away ; 
Nor vainly think those joys thine own, 
Which all, alas, have falsely flown. 
What hours, Catullus, once were thine. 
How fairly seem'd thy day to shine. 
When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile was then so sweet — 
The girl thou lov'dst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heai't can feel again. 

Ye met — your souls seem'd all in one, 
Like tapers that commingling shone ; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both, 
And hers, in truth, was nothing loatl 



56 JUVENILE POEMS. 


Such were the hours that once were thine ; 


J 


But, ah ! those hours no longer shine. 


EPIGRAM, 


For now the nymph delights no more 


FROM THE FRENCH. 


In what she lov'd so much before ; 




And all Catullus now can do, 


" I NEVER give a kiss (says Prue), 


Is to be proud and frigid too ; 
Nor follow where the wanton flies, 


•• To naughty man, for I abhor it." 


She will not give a kiss, 'tis true ; 


Nor sue the bliss that she denies. 


She'll take one though, and thank you for it 


False maid ! he bids farewell to thee, 




To love, and all love's misery ; 




The heydaj- of his heart is o'er, 




Nor will he court one favor more. 


ON A SQUINTING POETESS. 




To no oiie Muse does she her glance confine, 


Fly, pcrjur'd girl ! — but whither fly ? 


But has an eye, at once, to all the Nine ! 


Who now will praise thy cheek and eye ? 




Who noAV will drink the siren tone, 




Which tells him thou art all his own ? 


i 


0, none :— and he who lov'd before 




Can never, never love thee more. 


J 




Moria pur quando vnol, non fe bisogna mutar ni faccia nl 




voce per esser un Angelo.i 


" Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more ! " 


Die when you wiU, you need not wear 


St. John, chap. viii. 


At Heaven's Court a form more fair 


WOMAN, if through sinful wile 


Than Beauty here on earth has given : 


Thy soul hath stray'd from honor's track, 


Keep but the lovely looks we see — 


Tis mercy only can beguile, 


The voice we hear — and you will be 


By gentle ways, the wanderer back. 


An angel ready made for Heaven ! 


The stain that on thy virtue lies. 




Wash'd by those tears, not long will stay ; 


TO ROSA. 


As clouds that sully morning skies 


A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti. Past. Fid. 


May all be wept in show'rs away. 






And are you then a thing of art. 


Go, go, be innocent, — and live ; 


Seducing all, and loving none ; 


The tongues of men may wound thee sore ; 


And have I strove to gain a heart 


But Heav'n in pity can forgive. 


Which every coxcomb thinks his own? 


And bids thee " go, and sin no more ! " 






Tell me at once if this be true, 




, And I -vviU calm my jealous breast ; 




Will learn to join the dangling crew. 


NONSENSE. 


And share your simpers with the rest. 


Goon reader ! if you o'er have seen, 


But if your heart be not so free, — 


When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, 


0, if another share that heart, 


The mermaids, with their tresses green, 


Tell not the hateful tale to me. 


Dancing upon the western billow : 


But mingle mercy with your art. 


If you have seen, at twilight dim. 




When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 


I'd rather think you '< false as hell," 


Floats wild along the winding shore. 


Than find you to be all divine, — 


If you have seen, through mist of eve. 


Than know that heart could love so well. 


The fairy train their ringlets weave. 


Yet know that heart would not be mine ! 


Glancing along the spangled green : — 




If you have seen all this, and more. 


1 The words addressed by Lord Herbert of Cherbury to 


God bless me, what a deal you've seen ! 


the beautiful Nun at Murano. — See his Life. 



jxjVenile poems. 



57 



TO PHILLIS. 

Phillis, you little rosy rake, 

That heart of yours I long to rifle ; 

Come, give it mc, and do not make 
So much ado about a trifle ! 



TO A LADY, 

ox HER SINGING. 

Thy song has taught my heart to feel 

Tliose soothing thoughts of heavenly love, 

Which o'er the sainted spirits steal 
When list'ning to the spheres above ! 

When, tired of life and misery, 

I wish to sigh my latest breath, 
0, Emma ! I will fly to thee. 

And thou shait sing me into death. 

And if along thy lip and cheek 

That smile of heav'nly softness play, 

Which, — ah ! forgive a mind that's weak, — 
So oft has stol'n my mind away ; 

Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky, 
That comes to charm me into bliss : 

I'll gaze and die — Who would not die. 
If death were half so sweet as this ? 



SONG. 

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. . 

WKITTKN IN IRELAND. 1709. 

kJf all my happiest hours of joy, 

And even I have had my measure. 
When hearts are full, and every eye 

Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, 
An hour like this I ne'er was given. 

So full of friendship's purest blisses ; 
Young Love himself looks down from heaven, 
To smile on such a day as this is. 

Then come, my friends, this hour improve, 

Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever; 
And may the birth of her we love 
Be thus with joy remember' d ever ! 

O, banish ev'ry thought to-night. 

Which could di.sturb our soul's communion ; 
A.bandon'd thus to dear delight. 

We'll ev'n for once forget the Union ! 



On that let statesmen try their powers. 
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for: 

The union of the soul be ours. 
And ev'ry union else we sigh for. 

Then come, ray friends, &c. 

In ev'ry eye around I mark 

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing ; 
From every soul I catch the spark 

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
O, could such moments ever fly ; 

O, that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em ; 
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye, 

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 

For me, whate'er my span of years, 

Whatever sun may light my roving ; 
Whether I waste my life in tears, 

Or live, as now, for mirth and loving , 
This day shall come with aspect kind, 

Wherever fate may cast your rover ; 
Ile'U think of those he left behind, 

And drink a health to bliss that's over ! 

Then come, my friends, &o 



J 



SONG.' 



Mary, I bellev'd thee true. 

And I was blest in thus believing * 

But know I mourn that e'er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well. 

Few have ever lov'd like me, — 

Yes, I have lov'd thee too sincerely ! 

And few have e'er decciv'd like thee, — 
Alas ! deceiv'd me too severely. 

Fare thee well ! — j-et think a while 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee ; 

Who now would rather trust that smile. 
And die with thee than live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I'll think of thee. 
Thou leav'st me many a bitter token ; 

For see, distracting woman, see. 

My peace is gone, my heart is broken ! — 
Fare thee well ! 



1 These words were written to the pathetic Scotcli all 
' Galla Water." 



58 JUVENILE PuF,\TS, 




" Pleasure's the only noble end 


MORALITY. 


" To which all human powers shovild tend, 




" And Virtue gives her heav'nlj' lore, 
"But to make Pleasure please us more. 


A FAMILIAR KPISTLE. 


4DDBESSBD TO 


" Wisdom and she were both design'd 


J. AT— NS— N, ESQ., M. R. I. A. 


" To make the senses more refin'd, 




" That man might revel, free from cloying. 


Ihough long at school and college dozing, 


" Then most a sage when most enjoying ! " 


O'er books of verse and books of prosing. 




And copying from their moral pages 


Is this morality ? — 0, no ! 


Fine recipes for making sages , 


E'en I a wiser path could show. 


Though long with those divines at school, 


The flow'r within this vase confin'd, 


"Who think to make us good by rule ; 


The pure, the unfading flow'r of mind, 


Who in methodic forms advancing. 


Must not throw all its sweets away 


Teaching morality like dancing, 


Upon a mortal mould of clay : 


TeU us, for Heav'n or money's sake, 


No, no, — its richest breath should rise 


What steps we are through life to take : 


In virtue's incense to the skies. 


Though thus, my friend, so long employ'd, 




With so much midnight oil destroy' d, 


But thus it is, all sects we see 


I must confess, my searches past, 


Have watchwords of morality: 


I've only leam'd to doubt at last. 


Some cry out Venus, others Jove ; 


I find the doctors and the sages 


Here 'tis Religion, there 'tis Love. 


Have differ' d in all climes and ages, 


But while they thus so widely wander, 


And two in fifty scarce agree 


WhUe mystics dream, and doctors ponder ; 


On what is pure morality. 


And some, in dialectics firm. 


'Tis like the rainbow's shifting zone, 


Seek virtue in a middle term ; 


And every vision makes its own. 


While thus they strive, in Heaven's defiance, 




To chain morality with science ; 


The doctors of the Porch advise, 


The plain good man, whose actions teach 


As modes of being great and wise, 


More virtue than a sect can preach. 


That we should cease to own or know 


Pursues his course, unsagely blest. 


The luxuries that from feeling flow : — 


His tutor whisp'ring in his breast ; 


" Reason alone must claim direction. 


Nor could he act a purer part, 


" And Apathy's the soul's perfection. 


Though he had TuUy all by heart. 


" Like a dull lake the heart must lie ; 


And when he drops the tear on woe. 


" Nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh. 


He little knows or cares to know 


" Though Heav'n the breeze, the breath, sup- 


That Epictetus blam'd that tear, 


phed, 


By Heav'n approv'd, to virtue dear ! 


♦'Must curl the wave or swell the tide ! " 






0, when I've seen the morning beam 


Such was the rigid Zeno's plan 


Floating within the dimpled stream ; 


To form his philosophic man ; 


While Nature, wak'ning from the night, 


Such were the modes he taught mankind 


Has just put on her robes of light. 


To weed the garden of the mind ; 


Have I, with cold optician's gaze, 


They tore from thence some weeds, 'tis true, 


Explor'd the doctrine of those rays ? 


But aU the flow'rs were ravag'd too ! 


No, pedants, I have left to you 




Nicely to sep'rate hue from hue. 


Now listen to the wily strains 


Go, give that moment up to art. 


Which, on Gyrene's sandy plains. 


When Heav'n and nature claim the heart ; 


When Pleasure, nymph with loosen'd zone 


And, dull to all their best attraction. 


Usurp'd the philosophic throne, — 


Go — measure angles of refraction. 


Hear what the courtly sage's ' tongue 


While I, in feeling's sweet romance, 


To his surrounding pupils sung : — 


Look on each daybeam as a glance 




From the great eye of Him above, 


1 Aristippus. 


Wak'uuig his world with looks of love I 



JUVENILE POEMS. 69 




Her locks had with the chords so wrcath'd, 


THE TELL-TALE LYRE. 


One knew not which gave forth the sound. 


I've heard, there was in ancient days 


Alas, their hearts but little thought. 


A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 


While thus they talk'd the hours away, 


'Twas heav'n to hear its fairy lays, 


That every sound the Lyre was taught 


If half be true that legends tell. 


Would linger long, and long betray. 


'Twas play'd on by the gentlest sighs, 


So mingled with its tuneful soul 


And to tlieir breath it breath'd again 


Were all their tender murmurs grown. 


In such entrancing melodies 


That other sighs unanswer'd stole. 


As ear had never drunk tiU then ! 


Nor words it breath'd but theirs alone. 


Not harmony's serenest touch 


Unhappy nymph ! thy name was sung 


So stilly could the notes prolong ; 


To every breeze that wander'd by; 


They were not heavenly song so much 


The secrets of thy gentle tongue 


As they were dreams of heav'nly song ! 


Were breath'd in song to earth and sky. 


IS sad the heart, whose murmuring air 


The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hand 


Along the chords in languor stole, 


Hung high amid the whisp'ring groves, 


The numbers it awaken'd there 


To every gale by which 'twas fann'd. 


Were eloquence from pity's soul. 


Proclaimed the mystery of your loves. 


Or if the sigh, serene and light, 


Nor long thus rudely was thy name 


Was but the breath of fancied woes, 


To earth's derisive echoes given ; 


The string, that felt its airy flight, 


Some pit}ing spirit downward came. 


Soon whisper'd it to kind repose. 


And took the Lyre and thee to heaven. 


And when young lovers talk'd alone, 


There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, 


If, mid their bliss that Lyre was near, 


Both happy in Love's home shall be ; 


It made their accents all its own, 


Thou, uttering nought but seraph songs. 


And sent forth notes that heav'n might hear. 


And that sweet Lyre still echoing thee ! 


There was a nymph, who long had lov'd. 




But dar'd not tell the world how well: 




The shades, where she at evening rov'd. 


PEACE AND GLORY. 


Alone could know, alone could tell. 






WEITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAB. 


'Twas there, at twilight time, she stole, 


Where is now the smile, that lighten'd 


When the first star announc'd the night, — 


Every hero's couch of rest ? 


With him who claim'd her inmost soul, 


Where is now the hope, that brighten'd 


To wander by that soothing light. 


Honor's eye and Pity's breast ? 




Have we lost the wreath we braided 


It chanc'd that, in the fairy bower 


For our weary warrior men ? 


Where blest they wooed each other's smile, 


Is the faithless olive faded ? 


This Lyre, of strange and magic power. 


Must the bay be pluck' d again ? 


Hung whisp'ring o'er their heads the while. 






Passing hour of sunny weather ! 


And as, with eyes commingling fire, > 


Lovely, in your light a while. 


They listen'd to each other's vow, 


Peace and Glory, wed together, 


The youth full oft would make the Lyre 


Wander'd through our blessed isle. 


A pillow for the maiden's brow : 


And the eyes of Peace would glisten, 




Dewy as a morning sun, 


And, while the melting words she breath'd 


When the timid maid would listen 


Were by its echoes wafted rouiid, 


. To the deeds her chief had done. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Is their hour of dalliance over ? 

Must the maiden's trembling feet 
Waft her from her warlike lover 

To the desert's still retreat ? 
Fare you well ! with sighs we banish 

Nymph so fair and guests so bright ; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish, 

Leaves behind a soothing light ; — 

Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 

O'er your warrior's sanguin'd way, 
Through the field where horrors darkle, 

Shedding hope's consoling ray. 
Long the smile his heart wiU cherish, 

To its absent idol true ; 
"While around him myriads perish, 

Glory still will sigh for you ! 



v' 



SONG. 



Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment breath'd to me ; 
Yet, no — it must not, will not part, 
'Tis now the life breath of my heart. 
And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh 

With all the warmth of truth impress'd ; 
Yet, no — the fatal kiss may lie. 
Upon thy lip its sweets would die, 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 

Take Back the vows that, night and day. 

My heart rccciv'd, I thought, from thine ; 
Yet. no — allow them still to stay. 
They might some other heart betray, 
As sweetly as they've ruin'd mine. 



LOVE AND REASON. 
' Quand I'homine commence i raisonner, il cesse de sentir." 

J. J. ROUSSEAU.I 

'TwAS in the summer time so sweet, 

When hearts and flowers are both in season. 

That — who, of all the world, should meet. 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 

Love told h's dream of yesternight, 

While Reason talked about the weather ; 

The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright. 
And on they took their way together. 

Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre's Etudes de la Nature. 



The boy in many a gambol flew, 
Wliile Reason, like a Juno, stalk' d, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd. 

No wonder Love, as on they pass'd, 
Should find that sunny morning chill, 

For still the shadow Reason cast 

Fell o'er the boy, and cool'd him still. 

In vain he tried his Avings to warm, 

Or find a pathway not so dim. 
For still the maid's gigantic form 

Would stalk between the sun and him. 

•' This must not be," said little Love — 
" The sun was made for more than you," 

So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gayly roves the laughing boy 

O'er many a mead, by many a stream ; 

In every breeze inhaling joy, 

And drinking bliss in every beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers, 
He cull'd the many sweets they shaded, 

And ate the fruits and smell'd the flowers, 
Tin taste was gone and odor faded. 

But now the sun, in pomp of noon, 
Look'd blazing o'er the sultry plains ; 

Alas ! the boy grew languid soon. 

And fever thrill'd through all his veins. 

The dew forsook his baby brow. 

No more with healthy bloom he smil'd — 
O, where was tranquil Reason now, 

To cast her shadow o'er the child ? 

Beneath a green and aged palm, 

His foot at length for shelter turning, 

He saw the nymph reclining calm. 
With brow as cool as his was burning. 

" 0, take me to that bosom cold," 
In murmurs at her feet he said ; 

And Reason op'd her garment's fold, 
And flung it round his fever' d head. 

He felt her bosom's icy touch, 

And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest ; 

For, ah ! the chill was quite too much, 
And Love expir'd on Reason's breast ! 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



ol 



Nat, do not weep, my Fanny dear ; 

While in these arms you lie, 
This world hath not a wish, a fear, 
That ought to cost that eye a tear, 

That heart one single sigh. 

The world ! — ah, Fanny, Love must shun 
The paths where many rove ; 

One bosom to recline upon, 

One heart to be his only one, 
Are quite enough for Love. 

What can we wish, that is not here 

Between your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy sphere 
Two loving arms intwine ? 

For me, there's not a lock of jet 

Adown your temples curl'd, 
Within whose glossy, tangling net, 
My soul doth not, at once, forget 

All, all this worthless world. 

'Tis in those eyes, so full of love, 

My only worlds I see ; 
Let but their orbs in sunshine move, 
And earth below and skies above 

May frown or smile for me. 



ASPASIA. 

'TwAS in the fair Aspasia's bower, 
That Love and Learning, many an hour, 
In dalliance met ; and Learning smil'd 
With pleasure on the playful child, 
Who often stole, to find a nest 
Within the folds of Learning's vest. 

There, as the listening statesman hung 
In transport on Aspasia's tongue. 
The destinies of Athens took 
Their color from Aspasia's look. 
O happy time, wdien laws of state. 
When all that rul'd the country's fate, 
Its glory, quiet, or alarms. 
Was plann'd between two snow-white arms ! 

Blest times ! they could not always last — 
And yet, ev'n now, they are not past, 
Though we have lost the giant mould, 
Tn which ^^l^eir men were cast of old, 



Woman, dear woman, still the same. 
While beauty breathes through soul or frame^ 
While man possesses heart or eyes, 
Woman's bright empire never dies ! 

No, Fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, 
That beauty's charm hath pass'd away ; 
Give but the universe a soul 
Attun'd to woman's soft control. 
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill. 
To wield a universe at will. 



THE GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM OF THE 
BLESSED ISLANDS.' 

TO HER LOVER. 

II«&aj'opr)5, baaoi re x'>P''>' (rrnpi^av tpioTO^. 
A7roX\o)v vepi nAajrivou. 

Oracul. Metric, a Joan. Opsop. collccta 

Was it the moon, or was it morning's ray. 
That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away? 
Scarce had'st thou left me, when a dream of 

night 
Came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright, 
That, while I yet can vividly recall 
Its witching wonders, thou shalt hear them all. 
Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam, 
Two winged boys, such as thy muse might 

dream. 
Descending from above, at that still hour. 
And gliding, with smooth step, into ray bower. 
Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day, 
In Amatha's warm founts imprison'd stay,* 
But rise at midnight, from th' enchanted rill. 
To cool their plumes upon some moonlight 

hiU. 

1 It was imagined by some of the ancients tliat there is an 
ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two 
floating, luminous islands, in which the spirits of the blest 
reside. Accordingly we find that the word Jl^cavot waa 
sometimes synonymous with anp, and death was net lus- 
frequently called SlKcai/oio iropoj, or " the passage of the 
ocean." 

2 EunapiuSjin his life of lamblichus, tells us of two beau- 
tiful little spirits or loves, which lamblichus raised by en- 
chantment from the warm springs at Gadara ; " dicens astan- 
tibus (says the author of the Dii Fatidici, p. 160,) illos esse 
loci Genios : " which words, however, are not in Eunapius. 

I find from Cellarius, that Amatlia, in the neiahlmrhood of 
Gadara, was also celebrated for its warm springs, and I have 
preferred it as a more poetical name than Gadara. Cellarius 
quotes Hieronymus. " Est et alia villa in vicinia Gadara 
nomine Amatlia, ubi calidae aquje erumpunt." — Gcograph 
Anliii. lib. iii. cap. 13. 



82 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



At once I knew their mission ; — 'twas to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of air, 
To that elysian realm, from whence stray beams 
So nft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch dissolv'd the ties, that clung 
All earthly round me, and aloft 1 sprung ; 
AVhile, heav'nward guides, the little genii flew 
Through paths of light, refresh' d by heaven's 

own dew, 
And fann'd by airs still fragrant with the breath 
Of cloudless climes and worlds that know not 

death. 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our nether sky. 
And shown but dimly to man's erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of blue ether rolls,' 
Gemm'd with bright islands, where the chosen 

souls. 
Who've pass'd in lore and love their eartlily 

hours. 
Repose forever in unfading bowers. 
That very moon, whose solitary light 
So often guides thee to my bower at night. 
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love. 
Floating in splendor through those seas above. 



1 This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or " waters above 
the firmament," was one of tlie many physical errors in 
which the early fathers bewildered tlicinselves. Le P. Eal- 
tus, in his " Defense des Saints P^res accuses de Plato- 
nisme," taking it for granted that the ancients were more 
correct in their notions (which by no means appears from 
wliat I have already quoted), adduces the obstinacy of the 
fathers, in this whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repug- 
nance to even truth from the hands of the philosophers. This 
is a strange way of defending tlie fathers, and attributes 
much more than they deserve to the philosophers. For an 
abstract of this work of Baltus, (the opposer of Fontenelle, 
Van Dale, &c., in the famous Oracle controversy,) see 
" Bibliothfeque des Auteurs Ecclesiast. du 180 siecle, part 1, 
tom. ii." 

2 There w^ere various opinions among the ancients with re- 
Bpect to their lunar establishment ; some made it an elysium, 
and (ithers a purgatory ; while some supposed it to be a 
kind of eiitrep6t between heaven and earth, where souls 
which had left their bodies, and those that were on their way 
to join them, were deposited in the valleys of Hecate, and 
remained till further orders. Toij Trepi a-yrivrfv aepi Xr.yitv 
VVTaiKaroiKcii'jKai urr' avrrjy Karwxoipstv et; Tqv nepiyeiov 
jfJcaiv. — Stub. lib. i. Eclog. Physic. 

3 The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his 
"dear little Leontium " {Acnvrapiov), as appears by a frag- 
ment of one of his letters in Laertius. This Leontium was 
a woman of talent ; " she had the impudence (says Cicero) 
to write auaiiist Tlieophrastus ; " and Cicero, at the same 
time, gives her a name which is neither polite nor translata- 
ble. " Meretricula etiam Leontium contra Theophrastum 
Bcribere ansa est." — De JVatur. Dear. She left a daughter 
called Danae, who was just as rigid an epicurean as her 
mother : sometliing like Wieland's Danae in Agathon. 

It would sound much better, I think, if the name were 



And peopled with bright forms, aerial grown, 
Nor knowing aught of earth but love alone. 
Thither, I thought, we wing'd our airy way: — 
Mild o'er its valleys stream'd a silvery day, 
While, all around, on lily beds of rest, 
Reclin'd the spirits of the immortal Blest.* 
O, there I met those few congenial maids, 
Whom love hath warm'd, in philosophia 

shades; 
There still Leontium,' on her sage's breast, 
Found lore and love, was tutor'd and caress'c ; 
And there the clasp of Pythia's* gentle arms 
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms. 
The Attic Master,* in Aspasia's eyes, 
Forgot the yoke of less endearing ties ; 
While fair Theano,* innocently fair, 
Wreath'd playfully her Samian's flowing hair,'' 
Whose soul now fix'd, its transmigrations 

past. 
Found in those arms a resting-place, at last ; 
And smiling own'd, whate'er his dreamy thought 
In mystic numbers long had vainly sought, 
The One that's form'd of Two whom love hath 

bound, 
Is the best number gods or men e'er found. 



Leontia, as it occurs the first time in Laertius ; but M. Ma- 
nage will not hear of this reading. 

* Pytliia was a woman whom Aristotle loved, and to 
whom after her death he paid divine honors, solemnizing 
her memory by the same sacrifices which the Athenians of- 
fered to the Goddess Ceres. For tliis impious gallantry the 
philosopher was, of course, censured ; but it would be well 
if certain of our modern Stagirites showed a little of this 
superstition about the memory of their mistresses. 

6 Socrates, who used to console himself in the society of 
Aspasia for those " less endearing ties " which he found at 
home with Xantippe. For an account of this extraordinary 
creature, Aspasia, and her school of erudite lu.\ury at Ath- 
ens, see L'Histoire de I'Academie, &c. tom. xx\\. p. 69. 
Segur rather fails on the inspiring subject of Aspasia. — 
" Les Femmes," tom. i. p. 193. 

The Author of tlie " Voyage du Monde de Descartes " has 
also placed tliesa philosophers in the moon, and has allotted 
seigneuries to them, as well as to the astronomers (part ii. 
p. 143) ; but he ought not to have forgotten their wives and 
mistresses ; " curs non ipsa in morte relinquunt." 

« There are some sensible letters extant under the name of 
this fair Pytliagorean. They are addressed to her female 
friends upon the education of children, the treatment of ser- 
vants, &c. One, in particular, to Nicostrata, whose husband 
had given her reasons for jealousy, contains such truly con- 
siderate and rational advice, that it ought to be translated for 
the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's Opuscul. 
Myth. Phys. p. 741. 

7 Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and Doctor 
Thiers (in his Histoire des Perruques) seems to take for 
granted it was all his own ; as he has not mentioned him 
among those ancients who were obliged to have recourse to 
the " coma apposititia." L'Hist. des Perruques, chap. i. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



But think, my Theon, with what joy I thrill'd, 
When near a fount, which through the valley 

rill'd, 
My fancy's eye beheld a form recline, 
Of lunar race, but so resembling thine 
That. 0. 'twas but fidelity in me, 
To fly, to clasp, to worship it for thee. 
No aid of words the unbodied soul requires, 
To waft a wish or embassy desires ; 
But by a power, to spirits only given, 
A deep, mute impulse, only felt in heaven. 
Swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies, 
From soul to soul the glanc'd idea flies. 

O, my beloved, how divinely sweet 
Is the pure joy, when kindred spirits meet ! 
I, ike him, the river god,' whose waters flow, 
With love their only light, through caves below. 
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, 
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids 
Have deck'd his current, as an ofl"ering meet 
To lay at Arethusa's shining feet. 
Think, when he meets at last his fountain 

bride. 
What perfect love mixst thrill the blended tide ! 
Each lost in each, till, mingling into one. 
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun, 
A type of true love, to the deep they run. 
'Twas thus — 

But, Theon, 'tis an endless theme. 
And thou grow'st weary of my half-told dream. 
O would, my love, we were together now. 
And I would woo sweet patience to thy brow. 
And make thee smile at all the magic tales 
Of starlight bowers and planetary vales, 
Which my fond soul, inspir'd by thee and love, 
In slumber's loom hath fancifully wove. 
But no ; no more — soon as to-morrow's ray 
O'er soft Ilissus shall have died away, 
I'll come, and, while love's planet in the west 
Shines o'er our meeting, tell thee all the rest. 



TO CLOE. J 

IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. 

I COULD resign that eye of blue, 

Howe'er its splendor used to thrill me ; 

1 The River Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa or Olympia, 
and into which it was customary to throw offerings of differ- 
ent kinds, during the celebration of the Olympic games. In 
the pretty romance of Clitophon and Leucippe, the river is 
supposed to carry these offerings as bridal gifts to the foun- 
tain Arethusa. Kai ciri rn" ApcOnvaai/ oino tov AXi/ieiuv 
vviiipoaTuXi.i, brav ovv i) TbJV oXviinioiu iopTt],K.T. X. Lib. i. 



And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue, — 
To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. 

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, 
However much I've rav'd about it ; 

And sweetly as that lip can kiss, 
I thi?ik I could exist without it. 

In short, so well I've learn'd to fast, 

That, sooth my love, I know not whcthei 

I might not bring myself at last. 
To — do without you altogether. 



THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN. 

I BRING thee, love, a golden chain, 
I bring thee too a floAvery wreath ; 

The gold shall never wear a stain, 

The flow'rets long shall sweetly breathe 

Come, tell me which the tie shall be. 

To bind thy gentle heart to me. 

The Chain is form'd of golden-threads, 

Bright as Minerva's yellow hair. 
When the last beam of evening sheds 

Its calm and sober lustre there. 
The Wreath's of brightest myrtle wove, 

With sun-lit drops of bliss among it. 
And many a rose leaf, cuU'd by Love, 

To heal his lip when bees have stung it. 
Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 
To bind thy gentle heart to me. 

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye. 

Which answers when the tongue is loath, 
Thou lik'st the form of either tie, 

And spread'st thy playfuj hands for both. 
Ah ! — if there were not something wrong, 

The world would see them blended oft ; 
The Chain would make the Wreath so strong ; 

The Wreath would make the Chain so soft ! 
Then might the gold, the flow'rets be 
Sweet fetters for my love and me. 

But, Fanny, so unblest they twine, 

That (heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus they cease to shine. 

Or shine but for a transient season. 
Whether the Chain may press too much. 

Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, 
Let but the gold the flow'rets touch. 

And all their bloom, their glow is faded ! 
O, better to be always free. 
Than thus to bind my love to me 



64 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



The timid girl now hung her head, 

And, as she turn'd an upward glance, 
I saw a doubt its twilight sj^read 

Across her brow's divine expanse. 
Just then, the garland's brightest rose 

Gave one of its love-breathing sighs — 
O, who can ask how Fanny chose, 

That ever look'd in Fanny's eyes ? 
■« The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be 
« The tie to bind my soul to thee." 



And hast thou mark'd the pensive shade, 
That many a time obscures my brow, 

'Midst all the joys, beloved maid. 

Which thou canst give, and only thou ? 

O, 'tis not that I then forget 

The bright looks that before me shine ; 
For never throbb'd a bosom yet 

Could feel their witchery, like mine. 

When bashful on my bosom hid. 
And blushing to have felt so blest. 

Thou dost but lift thy languid lid, 
Again to close it on my breast ; — 

Yes, — these are minutes all thine own. 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel ; 

Yet ev'n in them, my heart has known 
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal. 

For I have thought of former hours, 
When he who first thy soul possess'd. 

Like me awak'd its witching powers, 
Like me was lov'd, like me was blest. 

Upon Ms name thy murmuring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt ; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung. 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall, 
To damp and wither present bliss ? 

Thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all, 

And heaven could grant no more than this ! 

i^'orgive me, dearest, O, forgive ; 

I would be first, be sole to thee. 
Thou shouldst have but begun to live. 

The hour that gave thv heart to me. 



Thy book of life till then effac'd, 

Love should have kept that leaf alon« 

On which he first so brightly trac'd 
That thou wert, soul and all, my own. 



TO 'S PICTURE. 

Go then, if she, whose shade thou art, 
No more will let thee soothe my pain ; 

Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 

Tell her, the smile was not so dear. 

With which she made thy semblance mine, 

As bitter is the burning tear. 

With which I now the gift resign. 

Yet go — and could she still restore. 
As some exchange for taking thee, 

The tranquil look which first I wore, 
When her eyes found me calm and free ; 

Could she give back the careless flow. 
The spirit that my heart then knew — 

Yet, no, 'tis vain — go, picture, go — 
Smile at me once, and then — adieu ! 



FRAGMENT OF A MYTHOLOGICAL 
HYMN TO LOVE.i 

Plest infant of eternity ! 
Before the daystar learn' d to move, 
In pomp of fire, along his grand career, 

Glancing the beamy shafts of light 
From his rich quiver to the farthest sphere, 
Thou wert alone, O Love ! 
Nestling beneath the wings of ancient Night, 
Whose horrors seem'd to smile in shadowing 
thee. 

No form of beauty sooth'd thine eye. 

As through the dim expanse it wander'd wide ; 

No kindred spirit caught thy sigh, 

As o'er the watery waste it lingering died. 

1 Love and Psyche are here considered as the active and 
passive principles of creation, and the universe is supposed 
to have received its first harmonizing impulse from the nup- 
tial sympathy between these two powers. A marriage is 
generally the first step in cosmogony. Timsus held Form 
to be the father, and Mattel the mother of the World ; Elion 
and Berouth, I think, are Sanchoniatho's first spiritual lov- 
ers, and Manco-capac and his wife introduced creation 
amongst the Peruvians. In short, Harlequin seems to have 
studied cosmogonies, when lie said " tutto il mondc h fatto 
come la nostra famiglia 




L ® \L 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Tnfelt tlie pulse, unknown the power, 
That latent in his heart was sleeping, — 

O Sympathy ! that lonely hour 

Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 

But look, what glory through the darkness 

beams ! 
Celestial airs along the water glide ! — 
What Spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide 
So beautiful ? O, not of earth, 
But, ill that glowing hour, the birth 
Of the young Godhead's own creative dreams. 

'Tis she ! 
rsyche, the first-born spirit of the air. 
To thee, O I^ove, she turns. 
On thee her eyebeam burns : 
Blest hour, before all worlds ordain'd to be ! 

They meet — 
The blooming god — the spirit fair 

Meet in communion sweet. 
Now, Sympathy, the hour is thine ; 
All nature feels the thrill divine, 
The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, 
And their first kiss is great Creation's dawn ! 



TO HIS 8EKENE HIGHNESS 

THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER, 

ON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADELAIDE FORBES. 
Doiiington Park, 1802. 
To catch the thought, by painting's spell, 

Howe'er remote, howe'er refin'd. 
And o'er the kindling canvas tell 
The silent story of the mind ; 

O'er nature's form to glance the eye, 
And fix, by mimic light and shade. 

Her morning tinges, ere they fly. 

Her evening blushes, ere they fade ; — 

Yes, these are Painting's proudest powers ; 

The gift, by which her art divine 
Above all others proudly towers, — 

And these, Prince ! are richly thine. 

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace, 
Li almost living truth express'd, 

This bright memorial of a face 

On which her eye delights to rest ; 

While o'er the lovely look serene. 
The smile of peace, the bloom of youth, 
9 



The cheek, that blushes to be seen. 
The eye that tells the bosom's truth ; 

While o'er each line, so brightly true. 
Our eyes with lingering pleasure rove 

Blessing the touch whose various hue 
Thus brings to mind the form we love ; 

We feel the magic of thy art. 
And own it with a zest, a zeal, 

A pleasure, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feel. 



THE FALL OF HEBE. 

A DITHYRAMBIC ODE." 

TwAS on a day 
When the immortals at their banquet lay ; 

The bowl 
Sparkled with starry dew, 
The weeping of those myriad urns of light, 

1 Though I have styled this poem a Dithyramhif Ode, 1 
cannot presume to say that it iK)ssesses, in any degree, the 
characteristics of that species of poetry. The nature of the 
ancient Dithyrainbic is very imperfectly known. According 
to M. Burette, a licentious irregularity of metre, an extrava- 
gant research of thought and expression, and a rude embar- 
rassed construction, are among its most distinguishing fea- 
tures ; and in all these respects, I have but too closely, I fear, 
followed my models. Burette adds, "Ces caractferes des 
dityrambes se font sentir k ceux qui lisent attentivement les 
odes de PinAare." — Memoires de VAcad. vol. x. p. 300. The 
same opinion may be collected from Schmidt's disseitatiou 
upon the subject. I think, however, if the Ditliyrambics of 
Pindar were in our possession, we should find that, howevc r 
wild and fanciful, they were by no means the tasteless jargon 
they are represented, and that even their irregularity was 
what Boileau calls "un beau desordre." Chiabrera, wlm 
has been styled the Pindar of Italy, and from whom all its 
poetry upon the Greek model was called Chiabreresco (as 
Crescimbeni informs us, lib. i. cap. 12), has given, amongst . 
his Vendemmie, a Dithyranibic, " all' uso de' Greci ; " full of 
those compound epithets, which, we are told, were a chief 
characteristic of the style ((j-u)'9£roiij 6s. \clcis trroiuvv. — 
Suid. AidvpaixSoSif.) ; such as 

Briglindorato Pcgaso 

Nubicalpestator. 
But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst all the lireiict 
of dithyrambics, would ever have descended to ballad Ian 
guage like the following : 

Bella Filli, e bella Clori, 
Non pill dar pregio a tue bcllezze e taci, 
Che se Bacco fa vezzi alle mie labbra 
Fo le fiche a' vostri baci 

esser vorrei Cnppisr, 

E se troppo desiro 
Deh fossi io Botliglier. 

Rimi del CHiAnREH i, part ii. p. 352. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Within whose orbs, the almighty Power, 
At nature's dawning hour, 
Stor'd the rich fluid of ethereal soul.' 

Around, 
Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing their flight 

From eastern isles 
( Where they have bath'd them in the orient ray, 
And with rich fragrance all their bosoms fiU'd,) 
In circles flew, and, melting as they flew, 
A liquid daybreak o'er the board distill'd. 

All, aU was luxury ! 
All must be luxury, where Lyeeus smiles. 
His locks divine 
Were crown' d 
With a bright meteor braid. 
Which, like an ever-springing wreath of vine. 

Shot into brilliant leafy shapes. 

And o'er his brow in lambent tendrils play'd : 

While 'mid the foliage hung, 

Like lucid grapes, 

A thousand clustering buds of light, 

Cull'd from the gardens of the galaxy. 

Upon his bosom Cytherea's head 

TiOy lovely, as when first the Sirens sung 

Her beauty's dawn. 
And all the curtains of the deep, undrawn, 
Reveal' d her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip. 
With looks of ecstasy. 

Now, on his arm, 
In blushes she repos'd, 
And, while he gazed on each bright charm. 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance 
stole. 

And now she rais'd her rosy mouth to sip 
The nectar' d wave 
Lyseus gave, 
-Vnd from her eyelids, half way clos'd. 
Sent forth a melting gleam, 
Which fell, like sundew, in the bowl : 
While her bright hair, in mazy flow .^ 
Of gold descending 

1 This is a Platonic fancy. The philosopher supposes, in 
his TiniKus, that, when the Deity had formed the soul of the 
world, he proceeded to the composition of other souls, in 
which piocess, says Plato, he made use of the same cup, 
thoush the ingredients he mingled were not quite so pure as 
for the former ; and having refined the mixture with a little 
of his own essence, he distributed it among the stars, which 
served as reservoirs of the fluid. — Taur' cnrc Kai iraXiv int 
Tov TTpoTcpov Kparnpa cv la Tqt -ov -rravros if/vxi" Kcpavvvi 
tlitays, K. T. \. 



Adown her cheek's luxurious glow, 

Hung o'er the goblet's side. 
And was reflected in its crystal tide, 
Like a bright crocus flower. 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening hour 
With roses of Gyrene blending,' 
Hang o'er the mirror of some silvery stream 

The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands 
Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing'd her feet 
Up 
The empyreal mount, 
To drain the soul drops at their stellar fount ; * 
And still 
As the resplendent rill 
Gushed forth into the cup with mantling 
heat, 
Her watchful care 
Was still to cool its liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of that feath- 
ery air 
The children of the Pole respire, 
In those enchanted lands,' 
Where life is all a spring, and north winds never 
blow. 

ButO, 
Bright Hebe, what a tear. 
And what a blush were thine. 
When, as the breath of every Grace 
Wafted thy feet along the studded sphere. 
With a bright cup for Jove himself to 
drink, 

1 We learn from Theophrastus, that the roses of Cyrene 
were particularly fragrant. — Euoaiiara ra St ra tv Kvprif'l 

2 Heraclitns (Physicus) held the soul to be a spark of the 
stellar essence — "Scintilla stellaris essentise."— Macro- 
Bius, in Somn. Scip. lib. i. cap. 14. 

3 The country of the Hyperboreans. These people were 
supposed to be placed so far north that the north wind could 
not alTect them ; they lived longer than any other mortals; 
passed their whole time in music and danchig, &c. &c. But 
the most extravagant fiction related of them is that to whiti: 
the two lines preceding allude. It was imagined that, in- 
stead of our vulgar atmosphere, the Hyperboreans breathed 
nothing but feathers ! According to Herodotus and Pliny, 
this idea was suggested by the quantity of snow which was 
observed to fall in those regions ; thus the former : Ta wv 
TTTCpa etxai^ovTas Tr\v xiocd ruvi S/cdSuj re Kai tov; irtptui- 
Kuvi ioKCoi Xcjcii'. — Hehodot. lib. iv. cap. 31. Ovid tens' 
the fable otherwise : see Metamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr. O'Halloran, and some other Irish Antiquaries, have 
been at great expense of learning to prove that the strange 
country, where they took snow for feathers, was Ireland 
and that the famous Abaris was an Irish Druid. Mr. Row- 
land, however, will have it that Abaris was a Welshman 
*nd that his name is only a corruption of Ap Rces '. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



67 



Some star, that shone beneath thy tread, 

Raising its amorous head. 
To kiss those matchless feet, 

Check' d thy career too fleet ; 
And all heaven's host of eyes 
Eutranc'd, but fearful all. 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall 

Upon the bright floor of the azure sic es ; ' 
Where, 'mid its stars, thy beauty lay, 
As blossom, shaken from the spray 
Of a spring thorn 
J.ios 'mid the liquid sparkles of the mom. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade. 
The worshippers of Beauty's queen behold 
An image of their rosy idol, kid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 

The wanton wind, 
Which had pursued the flying fair, 
And sported 'mid the tresses unconfined 
Of her bright hair, 
Now, as she fell, — O wanton breeze ! 
Ruffled the robe, whose graceful flow 
Ilung o'er those limbs of unsunn'd snow. 
Purely as the Eleusinian veil 
Hangs o'er the Mysteries ! * 

The brow of Juno flush' d — 
Love bless'd the breeze ! 
The Muses blush'd ; 
And every cheek was hid behind a lyre. 
While every eye looked laughing through the 
strings. 

But the bright cup ? the nectar'd draught 
Which Jove himself was to have quaff'd ? 
Alas, alas, upturn'd it lay 
By the fall'n Hebe's side ; 



1 It is Serving, I believe, who mentions this unlucky trip 
wliicli Hebe made in her occupation of cupbearer ; and 
Hoffman tells it after him : " Cum Hebe pocula Jovi admin- 
istrans, perque lubricum minus caute incedens, cecidisset," 
fee. 

2 The arcane symbols of this ceremony were deposited in 
the cista, where tliey lay religiously concealed from the eyes 
of the profane. They were generally carried in the proces- 
sion by an ass ; and hence the proverb, which one may so 
often apply in the world, " asinus portat mysteria." See the 
Divine Legation, book ii. sect. 4. 

3 In tlie Geoponica, lib. ii. cap. 17, there is a fable some- 
what like this descent of the nectar to earth. Ev ovpavif 
Tioii Sti.jc cv(i)XoVixevwv, xai tov vcKTapo; ttoWov irapaKCi- 
fjct'oVf ava<TKipTr](Tut xupsia tov Epcora Kai cvjffetffat Tio 
Trr.'.p'.'i TOV Kparripos rtjv ^natv, xai TrcpiTp€X].iat p.£v avrov 
Til ic vtKTap ct; Ttiv yi" sk^vHi-i', k. t. A. Vid. Autor. de 
U« Rust. edit. Cantab. 1704. 

* The constellation Lyra. The astrologers attribute great 



While, in slow lingering drops, th' ethereal tide, 
As conscious of its own rich essence, ebb'd 
away. 

Who was the Spirit that remember' d Man, 
In that blest hour. 
And, with a wing of love, 
Brush'd off the goblet's scatter'd tears. 
As, trembling near the edge of heaven thej 

ran, 
And sent them floating to our orb below ? ' 
Essence of immortality ! 

The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres ; 
While all around new tints of bliss, 
New odors and new light, 
Enrich' d its radiant flow. 

Now, with a liquid kiss, 
It stole along the thrilling wire 
Of Heaven's luminous Lyre,* 
Stealing the soul of music in its flight : 
And now, amid the breezes bland, 
That whisper from the planets as they roll, 
The bright libation, softly fann'd 
By all their sighs, meandering stole. 
They who, from Atlas' height. 

Beheld this rosy flame 
Descending through the waste of night, 
Thought 'twas some planet, whose empyrea 
frame 
Had kindled, as it rapidly revolv'd 
Around its fervid axle, and dissolv'd 
Into a flood so bright ! 

The youthful Day, 
Within his twilight bower. 
Lay sweetly sleeping 
On the flush'd bosom of a lotos flower ; * 



virtues to this sign in ascendenti, which are enumerated by 

Pontano, in his Urania : 

Ecce novem cum pectine chordas 

Emodulans, mulcetque novo vaga sidera cantu, 
Q.UO captEB nascentum animx concordia ducunt 
Pectora, &c. 

6 The Egyptians represented the dawn of day by a young 
boy seated upon a lotos. Eirt Aij-uttduj t:aj,oa<.(.K apx'i" 
avUToXrii Traiiiov veoyvov ypatfxivTas STTt Xutoi KaOcZofievov^ 
— Plutarch, ncpt tuv iatj xpi^" tnjiCTp. See also his Treatise 
de Isid. et Osir. Observing that tlie lotos showed its head 
above watei at sunrise, and sank again at his setting, they 
conceived the idea of consecrating this flower to Osiris, oi 
the sun, 

I'his symbol of a youth sitting upon a lotos is very fre- 
quent on the Abraxases, or Basilidian stones. See Mont- 
faucon, torn. ii. planche 158, and the " 'Supplement," &.c. 
torn. ii. lib. vii. chap. 5 



68 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



When round him, in profusion weeping, 
Dropp'd the celestial shower. 

Steeping 
The rosy clouds, that curl'd 
About his infant head. 
Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid shed. 

But, when the waking boy 
Wav'd his exhaling tresses through the sky, 
O morn of joy ! — 
The tide divine. 
All glorious with the vermil dye 
It drank beneath his orient eye, 
Distill'd, in dews, upon the world. 
And every drop was wine, was heavenly wine ! 

Blest be the sod, and blest the flower 
On which descended first that shower. 
All fresh from Jove's nectareous springs ; — 
O far less sweet the flower, the sod. 
O'er which the Spirit of the Rainbow flings 
The magic mantle of her solar God ! * 



V RINGS AND SEALS. 

'SloTTcp <T(ppaytSci ra ipiXnixara. 

Achilles Tatius, lib. ii. 

" Go ! " said the angry, weeping maid, 

" The charm is broken ! — once betray'd, 

" Never can this wi'ong'd heart rely 

" On word or look, on oath or sigh. 

" Take back the gifts, so fondly given, 

" With promis'd faith and vows to heaven ; 

" That little ring which, night and morn, 

" With wedded truth my hand hath worn ; 

" That seal which oft, in moments blest, 

"Thou hast upon my lip impress'd, 

" And sworn its sacred spring should be 

"A fountain seal'd'' for only thee : 

" Take, take them back, the gift and vow, 

" All sullied, lost and hateful now ! " 

I took the ring — the seal I took, 
While, O, her every tear and look 
Were such as angels look and shed, 
When man is by the world misled. 

1 The ancients esteemed those flowers and trees the 
ewpetesl upon which the rainbow had appeared to rest; ard 
tlie wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices, was that which 
the smile of Iris had cnn^orrated. Plutarch. Sympos. lib. 
iv. cap. 2, where (as Vos?iii : remarks) Kaiovcri, instead of 
KdXovnt, is undoubtedly the genuine reading. See Vossius, 
fur some curious particularities of the rainbow, De Origin, et 
Progress. Idololat. lib. iii. cap. 13. 

" There are gardens, supposed to be those of King Solo- 



Gently I whisper'd, " Fanny, dear ! 
" Not half thy lover's gifts are here : 
•* Say, where are all the kisses given, 
" From morn to noon, from noon to even, - 
" Those signets of true love, worth more 
" Than Solomon's own seal of yore, — 
" Where are those gifts, so «veet, so many 
" Come, dearest, — give back all, if any. 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true, 
I saw a smile relenting rise 
'Mid the moist azure of her eyes. 
Like daylight o'er a sea of blue. 
While yet in mid air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repose on mine, 
She let my arms around her twine ; 
One kiss was half allowed, and then — 
The ring and seal were hers again. 



MISS SUSAN B— CKF— D.3 

ON HER SINGING. 

I MORE than once have heard, at night, 
A song, like those thy lip hath given, 

And it was sung by shapes of light. 

Who look'd and breath'd, like thee, of heaven 

But this was all a dream of sleep. 

And I have said, when morning shontj, 

" Why should the night witch. Fancy, keep 
" These wonders for herself alone ? " 

I knew not then that fate had lent 
Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 

I knew not then that Heaven had sent 
A voice, a form like thine on earth. 

And yet, in all that flowery maze 

Through which my path of life has led. 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of rosiest lustre shed ; 

When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vying 

mon, in the neighborhood of Bethlehem. The friars show 
a fountain, which, tliey say, is the ' sealed fountain ' to which 
the holy spouse in the Canticles is compared ; and they pre- 
tend a tradition, that Solomon shut up these springs and put 
his signet upon the door, to keep them for his own drinking." 
— MaundreU's Travels. See also the notes to Mr Gnod'a 
Translation of the Song of Solomon. 
* The present Duchess of Hamilton. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 69 


With music's own melodious bird, 


In lines of light such heavenly lore. 


When on the rose's bosom lying ; 


That man should read them and adore. 




Yet have I known a gentle maid 


Though form and song at once combin'd 


Whose mind and form were both array'd 


Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill, 


In nature's purest light, like thine ; 


My heart hath sigh'd, my ear hath pin'd 


Who wore that clear, celestial sign. 


For something lovelier, softer still: — 


Which seems to mark the brow that's fair 




For destiny's peculiar care : 


0, I have found it all, at last. 


Whose bosom too, like Dian's own. 


In thee, thou sweetest living Ij're, 


Was guarded by a sacred zone. 


Through which the soul of song e'er pass'd, 


Where the bright gem of virtue shone ; 


Or feeling breath'd its sacred fire. 


Whose eyes had, in their light, a charm 




Against all wrong, and guile, and harm. 


All that I e'er, in wildest flight 


Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour. 


Of fancy's dreams, could hear or see 


These spells have lost their guardian power ; 


Of music's sigh or beauty's light, 


The gem has been beguil'd away ; 


Is realiz'd, at once, in thee ! 


Her eyes have lost their chastening ray ; 




The modest pride, the guiltless shame. 




The smiles that from reflection came. 


IMPROMPTU, 


All, all have fled, and left her mind 
A faded monument behind ; 


ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS. 


The ruins of a once pure shrine. 


dulces comitum valete ccetus ! Catullus. 


No longer fit for guest divine. 


No, never shall my soul forget 
The friends I found so cordial hearted ; 


0, 'twas a sight I wept to see — 

Heaven keep the lost one's fate from thee ! 


Dear shall be the day we met, 




And dear shall be the night we parted. 


/ 


If fond regrets, however sweet. 


TO ' 


Must with the lapse of time decay. 





Yet still, when thus in mirth j'ou meet. 
Fill high to him that's far away ! 


'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now. 
While yet my soul is something free ; 


Long be the light of memory found 
Alive within your social glass ; 


While yet those dangerous eyes allow 
One minute's thought to stray from thee. 


Let that be still the magic round. 
O'er which Oblivion dares not pass. 


0, thou becom'st each moment dearer ; 
Every chance that brings me nigh thee, 




Brings my ruin nearer, nearer, — 


A WARNING. 


I am lost, unless I fly thee. 


TO 


Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me. 




Doom me not thus so soon to fall ; 





Duties, fame, and hopes await me, — 


FAIR as heaven and chaste as light ! 


But that eye would blast them all ! 


Did nature mould thee all so bright, 




That thou shouldst e'er be brought to weep 


For, thou hast heart as false and cold 


0"er languid virtue's fatal sleep. 


As ever yet allur'd or sway'd. 


O'er shame extinguish'd, honor fled, 


And couldst, without a sigh, behold 


Peace lost, heart wither' d, feeling dead ? 


The ruin which thyself had made. 


No, no ! a star was born with thee, 


Yet, — could I think that, truly fond. 


Which sheds eternal purity. 


That eye but once would smile on me, 


Thou hast, within those sainted eyes, 


Ev'n as thou art, how far beyond 


So fair a transcript of the skies. 


Fame, duty, wealth, that smile would be ! 



70 



JTTVENILE POEMS. 



O, but to win it, night and day, 
Inglorious at thy feet reclin'd, 

I'd sigh my dreams of fame away, 
The world for thee forgot, resign'd. 

But no, 'tis o'er, and — thus we part, 
Never to meet again, — no, never. 

False woman, what a mind and heart 
Thy treachery has undone forever ! 



^/ 



WOMAN. 



Aavay, away — j'-ou're all the same, 
A smiling, iluttering, jilting throng ; 

And, wise too late, I burn with shame, 
To think I've been your slave so long. 

Blow to be won, and quick to rove, 
From folly kind, from cunning loath. 

Too cold for bliss, too weak for love. 
Yet feigning all that's best in both ; 

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, — 
More joy it gives to woman's breast 

To make ten frigid coxcombs vain. 
Than one true, manlj' lover blest. 

Away, away — your smile's a curse — 
O, blot me from the race of men, 

Kind pitying Heaven, by death or worse, 
If e'er I love such things again. 



'Novel TO (ptXraTa. Euripides. 

Come, take thy harp — 'tis vain to muse 
Upon the gathering ills we see ; 

O, take thy harp and let me lose 
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

Sing to me, love ! — though death were near, 
Thy song could make my soul forget — 

Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear. 
All may be well, be happy yet. 

Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear harp lie, 

And I will cease to dream of harm. 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh. 

Give me that strain of mournful touch, 
We us'd to live long, long ago, 



Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas ! they bleed to know. 

Sweet notes ! they tell of former peace, 
Of all that look'd so smiling then. 

Now vanish'd, lost — pray thee, cease, 
I cannot bear those sounds again. 

Art thou, too, wretched ? yes, thou art ; 

I see thy tears flow fast with mine — 
Come, come to this devoted heart, 

'Tis breaking, but it still is thine ! 



A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY. 

'TwAS on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met 
The venerable man ; ' a healthy bloom 
Mingled its softness with the vigorous thought 
That tower' d upon his brow ; and, wh<,>n ha 

spoke, 
'Twas language sweeten'd into song — such holy 

sounds 
As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous hear, 
Prelusive to the harmony of heaven, 
When death is nigh ; ' and still, as he unclos'd 
His sacred lips, an odor, all as bland 
As ocean breezes gather from the flowers 
That blossom in elysium,* breath'd around. 
With silent awe we listen'd, while he told 
Of the dark veil which many an age had hung 
O'er Nature's form, till long explored by man, 
The mystic shroud grew thin and luminous, 
And glimpses of that heavenly form shone 

through : — 



1 In Plutarch's Essay on the Decline of the Oracles, Cle- 
oiiibrotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an extraurdinarj 
■lan whom he had met with, after long research, upon thp 
banksof the Red Sea. Once in every year this supernatural 
personage appeared to mortals, and conversed with them ; 
the rest of his time he passed among the Genii and the 
Nymphs. Tlept rriv cpvQpav ^a'Xnaaav evpov, uvOpio-utg 
ava Tuj/ STOS ava^ ei/rvyx'^vovra, raXXa 6e avi- rati H'^i- 
0u(S, vofiaai Kai Saifinm, i); cfaaKt. He spoke in a tone 
not far removed from singing, and whenever he opened his 
lips, a fragrance filled the place : ipdiyyufiivuv Se t<iv tou.h' 
e.V(o6ia j(iir£ix£, Tuv aruparui i,i)iiTuii aTTJTmtuvTOi. From 
him Cleombrotus learned the doctrine of a plurality of 
worlds. 

2 The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little before his death, 
imagined that he heard a strain of music in the air See th« 
poem of Heinsius " In harmoniam quani pauh> ante obituro 
audire sibi visus est Dousa." Page 501. 

3 t„i)u paKupuit 

vaaov (jjKcaviSis 

avpai Kepnrveovcriv a>- • 

Bena 5t xpvcrov <p\€yet. 

PiMDin. Otymp. u. 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Of magic wonders, that were known and taught 
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named) 
Who mus'd amid the mighty cataclysm, 
O'er his rude tablets of primeval lore; ' 
And gathering round him, in the sacred ark, 
The mighty secrets of that former globe, 
Let not the living star of science ' sink 
Beneath the waters, which inguljA'd a world! 



1 Cham, the son of Noah, is supposed to have taken with 
him into the ark the principal doctrines of magical, or rather 
of natural, science, which he had inscribed upon some very 
durable substances, in order that tl)ey might resist the rav- 
ages of the deluge, and transmit the secrets of antediluvian 
knowledge to Ids posterity. See the extracts made by Bayle, 
in his article, Cham. The identity of Cham and Zoroaster 
depends upon the authority of Berosus (or rather the impos- 
tor Annius), and a few more such respectable testimonies. 
See Naiide's Apologie pour les Grands Hoinmes, &c., chap, 
viii., where lie takes more trouble than is necessary in re- 
futing Ibis gratuitous supposition. 

2 C'liamum i posteris hujus artis admiratoribus Zoroas- 
tnim, seu vivum astrum, propterea fuisse dictum et pro Deo 
habitum. — Bochart. Oeograph. Sacr. lib. iv. cap. 1. 

3 Orpheus. — Paulinus, in his Hebdomades, cap. 2, lib. iii. 
has endeavored to show, after the Platonists, that man is a 
dia|)ason, or octave, made up of a diatesseron, which is his 
soul, and a diapente, which is his body. Those frequent 
allusions to music, by which the ancient philosophers illus- 
trated their sublime theories, must have tended very much 
to elevate the character of the art, and to enrich it with as- 
sociations of the grandest and most interesting nature. See 
a preceding note, for their ideas upon the harmony of the 
spheres. Heraclitus compared the mixture of good and evil 
in this world, to the blended varieties of harmony in a mu- 
sical instrument (Plutarch, de Animse Procreat.) ; and Eu- 
ryplianius, the Pythagorean, in a fragment preserved by 
Slol)8Bus, describes luiman life, in its perfection, as a sweet 
and well-tuned lyre. Some of the ancients were so fanciful 
as to suppose that the operations of the memory were regu- 
lated by a kind of musical cadence, and that ideas occurred 
to it "per arsin et thesin," while others converted the whole 
man into a mere harmonized machine, whose motion de- 
pended upon a certain tension of the body, analogous to 
that of the strings in an instrument. Cicero indeed ridi- 
cules Aristoxenus for this fancy, and says, " Let him teach 
singing, and leave philosophy to Aristotle ; " but Aristotle 
himself, though decidedly opposed to the harmonic specula- 
tions of the Pythagoreans and Platonists, could sometimes 
condescend to enliven his doctrines by reference to the 
beauties of musical science ; as, in the treatise Hspi kocjiov 
attributed to him, Ku0un-£f> Jt cv xo/'cj, KOjivipaiov Karap^av- 
TOi, K. r. X. 

The Abbe Batteux, in his inquiry into the doctrine of the 
Stoics, attributes to those philosophers the same mode of il- 
lustration. " L'ameetoitcause activeTraicii/airiuf ; lecorps 
tause passive liSc Tovrracrxi:"' • — I'une agissantdansl'autre ; 
« y prenant, par son action meme, un caract^re, des formes, 
les modifications, qu'elle n'avoit pas par elle-meme ; k peu 
pres comme Pair, qui, chasse dans un instrument de musique, 
fait connoltre, par les ditFerens sons qu'il produit, les diffe- 
rentes modifications qu'il y re^oit." See a fine simile founded 
upon this notion in Cardinal Polignac's poem, lib. 5, v. 734. 

■• Pytiiagoras is represented in lamblichus as descending 
with great solemnity from Mount Carmel, for which reason 



Of visions, by Calliope reveal'd 
To him,^ who trac'd upon his typic lyre 
The diapason of man's mingled frame, 
And the grand Doric heptachord of heaven, 
With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane. 
Which the grave sons of Mochus, many a nigh* 
Told to the young and bright-hair'd visitant 
Of Carmel's sacred mount.'' — Then, in a flow 



the Carmelites have claimed him as one of their fraternity. 
This Mochus or Moschus, with the descendants of whom 
Pytiiagoras conversed in Phosnicia, and from whom he de- 
rived the doctrines of alDinicjihilosopliv, issiippose.l by some 
to be the same with Moses. Hiiett has adoptcil this idea. 
Demonstration Evangelique, Prop. iv. chap. -2, K^ 7 ; and Le 
Clerc, amongst others, has refuied it. See Bibliotli. Clioi.iie, 
tom. i. p. 75. It is certain, however, that the doitriiic of 
atoms was known and promulgated long before E|iicunis. 
" With the fountains of Democritus," says Cicero, " the 
gardens of Epicurus were watered ; " and the learned au- 
thor of the Intellectual System has shown, that all the early 
philosophers, till tiie time of Plaio, were atomists. We lind 
Epicurus, however, boasting that his tenets were new and 
unborrowed, and perhaps few among the ancients had any 
stronger claim to originality. In truth, if we examine their 
schools of philosophy, notwithstanding the peculiarities 
which seem to distinguish them from each other, we may 
generally observe that the difference is but verbal and tri- 
fling ; and that, among those various and learned heresies, 
there is scarcely one to be selected, whose opinions are its 
own, original and exclusive. The doctrine of the world's 
eternity may be traced through all the sects. The continual 
metempsychosis of Pythagoras, the grand periodic year of 
the Stoics, (at the conclusion of which the universe is sup- 
posed to return to its original order, and commence a new 
revolution,) the successive dissolution and combination of 
atoms maintained by the Epicureans— all these tenets are 
but different intimations of the same general belief in the 
eternity of the world. As explained by St. Austin, the pe- 
riodic year of the Stoics disagrees only so far with the idea 
of the Pythagoreans, that instead of an endless transmission 
of the soul through a variety of bodies, it restores the same 
body and soul to repeat their former round of existence, so 
that the " identical Plato, who lectured in the Academy of 
Athens, shall again and again, at certain intervals, during 
the lapse of eternity, appear in the same Academy and re- 
sume the same functions — " sic eadem tempora tem- 

poraliumque rerum volumina repeti, ut v. g. sicut in istu 
saeculo Plato philosophus in urbe Atheniensi, in ei scholj 
qutB Academia dicta est, discipulos docuit, ita per inniime- 
rabilia retro siEcula, multum plexis quidem intervallis, sed 
certis, et idem Plato, et eadem civitas, eademque schola, 
iidemque discipuli repetiti et per innuinerabilia deinde sscula 
repetendi sint. — De Civilat. Dei, lib. xii. cap. 13. Vanini, 
in his dialogues, has given us a similar explication of the 
periodic revolutions of the world. " Ea de causa, qui nunc 
sunt in usu ritus, centies millies fuerunt, totiestpie renascen- 
tur quoties ceciderunt." 52. 

The paradoxical notions of the Stoics upon the beauty, the 
riches, the dominion of their imaginary sage, are among the 
most distinguishing characteristics of their school, and, ac- 
cording to their advocate Lipsius, were peculiar to that sect. 
" Priora ilia (decreta) quse passim in philosophantium scli..lia 
fere obtinent, ista quse [i^culiaria huic sectie et liabeni coii- 
tradictionem : i. e. paradoxa." — JUanuduct. ad Stoic. PUilvs 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



Of calmer converse, he beguil'd us on 
Through many a maze of Garden and of Porch, 



lil>. iii. ais.s<rtat. 2. But it is evident (as the Abbe Gamier 
lias remarked, Meiimires de I'Acad. torn, xxxv.) that even 
tliese absurdities of the Stoics are borrowed, and that Plato 
is the source of all their extravagant paradoxes. We find 
llieir doKina, " dives qui sapiens," (which Clement of Alex- 
andria has transferred from the Philosopher to the Christian, 
Panlagog. lib. iii. cap. 6,) expressed in the prayer of Socra- 
tes at the end of the Phsdru." ii <j)i>.€ Ilui/ re koi aXXoi 
htTin TT)h -ScJi, ioiriTC /loi kuXo) yevsaOat raviodtv raloiOzv 
fic haa cxw, roij tj/Tof tivai jiti (pt'Xia- ■a'S.itvaiov Sc vo/iii^otpit 
Till' aoifxip. And many other instances might be adduced 
from tlie Ai/repucTai, the IIoAitiko?, &.C., to prove that 
liicse weeds of paradox were all gathered among the bowers 
of the Academy. Hence it is that Cicero, in the preface to 
his Paradoxes, calls them Socratica ; and Lipsius, exulting 
in the patronage of Socrates, says " Ille totus est noster." 
This is indeed a coalition, which evinces as much as can be 
wished tlie confused similitude of ancient philosophical opin- 
ions : the father of scepticism is here enrolled amongst the 
founders of tiie Portico ; he, whose best knowledge was that 
of Ids own ignorance, is called in to authorize the preten- 
sions of the most obstinate dogmatists in all antiquity. 

Rutilius, in his Itinerarium, has ridiculed the sabbath of 
the Jews, as " lassati mollis imago Dei ; " but Epicurus gave 
an eternal holiday to his gods, and, rather than disturb the 
sliiiuhcrs of Olympus, denied at once the interference of a 
Providence. He docs not, however, seem to have been sin- 
gular in this opinion. Theophilus of Antioch, if he deserve 
any credit, imputes a similar belief to Pythagoras : —fr/at 
{lliiOiiyDjjaii) Tt TOiviravTwv ^covi avBjiMTtwv /xnScv ippiivri- 
t^tiv. And Plutarch, though so hostile to the followers of 
Epicurus, has unaccountably adopted the very same theo- 
logical error. Thus, after quoting the opinions of Anaxag- 
oras and Plato upon divinity, he adds, Koivoj? ow ajiap- 
TJivuvaiv aiiipdTCpot, on tui> ^cov crrnricau CTTiCTCipo/jici'Ov 
TMv ayOpoiirii/wv. — De Placil. Philosoph. lib. i. cap. 7. 
Plato himself has attributed a degree of indiflerence to the 
gods, which is not far removed from the apathy of Epicu- 
rus's heaven ; as thus, in his Philebus, vvliere Protarchus 
usks, iivKuvv ctKos y€ ovTC x"'!'^'" Scovi, uvTC TO evavTiuv ; 
and Socrates answers, Tlaw nev uvv cikos, arrxrinov yovv 
avTdiv iKaTtpiw yiyiuiiivuv tarivi — wliile Aristotle sup- 
poses a still more absurd neutrality, and concludes, by no 
very flattering analogy, that the deity is as incapable of vir- 
tue as of vice. Kui yap uxrncp ovSif ^nP'ov can KUKia, 
oi'fV apcrn, ovTUi ovie Stou. — Ethic. JVicomacli. lib. vii. 
cap. 1. In tnith, Aristotle, upon the subject of Providence, 
was little more correct than Epicurus. He supposed the 
moon to be the limit of divine interference, excluding of 
ruurse this sublunary world from its influence. The first 
ileliiiition of the world, in his treatise Jltpi Koa/iov (if this 
treatise be really the work of .Aristotle) agrees, almost ver- 
lium verbo, with that in the letter of Epicurus to Pythocles ; 
and botu omit the mention of a deity. In his Ethics, too, he 
intimates a doubt whether the gods feel any interest in the 
concerns of mankind. — Ei yap tis cvifieXcia tmv avOpio- 
iTi>/(.j>' I'n-o Stoji' yiverai. It is true, he adds 'SLa-ncp 5u(cf(, 
but even this is very sceptical. 

Ill those erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, we trace the 
cause of that general neglect which his philosophy experi- 
tnced among the early Christians. Plato i? seldom much 
more orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm of his style al- 
lowed them to accommodate all his fancies to their own 



Through many a system, where the scatter'd ligt 
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 



purpose. Such glowing steel was easily moulded, and Pla 
tonism became a sword in the hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in their school 
was a power as contemptibly inefficient as the rest. Al 
was fate in the system of the Portico. The chains of des- 
tiny were thrown over Jupiter himself, and their deity was 
like the Borgia of the epigrammatist, "et Cffisar et nihil. '- 
Not even the language of Seneca can reconcile this degra- 
dation of divinity. " Ille ipse omnium conditor ac rector 
scripsit quidam fata, sed sequitur ; semper paret, semel jus- 
sit." — Lib. de Provideiitid, cap. 5. 

With respect to the differenee between the Stoics, Peripa- 
tetics, and Academicians, the following words of Cicero 
prove that he saw but little to distinguish them from each 
other : — " Peripateticos et Academicos, nominibiis diTc- 
rentes, re congruentes ; a quibiis Stoici ipsi verbis magia 
quam sententiis dissenserunt." — 9-adem.ic. lib. ii. ,■> ; and 
perhaps what Reid has remarked upon one of their points 
of controversy might be applied as effectually to the recon- 
cilement of all the rest. " The dispute between the Stoics 
and Peripatetics was probably all for want of definition. 
The one said they were good under the control of reason, 
the other that they should be eradicated." — Essays, vol. iii. 
In short, it appears a no less diflicult matter to establish the 
boundaries of opinion between any two of the philosophical 
sects, than it would be to fix the landmarks of those estates 
in the moon, which Eicciolus so generously allotted to his 
brother astronomers. Accordingly we observe some of the 
greatest men of antiquity passing without scruple from school 
to school, according to the fancy or convenience of the mo- 
ment. Cicero, the father of Roman philosophy, is some- 
times an Academician, sometimes a Stoic ; and, more than 
once, he acknowledges a conformity with Epicurus ; "non 
sine causa igitur Epicurus ausus est dicere semper in pluri- 
bus bonis esse sapientem, quia semper sit in voliiptatibus." 
— Tusculan. QiuBst. lib. v. Though often pure in his the- 
ology, Cicero sometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction ; thus, 
in his Oration for Cliientius, speaking of punishments in the 
life to come, he says, " Qus si falsa sunt, id quod omnes iii- 
telligiint, quid ei tandem aliud mors eripuit, prxter scnsuiii 
doloris.'": — though here we should, perhaps, do him but 
justice by agreeing with his commentator Sylvius, who re- 
marks upon this passage, " Hsc autem dixit, ut causae siub 
subserviret." The poet, Horace, roves like a butterfly 
through the schools, and now wings along the walls of the 
Porch, now basks among the flowers of the Garden ,■ while 
Virgil, with a tone of mind strongly philosophical, has yet 
left us wholly uncertain as to the sect which he espoused. 
The balance of opinion declares him to have been an Epi- 
curean, but the ancient author of his life asserts that he was 
an Academician ; and we trace through his poetry the tenets 
of .ilmost all the leading sects. Tlie same kind of eclectic 
indifference is observable in most of the Roman writers. 
Thus Propertius, in the fine elegy to Cynthia, on his depart- 
ure for Athens, 

Illic vel studiis aniraum eniendare Platonis, 
Iiicipiam, aut hortis, docte Epicure, tuis. 

Lib. iii. Eleg. 21. 
Though Brocckhusius here reads, " dux Epicure," which 
seems to fix the poet under the banners of Epicurus. Even 
the Stoic Seneca, whose doctrines have been considered so 
orthodox, that St. Jerome has ranked him amongst the ec- 
clesiastical writers, while Boccaccio doubts (in consideratior 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



73 



From the i)'ire sun, wliicli, though refracted all 

Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still,' 

And bright through every change ! — he spoke 

of Him, 
The lone,'' eternal One, who dwells above. 
And of the soul's untraceable descent 
From that high fount of spirit, through the grades 
Of intellectual being, till it mix 
With atoms vague, corruptible, and dark ; 
Nor yet ev'n then, though sunk in earthly dross, 
Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch 
Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still. 
As some bright river, which has roU'd along 
Through meads of flowery light and mines of 

gold, 
When pour'd at length into the dusky deep, 
Disdains to take at once its briny taint, 
But keeps unchanged a while the lustrous tinge 
Or bahny freshness of the scenes it Ifeft.^ 

And here the old man ceased — a winged 
train 
Of nymphs and genii bore him from our eyes. 
The fair illusion fled ! and, as I wak'd, 
'Twas clear that my rapt soul had roamed, the 

while. 
To that bright realm of dreams, that spirit world, 
Which mortals know by its long track of light 
O'er midnight's sky, and call the Galaxy.* 



of his -apposed correspondence with St. Paul) whether Dante 
(•hould have placed him in Limbo with the rest of the Pagans 
— even the rigid Seneca has bestowed such commendations 
nn Epicurus, that if only those passages of his works were 
preserved to us, we could not hesitate, I think, in pronoun- 
cing liim a confirmed Epicurean. With similar inconsistency, 
we find Porphyry, in his work upon abstinence, referring to 
Epicurus as an example of the most strict Pythagorean tem- 
perance ; and Lancelotti (the author of " Farfalloni degli 
antiri Istorici ") has been seduced by this grave reputation 
of Epicurus iuto the absurd error of associating him with 
Chrysippus, as a chief of the Stoic school. There is no doubt, 
ii^dced, that however the Epicurean sect might have relaxed 
froii] its original purity, the morals of its founder were as 
C'lrroot as those of any among the ancient philosophers ; and 
his doctrines upon pleasure, as explained in the letter to 
Menoeceus, are rational, amiable, and consistent with our 
nature. A late writer, De Sablons, in his Grands Hornmes 
venues, expresses strong indignation against the Encyclo- 
p<;distos for their just and animated praises of Epicurus, and 
discussing the question, "si ce philosnphe etoit vertueux," 
denies it upon no other authority than the calumnies collected 
by Plutarch, who himself confesses that, on this particular 
subject, lie consulted only opinion and report, without paus- 
ing to investigate their truth. — AAXu rriv 6o\av, ov ttiv 
a\ri6ciav aKmrnvntv. To the factious zeal of his illiberal 
rivals, the Stoics, Epicurus chiefly owed these gross misrep- 
resentations of the life and opinions of himself and his 
10 



TO MRS. 



To see thee every day that came. 
And find thee still each day the same ; 
In pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear. 
To me still ever kind and dear ; — 
To meet thee early, leave then late. 
Has been so long my bliss, my fate. 
That life, without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sunshine, every day. 
And all my pain, my sorrow chas'd, 
Is now a lone and loveless waste. 

Where are the chords she us'd to to 
The airs, the songs she lov'd so much ? 
Those songs are hush'd, those chords are 

still. 
And so, perhaps, will every thrill 
Of feeling soon be luU'd to rest, 
Which late I wak'd in Anna's breast. 
Yet, no — the simple notes I play'd 
From memory's tablet soon may fade ; 
The songs, which Anna lov'd to hear. 
May vanish from her heart and ear ; 
But friendship's voice shall ever find 
An echo in that gentle mind, 
Nor memory lose nor time impair 
The sympathies that tremble there. 



associates, which, notwithstanding the learned exertions of 
Gassendi, have still left an odium on the name of his phi- 
losophy ; and we ought to examine the ancient accounts of 
this philosopher with about the same degree of cautious be- 
lief which, in reading ecclesiastical history, we yield to the 
invectives of the fathers against the heretics, — trusting as 
little to Plutarch upon a dogma of Epicurus, as we woii'd to 
the vehement St. Cyril upon a tenet of Nestorius. (loOl.) 

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to observe, were 
written at a time, when I thought the studies to which they 
refer much more important as well as more amusing tlian, 1 
freely confess, they appear to me at present. 

1 Lactantius asserts that all the truths of Christianity may 
be found dispersed through the ancient philosophical sects, 
and that any one who would collect these scattered fragments 
of orthodoxy might form a code in no respect ditfe^ng from 
that of the Christian. "Si extitisset aliquis, qui veritat^in 
sparsam per singulos per sectasqne difiusam coUigeret In 
unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is prcfecto non dissentiret 4 
nobis." — Inst. lib. vi. c. 7. 

2 To IX.IIHIV Kill ElJTfflllV. 

3 This bold Platonic image I have taken from a passage 
in Father Bouchet's letter upon the Metempsychosis, inserted 
in Picart's Cerem. Eclig. torn. iv. 

* According to Pythagoras, the people of Dreams aresouli 
collected together in the Galaxy — Ar^/ios Sc ovupun; Kara 
Ilvdayopav, al i//i'X"i cig avvayecOat (prjcriv tis tov yaXa^tav 
— Porphyr. de Antra Mymph. 



n 



74 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



TO LADY HEATHCOTE, 

ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE WELLS. 

" Tunnebridge est 4 la raeme distance de Londres, que 
/"ontainebleau I'cst de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de ga- 
l.int dans I'un et dans I'autre sexe s'y rassemble au tems des 
eaux. La compagnie," &c. &c. 

See Mimoires de Orammont, Second Part, chap. iii. 

Tunbridge Wells. 

When Grammont grac'd these happy springs, 
And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles, 

The merriest wight of all the kings 

That ever rul'd these gay, gallant isles ; 

Like us, by day, they rode, they walk'd, 

At eve, they did as we may do, 
And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd. 

And lovely Stewart smil'd like you. 

TTie only different trait is this, 

That woman then, if man beset her, 

Was rather given to saying " yes," 
Because, — as yet, she knew no better. 

Each night they held a coterie, 

Where, every fear to slumber charm'd. 

Lovers were all they ought to be, 
And husbands not the least alarm'd. 

Then call'd they up their school-day pranks, 
Nor thought it much their sense beneath 

To play at riddles, quips, and cranks, 
And lords show'd wit, and ladies teeth. 

As — " Why are husbands like the mint? " 
Because, forsooth, a husband's duty 

Is but to set the name and print 
That give a currency to beauty. 

" Why is a rose in nettles hid 

" Like a young widow, fresh and fair ? " 
Because 'tis sighing to be rid 

Of toecd^ that " have no business there ! " 

And thus they miss'd and thus they hit, 
And now they struck and now they parried ; 

And some lay in of full-grown wit, 
While others of a pun miscarried. 

Twas one of those facetious nights 
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring 

For breaking grave conundrum rites, 

Or punning ill, or — some such thing : — 



From whence it can be fairly trac'd, 

Through many a branch and many a bough 

From twig to twig, until it grac'd 
The snowy hand that wears it now. 

All this I'll prove, and then to you 

O Tunbridge ! and your springs ironical, 

I swear by Heathcote's eye of blue 
To dedicate th' important chronicle. 

Long may your ancient inmates give 
Their mantles to your modern lodgers. 

And Charles's loves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles's bards revive in Rogers. 

Let no pedantic fools be there ; 

Forever be those fops abolish' d, 
With heads as wooden as thy ware, 

And, heaven knows ! not half so polish'd. 

But still receive the young, the gay, 
The few who know the rare delight 

Of reading Grammont every day, 
And acting Grammont every nighv. 



THE DEVIL AMONG THE SCHOLARS 

A FRAGMENT. 
Ti KaKOv b } eXwj ; 

Cheysost. Homil. 



Epist. ad Hebiaoi 

But, whither have these gentle ones. 
These rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns 
With all of Cupid's wild romancing, 
Led my truant brains a-dancing? 
Instead of studying tones scholastic, 
Ecclesiastic, or monastic, 
Off I fly, careering far 
In chase of Pollys, prettier far 
Than any of their namesakes are, — 
The Polymaths and Poh'histors, 
Polyglots and all their sisters. 
So have I known a hopeful youth 
Sit down in quest of lore and truth, 
With tomes sufficient to confound hiiu 
Like Tohu Bohu, heap'd around him, 
Mamurra ' stuck to Theophrastus, 
And Galen tumbling o'er Bombastus.' 

1 Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who ni\ei u A'te.ii 
about any thing, except who was his father. — " N ..'a a«. re 
unquani prajterquam de patre dubitavit." — In Vit. \n v.aa 
very learned — " L4-dedans, (that is, in his head w/ien it 
was opened,) le Punique heurte le Persan, I'Hebreu r.hoque 
I'Arabique, pour ne point parler de la mauvaise intelligenci 
du Latin avec le Grec," &c. — See L'Histvire de Jtluntmunr, 
torn. ii. p. 91. 

2 Bombas-tus was one of the "ames of that grtat scholaj 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



When lo ! while all that's learn'd and wise 
Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, 
And through the window of his study 
Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 
With eyes, as brightly turn'd upon him as 
The angel's ' were on Hieronymus. 
Quick fly the folios, widely scatter'd, 
Old Homer's laurell'd brow is batter'd. 
And Sapi^ho, headlong sent, flies just in 
The reverend eye of St. Augustin. 
Raptur'd he quits each dozing sage, 
O woman, for thy lovelier page : 
Sweet book ! — unlike the books of art, — 
Whose errors are thy fairest part ; 
In whom the dear errata column 
Is the best page in all the volume ! " 

But to begin my subject rhyme — 
'Twas just about this devilish time. 
When scarce there happen' d any frolics 
That were not done by Diabolics, 
A cold and loveless son of Lucifer, 
Who woman scorn' d, nor saw the use of 
her, 

and quack Paracelsus. — " Philippua Borabastus latet sub 
Bpleiidido tegmine Aureoli Theoplirasti Paracelsi," says Sta- 
delius de circuniforanei Literatorum vanitate. — He used to 
fight the devil every night with a broadsword, to the no 
small terror of his pupil Oporinus, who has recorded the 
circumstance. (Vide Oporin. Vit. apud Christian. Gfryph. 
Vit. Select, quorundam Eruditissimorutn, &c.) Paracelsus 
had hut a poor opinion of Galen : — " My very beard (says 
he in his Paragrsnum) has more learning in it than either 
Galen or Avicenna." ^ 

1 The angel, who scolded St. Jerom for reading Cicero, as 
Gratian tells the story in his " Concordantia discordantium 
Canonum," and says, that for this reason bishops were not 
allowed to read the Classics : " Episcopus Gentilium libros 
non legat." — Distinct. .37. But Gratian is notorious for 
lying — besides, angels, as the illustrious pupil of Pantenus 
assures us, have got no tongues. Ou.x' ^? ^Z"" '■a wra, 
ourw? CKCti'ijis h j'Af'irra* otkS' av opyava nj iwri (pojvrn 
ayycXoii. — Cl(Tn. Meiand. Stromal. 

2 The idea of the Rabbins, respecting the origin of woman, 
is not a little singular. They think that man was originally 
formed with a tail, like a monkey, but that the Deity 
cut off this appendage, and made woman of it. Upon 
this extraordinary supposition the following reflection la 
founded : — 

If such is the tic between women and men, 

The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf, 
For he takes to his tail like an idiot again, 

And thus makes a deplorable ape of himself. 

Yet, if we may judge as the fashions prevail, 
Every husband remembers th' original plan. 

And, knowing his wife is no more than his tail. 
Why he — leaves her behind him as much as he can. 

8 Scaliger.de Emendat. Tempor. — Dagon was thought 
by others to be a certain sea monster, who came every day 



A branch of Dagon's family, 
(Which Dagon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that vastly better is 
Referr'd to Scaliger^ et ceteris,) 
Finding that, in this cage of fools. 
The wisest sots adorn the schools, 
Took it at once his head Satanic in. 
To grow a great scholastic manikin, — 
A doctor, quite as learn'd and fine as 
Scotus John or Tom Aquinas,* 
LuUy, Hales Irrefragabilis, 
Or any doctor of the rabble is. 
In languages,^ the Polyglots, 
Compar'd to him, were Babel sots ; 
He chatter'd more than ever Jew did ; — 
Sanhedrim and Priest included. 
Priest and holy Sanhedrim 
Were one-and-seventy fools to him. 
But chief the learned demon felt a 
Zeal so strong for gamma, delta. 
That, all for Greek and learning's glory,® 
He nightly tippled " Graeco more," 
And never paid a bill or balance 
Except upon the Grecian Kalends : — 

out of the Red Sea to teach the Syrians husbandry. — Sea 
Jaques Gaffarel (Curiosites Inouies, chap, i.), who says he 
tliinks this story of the sea monster " carries little show of 
probability with it." 

* I wish it were known with any degree of certainty 
whether tlie Commentary on Boethius attributed to Thomas 
Aquinas be really the work of this Ajigelic Doctor. There 
are some bold assertions hazarded in it : for instance, he 
says that Plato kept school in a town called Academia, and 
that Alcibiades was a very beautiful woman whom some i.l 
Aristotle's pupils fell in love with : — " Alcibiades mulier 
fuit pulcherrima, quam videntes quidam discipuli Aristote- 
lis," &c. — See Freytag Jidparat. Litterar. art. 85, toni. i. 

6 The following compliment was paid to Laurentius Valla, 
upon his accurate knowledge of the Latin language : — 

Nunc postquam manes dcfunctus Valla petivit, 
Non audet Pluto verba Latina loqui. 

Since Val arriv'd in Pluto's shade, 
His nouns and pronouns all so pat in, 

Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say his soul's his own, in Latin ! 

See for these lines the " Auctorum Censio " of Du Ve? 
dier (page 29). 

6 It is much to be regretted that Martin Luther, with all 
his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar enough to 
laugh at Camerariiis for writing to him in Greek. " Master 
Joachim (says he) has sent me some dates and some raisms, 
and has also written me two letters in Greek. As soon a^ 
I am recovered, I shall answer them in Turkish, that he tou 
may have the pleasure of reading what he does not under- 
stand." " Grceca sunt, legi non possunt," is the ignorant 
speech attributed to Acciirsius ; but very unjustly : — for, fa» 
from asserting that Greek could not be read, that wortnv 
jurisconsult upon the Law 6 D. de Bonnr. Possesf. e.\pres.si\ 
says, " GrasCcE literae possunt intelligi et legi." ( Vide .\ov 



JUVENILE POEMS. 



From Avhence your scholars, when they want 

tick, 
Say, to be Artie's to be on tick, 
In logics, he was quite Ho Panu ; ' 
Knew as much as ever man knew. 
He fought the combat syllogistic 
With so much skill and art eristic, 
That though you were the learned Stagirite, 
At once upon the hip he had you right. 
In music, though he had no cars 
Except for that amongst the spheres, 
(Which most of all, as he averr'd it. 
He dearly loved, 'cause no one heard it,) 
Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 
Each tuneful diagram in Bede, 
And find, by Euclid's coroUaria, 
The ratios of a jig or aria. 
But, as for all your warbling Delias, 
Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias, 
He own'd he thought them much surpass'd 
By that redovxbted Hyaloclast "^ 
Who still contriv'd by dint of throttle, 
Where'er he went to crack a bottle. 

Likewise to show his mighty knowledge, he, 
On things unknown in physiology. 
Wrote many a chapter to divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albertus,) 
Wherein he show'd the reason why, 
When children first are heard to cry, 
If boy the baby chance to be, 
He cries A ! — if girl, O E ! — 
Which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints 
Respecting their first sinful parents ; 



Libror. Rarior. Collection. Fascic. IV.) — Scipio Cartero- 
tnachus seems to have been of opinion that there is no salva- 
tion out of the pale of Greek Literature: " Via prima salutis 
Graia pandetur ab urbe : " and the zeal of Laurentius Rho- 
domanniis cannot be sufficiently admired, when he exhorts 
his countrymen, " per gloriam Christi, per salutem patrije, 
per reipublics decus et emolumentum," to study the Greek 
language. Nor must we forget Phavorinus, the excellent 
Bishop of Nocera, who, careless of all the usual commenda- 
tions of a Christian, required no further eulogium on his 
tcmb than " Here heth a Greek Lexicographer." 

1 'O nai/v. — The introduction of tliis language into Eng- 
iisli poetry has a good effect, and ought to be more univer- 
sally adopted. A word or two of Greek in a stanza would 
serve as ballast to the most " light o' love" verses. Auso- 
nius, among-the ancients, may serve as a model : — 

Oi) yao lioi ■&£(/!£ eoTiv in hac regione ixevovn 
A^iov ab nostris e-rrtSeveii esse KajjirivaiS. 
Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his sonnets and 
ndes with many an exquisite morsel from the Lexicon. His 
" chere Entelechie," in addressing his mistress, can only be 
equalled by Cowlev's " Antiperistasis." 

2 Or Glass-Breaker. — Morhofius lias given an account of 



" O Eve ! " exclaimeth little madam. 
While little master cries " Adam ! " ^ 

But, 'twas in Optics and Dioptrics, 
Our daemon play'd his first and top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quicker 
Through wine than any other liquor ; 
And though he saw no great objection 
To steady light and clear reflection, 
He thought the aberrating rays, 
Which play about a bumper's blaze. 
Were by the Doctors look'd, in common, on, 
As a more rare and rich phenomenon. 
He wisely said that the sensoi Am. 
Is for the eyes a great emporium, 
To which these noted picture stealers 
Send all they can and meet with dealers. 
In many an optical proceeding 
The brain, he said, show'd great good breeding 
For instance, when we ogle women 
(A trick which Barbara tutor'd him in). 
Although the dears are apt to get in a 
Strange position on the retina, 
Yet instantly the modest brain 
Doth set them on their legs again ! •* 

Our doctor thus, with " stufF'd sufficiency " 
Of all omnigenous omnisciency. 
Began (as who would not begin 
That had, like him, so much within ?) 
To let it out in books of all sorts. 
Folios, quartos, large aitd small sorts. 
Poems, so very deep and sensible 
That ftiey were quite incomprehensible ; * 

this extraordinary man, in a work, published 1C82, — " Be 
vitreo scypho fracto," &;c. 

3 Translated almost literally from a passage in Albertus do 
Secretis, <fcc. 

4 Alluding to that habitual act of the judgment, by whicii, 
notwithstanding the inversion of tlie image upon the retina, 
a correct impression of the object is conveyed to the senso- 
rium. 

5 Under this description, I believe " the Devi) among the 
Scholars" may be Included. Yet Leibnitz found out tlic 
uses of incomprehensibility, when he was appointed secre- 
tary to a society of philosophers at Nuremberg, chiefly for 
his ingenuity in writing a cabalistical letter, not one word 
of which either they or himself could interpret. See the 
Eloge Historique de M. de Leibnitz, I'Europe Savante. — 
People in all ages have loved to be puzzled. V\'e find Cicero 
thanking Atticus for having sent him a work of Serapion 
"ex quo (says he) quidem ego (quod inter nos liceat dicere) 
millesimam partem vix intelligo." Lib. ii. epist. 4. And 
we know that Avicen, the learned Arabian, read Aristotle's 
Metaphysics forty times over for the mere pleasure of being 
able to inform the world that he could not comprehend 
one syllable throughout them. (Nicclas Massa in Vit 
Avicen.) 



ODES OF ANACREOX. 



77 



Prose, Avhich had been at learning's Fair, 
And bought up all the trumpery there, 
The tatter' d rags of every vest. 
In which the Greeks and Romans dress'd. 
And o'er her figure swoll'n and antic 
Scatter' d them all with airs so frantic. 
That those, who saw what fits she had, 
Dcclar'd unhappy Prose was mad ! 
Epics he wrote and scores of rebuses, 
AU as neat as old Turnebus's ; 



Eggs and altars, cyclopaedias. 

Grammars, prayer books — O, 'twere tedious. 

Did I but tell thee half, to follow me : 

Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy, 

No — nor the hoary Trismegistus, 

(Whose writings all, thank heaven ! have 

miss'd us,) 
E'er fill'd with lumber such a wareroom 
As this great " porcus literarum ! ' 



ODES OF ANACREON 

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE, WITH NOIES. 



TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 

THE PRINCE OF WALES. 

Sir : — In allowing me to. dedicate this Work 
to your Royal Highness, you have conferred 
upon me an honor which I feel very sensibly : 
and I have only to regret, that the pages which 
you have thus distinguished are not more de- 
serving of such illustrious patronage. 
Believe me, Sir, 
With every sentiment of respect. 

Your Royal Highness's 
Very grateful and devoted Servant, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be necessary to mention, that, in ar- 
ranging the Odes, the Translator has adopted 
the order of the Vatican MS. For those who 
wish to refer to the original, he has prefixed an 
Index, which marks the number of each Ode in 
Barnes and the other editions. 



INDEX. 

1. ANAKPE3\ ii'.<v M« • 

2. AoTC not Xvprii/ 'Oimpov 

3. Aye, ^Mypa(l>0}v a .I'lrt 

4. Top apyvpov Topzviov 

5. KuAXiTt^va fioi Topzvaov 

6. Xr£0os nXiKOiv nud' tvpov 



ch Ode in 


33. 




34. 




35. 




36. 




37. 




38. 




39. 


63. 


40. 


48. 


41. 


49. 


42. 


17. 


43. 


18. 


44. 


59. 


45. 



Aeyovatv at yvvatKCs . 
0« /iui jieXst ra Tvyuv 
Afe; pt Tovs ^eov; aoi 
Ti (701 &i:Xcis ffoirjo-to . 
I^pioTU Krjpivov Tii . 
0( pcv KaXrjv KvSri^riv 
OeXw, 9eX<:0 ^tXriaai 
Et ipvXXa Travra icvSpoM 
Ejjaupiti TTcXeia 
Aye, l^Liypa(po]v apiars 
Tpaips poi BafiuAAoi/ ojtco 
Aur£ poi. Sore yvvatKe; 
Vlapa Tr)v OKirjv, ^advXXc 
Ai Motio-ai Tov Epcora . 
'H yri ptXaiua iTivci 
'H TavraXov ttot earn 
BeX(o Xeyciv ArpciSas 
'^l)o•lJ Kepara ravpois . 
Su pev 0iA»7 x*^^'^"" • 
Xu pen Xeyci; ra 9r/§»/s 
E( la-xi"'? pcv Imrot , 
'O avrjp b tjh Kvdripris 
XaXtrzov to ur\ (biXricai 
'EinK'ivv ovap Tpoxa^i-tt- 
'XaKivOtvw pe paSita . 
Ejti pvpaivais rcpcivai; 
MeaovVKTiois nod cipais 
MuKapi^opev as, tctti^ 
EpMs ttdt' IV poSoiai . 
'O ttXovto; ciyc xpix^oi^ 
Aia vvKTOi eyKoOmSijiv 

'lAnpOl TTilOptV OtVOV . 

'^l^rl) yepovra TCpirtiov 
'ErrciSri jJpuTO; CTVxOrjV 
Ti icaAoi' £0-71 Pafiii^t(V 
ri'jfeoi pev Atni'vaov 
Hreipai/ovi pev Kporap itm 

To pIlSoU TO TOiV CpiOTMll 

'Orav TTivo) tov oidov , 



SARNEi 

11. 

15. 
31. 
12. 
10. 
13. 
14. 
32. 



78 ODES OF ANACREON. 


ODE 


BARKE9. 


Uera ruv KaXoyv yvvaiK(oV 


46. iSc, TTojf eapos cpafevro; 


37. 


A(j>eX(os Se repwva Traifu, 


47. Eyio yepi^v jtev eipi . 




38. 


'iif Xvpv yap, cpov r/rop 


48. 'Oral- h Baxrx'^s etaeXdr, 




26. 


Avatrvei povov; epioras' 


49. T«v A<«{ nats Bukx"! 




27. 


'ills 0iiirov yaXnvnv 


50. 'Or' eyco viu) rov otvuv 




39. 


^tXewv paXtara Kavrov, 


51. Mji pie ipvyni opt»aa 




34. 


Ov aoiboc ueXbiioi etpt ; 


53. Ti pie rovi vopovi ftiiatjKeii 




36. 


Tts aoipojrepoi pev eari; 


53. 'Or' eyoi i/iaji/ 6,«Auv 




54. 




54. 'O raxipog ovro^, a) nai 




35. 




55 7:re6avn(f>opov pier' Hpoj 




51. 




56. 'O rov ev novois aretpn 




50. 


CORRECTIONS OF THE PRECEDING 


57. Apa Tii ropevae wovrov 




49. 


ODE, 


58. 'O Spunerris b XP'"'"'! • 




66. 


59. Tuf //EXuj-oxpojTa fiorpvv 




52. 




60. Ai-a iSapStruv Sovriau . 




64. 


SUGGESTED BY AN EMINENT GREEK SCHOLAR. 


* « * < 


* 




'Enr i:op<pvpioti rinnat Etti pSSivoi; ravriai 


61. IloXioi /icv 1^/111/ riin 




56. 


TfiX6; iror' m^ottoioj T»?i'»f tot' '5 peXiarm 


62. A^/S <5r;, ^tp' riptv, bl nat 




57. 


iXapos ycXwv eKCtrn, 


63. Tov Epwra yap rui/ aSpov 




58. 


pcdvcov re Kai Xvpi^wv 4 


64. rovvovpat d t\a^n&o\t 




60. 


irepX &' avrov dpip' "Epur«j Ap(^i avrov ol 6' Epures 


65. na)A£ Qpr\Kiii, ri Sn pC 




61. 


rpopepoTs voc'iv xopEi"'"- 'AttuAoi avvtxopevaay 


66. Qeauiv avaaaa, Kvrrpi . 




62. 


r« lieXtpv b plv Kvdfjpni 


67. n )!•,.( Tzapecvtov PXeKuiv 




67. 


erroiei KaXns, otarovs Eiroiti, ipvxiS oiarov; 


<«. Ej-o) (5' odt' av ApaXdeiiis 




m. 


TTvpdevrai, Ik xepavvov' 9 






b Si Xevxa (caAAt^OAAoij 


For the order of the rest, see the Note 


9. 


Kpiva avv poSoim rXe^af, 
eipiXet ari^cjv yepovra. 






Kara S' eidv; £( 'OXvpnov > - . .. 

Xo0.-, ^caiva 0a.a, ^ " ^^ ^^?- ~ 






AN ODE 




iaopwa' 'AvaKpeovra, 15 
eaupdaa rovi "Epuras, 


BY THE TRANSLATOR. 




i^ropctSiuaa (pricn- 'XiropeiStaaaai eiire 
X6(p',—eze\ (iponov at rovro T5y cro^wrurSi' CLTravriov 


Em ^oStvoii raTTtiui, 




KaXeovai (pvXa Trdvra, 19 


Tr,i'os T7ur' b peXiarns 




(caA£ovcr<i/ ol aoipiaraX, — 


'IXapoi yeXcjv exeiro. 




ri, yipojv, parr/v bScicii 


MeBvMv re (cat Xvpt^uV 




Pi6rov rpiSov reov piv 


Apipi avrov ol 6' cpoires 




pera rdv KaXCtv 'Epturwy, 


'An-uAot cvi/exopevtrav 




piera rov koXov Avaiov, Tnlg Eptoo-i, tm Auoim 


•O PcXr, ra rt,s Kv9r,pr,s 




ijil S' uSe Xai driven; 25 K' ovk epot Kpareiv eScoKas 


En-oiti, xpvxis oXoTovi' 






'O ie XevKU 7rop0upot(ri 




1. iTop<pvpeoii vox trisyllabica. Anacr. Fragni. xxix. 3, 


Kptva av poSuiai irXc^as 




ed. Fischer. TTop(pvperi r' 'Afpoiirn. Id. Fragiii. xxxvi. 1 


KptXet (TTCipwv yepovra' 




aipaipij Sevre pe nop(j>vpiri, ut legendum plane ex Athenao 


'11 Se Sea'ov avaaaa. 




'AXiKopipipoti Tiinriai dixit Pseud-Anacreon, Od. vm. 2 


SO'MH nor' e^ OXipmov 




Theocr. Id. xv. 125. iroptpvpeoi Se rdrrrires okj, paXuKoi- 


Eo-opcoo-' AvaKpeovra, 




repot {iTi-vDj. 


Baopwaa rovs cpcjra;, 




5. Tmesis pro dpfex^r^vaav. Theocr. Id. vii. 142. ttw- 


'ICmipetdiaaaas eine- 




rwvro (ovdai rrepi Tri'Ja/cuf dp</ji piXmtxai, h. e. dpfeitw- 


Jl'i<pe, 6' (l)f AKa/cpEoira 




rUvro. 


Toi/ aiKpuiraruii aTiavrwv, 




6. Pseud-Anacr. Od. lii. 12. rpupepoTs n-oo-iv x'tpevn. 


KaXcoviTtv ol ao(j>iarat, 




7, 10. 6 piv, hic — h Si, ille. Blon. Id. i. 82. x^ I'iv 


Ti, yepuv, reov [iiuv pev 




diarCiS, 1 Si S' em rd^ov eSaiv', k. r. X. itidem de Amoribus. 


Tois cpoiori, TM Auaiw, 




8, 9. £;roi£i — £«c ^£p..wov. Pseud-Anacr. Od. xxviii. 18 


K' ovK epot Kpareiv eSwKag; 




TO Si 0Xfppa vvv dXridwi | otto toC nvpo; TT.nr,<Tov. 


Ti (jiiXipa mi Kvdnpns, 




10, 11. (caAAi^uAAois — p(5Jot(7(. Pseud-Anacr. Od. v. a 


Tt KVKtXXa rov Avaiov, 




TO p6Snv ro KaXXUj>vXXov. 


Aict y' £rpu0r;(rH{ a^mv. 




13. Tmesis pro KnraSdaa. Pseud-Anacr. Od. m. 15. dva 


OvK epuvi popovi SiSaaKMV, 




S' evBv Xvxvov llxPai, h. e. dvaxPa. 


OvK epnv Xaxoiv aa>rov ; 




18. Supple oV«;<a,quo r.^vrn referatur. Eurip. Phan. 12. 


•0 Se Tijioj peXtarris 




roijTO yap varr,p \ eQero. h. e. miiro ovfH,a. ffporuv fvXa 


Mnrc Svaxepatpe, <t>ri(7t, 




iravra adumbratum ex Pseud-Anacr. Od. m. 4. pcpontov 


'On, Sfij, aov y' avcv pev. 




<Ji 0«A.< :ravra. 


'O ao(j>uTaTOi airavrMv 




21. Pseud-Anacr. Od. xxrv. 2. 0i6rov rpi6ov hSeveiv. 


Yiapa roii' ao^uiv KaXovpai' 




25. ^sch. Eumen. 538. pr,Si vtv, | KipSos iSihv, ddeu jroU 


<*lXc(0, JTIO), Xvpl^CJ, 




Xdi art- \ a,ji. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



79 



ri (fiiXn/ta rni Kvdnprn, 
ri Kvrtef'Xa tov Avaiov, 
Ijkici rpvipoJi' (itifjtif, 
ini'i Siaiti' oil SiSdaKuiv, 
Ifiov till AnX'J'' aioTOV ; 

i;u Tra/jtic v6ov ye nn tioi 
XaMTratue, (jifia, avcvOe 
oTi an (TUiios KaXovjiai 
r.|Uj TMV auijxjjn atravTdiv. 

^iXtU, TTlOt, XvfjU^Ol, 

((mi To)v xaXuv yvi>aiK<Si 
■j i>s\o>i it Tipitva vaii^oi' 
Ki^Ki/jri yap, coj Ksap fttv, 

diOTUv Si t!]v yaXfjVTiv 
iju\i(:iv /(dXiora iravrMV, 
a iifios oi iieXoiSdi eipii ; 
71 avipurepuv yzviir' av ; 
ci'cOef aoipaJTCpos ri's ; 



Alei y' crpvcpriaai aSoiv 
OvK epn; vopni 6t6aaKO}v 
30 OvK Cjiov Xax<<'«' awrov 

> MqT£ ivaxi^paive, (pr/tri 
'On, ^ii, aov y' apev pev 
'O (7u<pa)TaT5i diravTbiv 



'Us Xvpn yap, epov nrap 
41 tlSc SToTov yaXnvrjv 

Ov (ro<j)oi peXoiSos ctpi 
45 TSs aofoiTCpos ptv tan. 



REMARKS ON ANACREON. 

Theiie is but little known with certainty of 
the life of Anacreon. Chamaelcon Heracleotes,' 
who wrote upon the subject, has been lost in 
the general wreck of ancient literature. The 
editors of the poet have collected the few trifling 
anecdotes which are scattered through the ex- 
tant authors of antiquity, and, supplying the 
de'iciency of materials by fictions of their own 
iniai;ination, have arranged, what they call, a 
Hie of Anacreon. These specious fabrications 
arc intended to indulge that interest which we 
naturally feel in the biography of illustrious 
iiicu ; but it is rather a dangerous kind of illu- 
sion, as it confounds the limits of history and 
romance,''' and is too often supported by unfaith- 
ful citation.' 



3a. TzaplK voov j-£ pfi pot xaM;raii'£, ne prmter rationem in 
i-ir. sieoi. II. Y. 133. "Hpn, pfl xaXtvatpc TcaptK v6ov. Simi- 
k'lii positionem particularura pfj pot exliibet Psend-Anacr. 

0(l. XX V7 1 1. 13. 

1 [lo is quoted by Athenseus ev rw ncpi tov AvoKpeovTog. 

■■; Tlie Historv of Anacreon, by Ga^on (le Poete sans fard, 
a- lio styles iiiniself), is professedly a romance; nor does 
.M ilniiioisclle Sciideri, from whom he borrowed the idea, 
pretend to historical veracity in her account of Anacreon and 
Sappho. These, then, are allowable. But how can Barnes 
;ie forgiven, who, with all the confidence of a biographer, 
traces every wandering of the poet, and settles him at last, 
ill his old age, in a country villa near Teos ? 

3 The learned Bayle has detected some infidelities of quo- 
tation in Le Fcvre. (Dictinnnaire Historujitr, ^-c.) Madame 
Dacior is not more accurate than her father: they have 
almost made Anacreon prime minister to the monarch of 
t^ainos. 

4 The Asiatics were as remarkable for genius as for lux- 
ury. " Ingcuia Asiatica inclyta per gentes fecere Poctae, 
Au-icieiiii, iiule .Minincrmus et Antimachus, &c." — Solinus. 



Our poet was born in the city of Tecs,* in 
the delicious region of Ionia, and the time of 
his birth appears to have been in the sixth cen- 
tury before Christ.' He flourished at that 
remarkable period, when, under the polished 
tyrants Hipparchus and Polycrates, Athens and 
Samos were become the rival asylums of genius. 
There is nothing certain known about his family, 
and those who pretend to discover in Plato that 
he was a descendant of the monarch Codrus, 
show much more of zeal than of either accu- 
racy or judgment.* 

The disposition and talents of Anacreon rec- 
ommended him to the monarch of Samos, and 
he was formed to be the friend of such a prince 
as Polycrates. Susceptible only to the pleas- 
ures, he felt not the corruptions of the court ; 
and, while Pythagoras fled from the tyrant, 
Anacreon was celebrating his praises on the 
lyre. We are told too by Maximus Tyrius, 
that, by the influence of his amatory songs, he 
softened the mind of Polycrates into a spirit of 
benevolence towards his subjects.' 

The amours of the poet, and the rivalship of 
the tyrant,^ I shall pass over in silence ; and 
there are few, I presume, who will regret the 
omission of most of those anecdotes, which the 
industry of some editors has not only promulged, 
but discussed. Whatever is repugnant to mod- 
esty and virtue is considered in ethical science, 
by a supposition very favorable to humanity, 
as impossible ; and this amiable persuasion 
should be much more strongly entertained, 
where the transgression wars with nature as 
well as virtue. But why are we not allowed 
to indulge in the presumption ? Why are we 



6 I liave not attempted to define the particular Olympiad, 
but have adopted the idea of Bayle, who says, " Je n'ai 
point marque d'Olympiade ; car pour un homme qui a v^cu 
85 ans, il me semble que I'on ne doit point s'enfermer dans 
des bornes si etroites." 

6 This mistake is founded on a false interpretation of a 
very obvious passage in Plato's Dialogue on Temperance ; it 
originated with Madame Dacier, and has been received im- 
plicitly by many. Gail, a late editor of Anacreon, seems to 
claim to himself the merit of detecting this error; but Bayle 
had observed it before him. 

' AvaKpciov Xapiots JliiXvKpaTriii fipicpbyac. Maxim. Tjr. 
$ 21. Maximus Tyrius mentions this among other instani cs 
of the influence of poetry. If Gail had read Maximus Tyr- 
ius, how could he ridicule this idea in Moutonnet, as unau- 
thenticated .' 

8 In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to which I allude 
is told of a young girl, with whom Anacreon fell in love 
while she personated the god Apollo in a mask. Bui: 
here Mademoiselle Scuderi consulted nature more thai 
truth. 



RO 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



officiously reminded that there have been really- 
such instances of depravity ? 

Ilipparchus, who now maintained at Athens 
the power which his father Pisistratus had 
usurped, was one of those princes who may be 
said to have polished the fetters of their sub- 
jects. He was the first, according to Plato, 
who edited the poems of Homer, and com- 
manded them to be sung by the rhapsodists at 
the celebration of the Panathenaea. From his 
court, which was a sort of galaxy of genius, 
Anacreon could not loijg be absent. Hippar- 
chus sent a barge for him; the poet readily 
embraced the invitation, and the Muses and the 
Loves were wafted with him to Athens.' 

The manner of Anacreon's death was singu- 
lar. We are told that in the eighty-fifth year 
of his age he was choked by a grape stone ; " 
and, however we may smile at their enthusiastic 
partiality, who see in this easy and charac- 
teristic death a peculiar indulgence of Heaven, 
we cannot help admiring that his fate should 
have been so emblematic of his disposition. 
Caelius Calcagninus alludes to this catastrophe 
in the following epitaph on our poet : ^ — 

Those lips, then, hallow'd sage, which pour'd along 
A music sweet as any cygnet's song, 

The grape hath clos'd forever ! 
Here let the ivy kiss the poet's tomb. 
Here let the rose he loved with laurels bloom. 

In bands that ne'er shall sever. 



1 There is a very interesting French poem founded upon 
tliis anecdote, imputed to Desyvetaux, and called " Anacreon 
Citoyen." 

2 Fabricius appears not to trust very implicitly in this 
story. " Uvse passse acino tandem suftbcatus, si credimus 
Suidae in uij/oTUTr/s; alii enim hoc mortis genere periisse 
tradunt Sophoclem." — Fabricii Bibliolhec. Oriic. lib. ii. cap. 
15. [t must be confessed that Lucian, who tells us that 
Sophocles was choked by a grape stone, in the very same 
treatise mentions the longevity of Anacreon, and yet is silent 
on tlie manner of his death. Could he have been ignorant 
of s\ich a remarkable coincidence, or, knowing, could he 
have neglected to remark it ? See Regnier's introduction to 
his Anacreon. 

3 At te, sancte senex, acinus sub Tartara misit ; 

Cygneae clausit qui tibi vocis iter. 
Vos, hederae, tumulum, tumulum vos cingite, lauri. 

Hoc rosa perpetuo vernet odora loco ; 
At vitis procul hinc, procul hinc odiosa facessat, 

CiuJE causam dira; protulit, uva, necis, 
Creditur ipse minus vitem jam Bacchus amare, 
In vatem tantum qute fuit ansa nefas. 
The author of this epitaph, Cselius Calcagninus, has trans- 
lated or imitated the epigrams tis rrtv Mvpwvoj /Jutix, which 
are given under the name of Anacreon. 

* Banies is convinced (but very gratuitously), of the syn- 
clironism ol \nacreon and Sappho. In citing his authorities, 



But far be thou, O, far ! unholy vine. 

By whom the favorite minstrel of the Nine 

Lost his sweet vita! breath ; 
Thy God himself now blushes to confess, 
Once hallow'd vine ! he feels he loves thee less, 
Since poor Anacreon's death. 
It has been supposed by some writers thai 
Anacreon and Snppho were contemporaries ; 
and the very thought of an intercourse between 
persons so congenial, both in warmth of passion 
and delicacy of genius, gives such play to the 
imagination, that the mind loves to indulge in 
it. But the vision dissolves before historical 
truth ; and Chameleon and Hermesianax, who 
are the source of the supposition, are con- 
sidered as having merely indulged in a poetical 
anachronism.* 

To infer the moral dispositions of a poet from 
the tone of sentiment which pervades his works, 
is sometimes a very fallacious analogy ; I ut 
the soul of Anacreon speaks so unequivocally 
through his odes, that we may safely consult 
them as the faithful mirrors of his heart.* Wo 
find him there the elegant voluj^tuary, diffusing 
the seductive charm of sentiment over passions 
and propensities at which rigid morality must 
frown. His heart, devoted to indolence, seems 
to have thought that there is wealth enough in 
happiness, but seldom happiness in mere wealth. 
The cheerfulness, indeed, with which he bright- 
ens his old age is interesting and endearing : 
like his own rose, he is fragrant even in dctay. 



he has strangely neglected the hne quoted by Fulvius Ursi- 
nus, as from Anacreon, among the testimonies to Sappho: - 

Ei^i XaSiov CKTonas "Zavipui TraoQuv.iv iicufuii of. 

Fabricius thinks that they might have been contemporary, 
but considers their amour as a tale of imagination. Vossiuj 
rejects the idea entirely : as do also Olaus Borrichius and 
others. 

6 An Italian poet, in some verses on Belleau's translation 
of Anacreon, pretends to imagine tliat our bard did not feel 
as he wrote : — 

Lysium, Venerem, Cupidmemque 

Senex lusit Anacreon poet.u 

Sed quo tempore nee capaciores 

Rogabat cyathos, ncc inquietis 

Urebatur amuribus, sed ipsis 

Tantum versibus et jocis amabat. 

Nullum prffi se habitum gerens aiiianti- 

To Love and Bacchus ever young 

While sage Anacreon touch'd the lyre, 
He neither felt the loves he sung, 

Nor fiU'd his bowl to Bacchus higher. 
Those flowery days had faded long. 

When youth could act the lover's part 
And passion trembled in his song, 

But never, never, reached his heart 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



But the most peciiliar feature of his mind is 
that love of simplicity, which he attributes to 
himself so feelingly, and which breathes char- 
acteristically throughoiit all that he has sung. 
In truth, if we omit those few vices in our 
estimate which religion, at that time, not only 
connived at, but consecrated, we shall be in- 
clined to say that the disposition of our poet 
was amiable ; that his morality was relaxed, 
but not abandoned ; and that Virtue, with her 
zone loosened, may be an apt emblem of the 
cliaracter of Anacreon.' 

Of his person and physiognomy time has pre- 
served such imcertain memorials, that it were 
better, perhaps, to leave the pencil to fancy ; and 
few can read the Odes of Anacreon without im- 
agining to themselves the form of the animated 
old bard, crowned with roses, and singing cheer- 
fully to his lyre. But the head of Anacreon, 
prefixed to this work,^ has been considered so 
authentic, that we scarcely could be justified in 
the omission of it ; and some have even thought 
that it is by no means deficient in that benevo- 
ent suavity of expression which should charac- 
terize the countenance of such a poet. 

After the very enthusiastic eulogiums be- 



1 Anacreon 's character has been variously colored. 
lingers on it with enthusiastic admiration : but he is always 
extravagant, if not sometimes also a little profane. Baillet 
rnns too much into the opposite extreme, exaggerating also 
the testimonies which he has consulted ; and we cannot 
s'lrcly agree with him when he cites such a compiler as Ath- 
oruDUs, as " un des plus savans critiques de I'antiquite." — 
Jii'jement de^ Sgavans, M. CV. 

Barnes could hardly have read the passage to which he 
refers, when he accuses Le Fevre of having censured our 
puct's character in a note on Longinus ; the note in question 
lieing manifest irony, in allusion to some censure passed 
upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. It is clear, indeed, that 
praise rather than censure is intimated. See Johannes Vul- 
pius (de Utilitate Poetices), who vindicates our poet's rep- 
utation. 

- It is taken from the Bibliotheca of Fulvius Ursinus. 
lU'lloii has copied the same head into his Imagines. Johan- 
nes Fabcr, in his description of the coin of Ursinus, men- 
tions another head on a very beautiful camelian, which he 
supposes was worn in a ring by some admirer of the poet. 
In tlie Icunographia of Canini there is a youthful head of 
Anacreon from a Grecian medal, with the letters TEIOS 
around it ; on the reverse there is a Neptune, holding a spear 
in his right hand, and a dolphin, with the word TIANilN 
inscribed, in the left ; " volendoci denotare (says Canini) che 
quelle citladini la coniassero in honore del sue compatriota 
poeta." Tliere is also among the coins of De Wilde one, 
which, though it bears vo effigy, was probably struck to the 
memory »f Anacreon. It has the word THIJIN, encircled 
with an ivy crown. " At quidni respicit haec corona Anac- 
eontem, nobilem lyricum ? "— De Wilde. 

3 Besides those which are extant, he wrote hymns, elegies, 

epigram-^, &c. Some of the epigrams still exist. Horace, 

11 



stowed both by ancients and moderns upon the 
poems of Anacreon,^ we need not be diffider' 
in expressing our raptures at their beauty, nor 
hesitate to pronounce them the most polished 
remains of antiquity."* They arc, indeed, all 
beauty, all enchantment.^ He steals us so in- 
sensibly along with him, that we sympathize ever, 
in his excesses. In his amatory odes there is a 
delicacy of compliment not to be found in any 
other ancient poet. Love at that period was 
rather an unrefined emotion : and the inter- 
course of the sexes Avas animated more by passion 
than by sentiment. They knew not those little 
tendernesses which form the spiritual part of 
aff"ection ; their expression of feeling was there- 
fore rude and unvaried, and the poetry of love 
deprived it of its most captivating graces. Anac- 
reon, however, attained some ideas of this purer 
gallantry ; and the same delicacy of mind which 
led him to this refinement, prevented him also 
from yielding to the freedom of language, which 
has sullied the pages of all the other poets. 
His descriptions are warm ; but the warmth is 
in the ideas, not the words. He is sportive with- 
out being wanton, and ardent without being 
licentious. His poetic invention is always most 



in addition to the mention of him (lib. iv. od. 9), alludes also 
to a poem of his upon the rivalry of Circe and Penelope in 
the afTections of Ulysses, lib. i. od. 17; and the scholiast 
upon Nicander cites a fragment from a poem upon Sleep by 
Anacreon, and attributes to him likewise a medicinal trea- 
tise. Fulgentius mentions a work of his upon the war be- 
tween Jupiter and the Titans, and the origin of the conse- 
cration of the eagle 

■4 See Horace, Maximus Tyriiis, &c. " His style (says 
Scaliger) is sweeter than the juice of the Indian reed." — 
Poet. lib. i. cap. 44. " From the softness of his verses (says 
Olaus Borrichius) the ancients bestowed on him the epithets 
sweet, delicate, graceful, &c." — Disscrtationcs Academictr, 
de Poetis, diss. 2. Scaliger again praises him thus in a pun ; 
speaking of the ficAoc, or ode, " Anacreon autein non solum 
dedit hsec nt'Kr] sed etiam in ipsis mella." See the passage 
of Rapin, quoted by all the editors. I cannot omit citing 
also the following very spirited apostrophe of the author of 
the Commentary prefixed to the Parma edition : " O vos 
sublimes animae, vos ApoUinis alumni, qui post uniim Alc- 
manem in totS. Hellade lyricam poesim exsusritastis, coluis- 
tis, amplificastis,qusso vos an uUus unquain fueiit vates (|Mi 
Teio cantori vel natnra; candore vel metri su-ivitate pilinam 
prasripiierit." See likewise Vincenzo Oraviiii della Rag. 
Poetic, libro primo, p. 97. Among <the Ritratti of Marino, 
there is one of Anacreon beginning " Ciiigetemi la fronfe," 
&c. &c. 

5 " We may perceive," says Vossius, " that the iteration 
of his words conduces very much to the sweetness of his 
style " Henry Stephen remarks the same beauty in a note 
on the forty-fourth ode. This figure of iteration is liis most 
appropriate grace: — but tlie modern writers <if .liiveiiiliti 
and Basia have adopted it to an excess wliicli do-tn ys tha 
effect. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



brilliantly cUsplaj'ed in those allegorical fictions 
which so many have endeavored to imitate, 
though all have confessed them to be inimitable. 
Simplicity is the distinguishing feature of these 
ndes, and they interest by their innocence, as 
much as they fascinate by their beauty. They 
may be said, indeed, to be the very infants of 
the Muses, and to lisp in numbers. 

I shall not be accused of enthusiastic parti- 
ality by those who have read and felt the origi- 
nal ; but, to others, I am conscious, this should 
not be the language of a translator, whose faint 
reflection of such beauties can but ill justify his 
admiration of them. 

In the age of Anacreon music and poetry 
were inseparable. These kindred talents -were 
for a long time associated, and the poet always 
sung his own compositions to the lyre. It is 
probable that they were not set to any regular 
air, but rather a kind of musical recitation, 
Avhich was varied according to the fancy and 
feelings of the moment.' The poems of Anac- 
}-eon were sung at banquets as late as the time 
of Aulus Gellius, who tells us that he heard 
cne of the odes performed at a birthday enter- 
tainment.' 

The singular beauty of our poet's style, and 
the apparent facility, perhaps, of his metre have 
attracted, as I have already remarked, a crowd 
of imitators. Some of these have succeeded 
with wonderful felicity, as may be discerned 
in the few odes which are attributed to writers 
of a later period. But none of his emulators 
have been half so dangerous to his fame as 
those Greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, 
being conscious of their own inferiority to their 
great prototypes, determined on removing all 



1 In the Taris edition there are four of the original odes 
oet to music, by Le Sueur, Gossec, Mehul, and Clierubini. 
" On chante du Latin, et de I'ltalien," says Gail, " quelque- 
fois meme sans les entendre ; qui enipeche que nous ne 
chantions des odes Grecques ? " The chromatic learning 
of tliese composers is very unlike what we are told of the 
simple melody of the ancients ; and they have all, as it ap- 
pears to me, mistaken the accentuation of the words. 

2 Tlie Parma commentator is rather careless in referring 
•o tills passage of Aulus Gellius (lib. xi.\. 9). The ode was 
not sung by the rhetorician Julianus, as he says, but by the 
minstrels of both sexes, who were introduced at the enter- 
Uiiinnent. 

3 See what Colomesius, in his " Literary Treasures," has 
quoted from Alcyonius de Exilio; it may be found in Bax- 
ter. Colomesius, after citing the passage, adds, " Heec auro 
contra cara non potui non apponere." 

vVe may perceive by tlie beginning of the first hymn of 
Rishop Synesius, that he made Anacreon and Sappho his 
.iiodels of composition. 



possibility of comparison, and, under a sem- 
blance of moral zeal, deprived the world of 
some of the most exquisite treasures of ancient 
times.3 The works of Sappho and Alceeua 
were among those flowers of Grecian literature 
which thus fell beneath the rude hand of ec- 
clesiastical presumption. It is true they pre- 
tended that this sacrifice of genius was hallowed 
by the interests of religion ; but I have already 
assigned the most probable motive ; '' and if 
Gregorius Nazianzenus had not written Anac- 
reontics, we might now perhaps have the works 
of the Teian unmutilated, and be empowered to 
say exultingly with Horace, 

Nee si quid olim lusit Anacreon 

Delevit tetas. 
The zeal by which these bishops professed to 
be actuated, gave birth more innocently, indeed, 
to an absurd species of parodj', as repugnant to 
piety as it is to taste, where the poet of volup- 
tuousness was made a preacher of the gospel, 
and his muse* like the Venus in ai-mor at Lace- 
dsemon, was arrayed in all the severities of 
priestly instruction. Such was the " Anacreon 
Recantatus," by Carolus de Aquino, a Jesuit, 
published 1701, which consisted of a series of 
•palinodes to the several songs of our poet. 
Such, too, was the Christian Anacreon of Pa- 
trignanus, another Jesuit,* who preposterously 
transferred to a most sacred subject all that the 
Grecian poet had dedicated to festivity and love. 
His metre has frequently been adopted by 
the modem Latin poets ; and Scaliger, Taub- 
man, Barthius,* and others, have shown that it 
is by no means uncongenial with that language.' 
The Anacreontics of Scaliger, however, scarcely 
deserve the name ; as they glitter all over witl 



Aye fioi, \iy£ia (pop/tiy^, 
Uera Tqi'tv aoiiav, 
Mera AeaBiav ts ftoXirav. 

Margunius and Damascenus were likewise authors ol plou» 
Anacreontics. 

6 This, perhaps, is the " Jesuita quidam Grseculus " al- 
luded to by Barnes, who has himself composed an AiaicoEcoc 
Xpicrrtavoi, as absurd as the rest, but somewhat more skil- 
fully executed. 

6 I have seen somewhere an account of tJie MSS of Bar- 
thius, written just after his death, which mentions many 
more Anacreontics of his than 1 believe have ever been 
published. 

' Thus too Albertus, a Danish poet : — 

Fidii tin mmister 
Gaudebo semper esse, 
Gaudebo semper illi 
Litare thure mulso ; 
Gaudebo semper ilium 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



conceits, and, though often elegant, are always 
labored. The beautiful fictions of Angerianus ' 
preserve more happily than any others the deli- 
cate turn of those allegorical fables, which, 
passing so frequently through the mediums of 
version and imitation, have generally lost their 
finest rays in the transmission. Many of the 
Italian poets have indulged their fancies upon 
tlie subjects, and in the manner of Anacreon, 
Bernardo Tasso first introduced the metre, which 
was afterwards polished and enriched by Cha- 
l);iera and others.'' 

To judge by the references of Degen, the 
(Jorman language abounds in Anacreontic imi- 
titions; and Hagedom' is one among many 
who have assumed him as a model. La Farre, 
Chaulieu, and the other light poets of France, 
have also professed to cultivate the muse of 
Tcos ; but they have attained all her negligence 
with little of the simple grace that embellishes 
it. In the delicate bard of Schiras* we find the 
kindred spirit of Anacreon : some of his gazelles, 
or songs, possess all the character of our poet. 

We come now to a retrospect of the editions 
of Anacreon. To Henry Stephen we are in- 
debted for having first recovered his remains 
from the obscurity in which, so singularly, they 
had for many ages reposed. He found the 
seventh ode, as we are told, on the cover of an 
old book, and communicated it to Victorius, who 
mentions the circumstance in his " Various 
Ivcadings." Stephen was then very young ; and 
this discovery was considered by some critics of 
that day as a literary imposition.* In 1554, how- 
ever, he gave Anacreon to the world,^ accompa- 
nied with annotations and a Latin version of the 



Laudare pumilillis 
Anacreonticillis. 
See the Danish Poets collected by Rostgaard. 

Tliese pretty littlenesses defy translation. A beautiful 
Anacreontic by Hugo Grotius, may be found Lib. i. Farra- 
eiiiis. 

t To Angerianus Prior is indebted for some of his happiest 
mythological subjects. 

- See Crescinibeni, Historia della Volg. Poes. 

^ " L'aimable Hagedorn vaut quelquefois Anacreon." — 
Dorat, Idee de. la Po'isie Allemande. 

i See Toderini on the learning of the Turks, as translated 
by Dfi Cournard. Prince Cantemir has made the Russians 
a.-qiiainted with Anacreon. See his Life, prefixed to a trans- 
lation of his Satires, by the Abbe de Guasco. 

•i RoberteUus, in his work "De Ratione corrigendi," pro- 
ii(]unces those verses to be the triflings of some insipid 
"5 racist. ' 

« Ronsard commemorates this event : — 



Je vay boire i Henrie Etienne 
Qui des enfcrs nous a rendu. 



greater part of the odes. The learned still hesi- 
tated to receive them as the relics of the Teian 
bard, and suspected them to be the fabrication 
of some monks of the sixteenth century. This 
was an idea from which the classic muse re- 
coiled ; and the Vatican manuscript, consulted 
bj' Scaliger and Salmasius, confirmed the an- 
tiquity of most of the poems. A very inaccu- 
rate copy of this MS. was taken by Isaac Vos- 
sius, and this is the authority which Barnes has 
followed in his collation. Accordingly he mis- 
represents almost as often as he quotes ; and 
the subsequent editors, reljing upon his author- 
ity, have spoken of the manuscript with not 
less confidence than ignorance. The literary 
world, however, has at length been gratified 
with this curious memorial of the poet, by the 
industry of the Abb6 Spaletti, who published 
at Rome, in 1781, a fac simUe of those pages of 
the Vatican manuscript which contained thf^ 
odes of Anacreon.'' 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of all the 
different editions and translations of Anacreon. 
Finding their number to be much greater than 
I could possibly have had an opportunity of 
consulting, I shall here content myself with 
enumerating only those editions and versions 
which it has been in mj' power to collect ; and 
which, though very few, are, I believe, the 
most important. 

The edition by Henry Stephen, 1554, at 
Paris — the Latin version is attributed by Col- 
omesius to John Dorat." 

The old French translations, by Ronsard and 
Belleau — the former published in 1555, the 
latter in 1556. It appears from a note of Mu- 



Du vieil Anacreon perdu, 
La douce lyre Tei'enne. 



Ode XV. book 5. 



I fill the bowl to Stephen's name, 
Who rescued from the gloom of night 

The Teian bard of festive fame, 
And brought his living lyre to light. 

7 This manuscript, whicn Spaletti thinks as old as the 
tenth century, was brought from the Palatine into the Vati- 
can library ; it is a kind of anthcilngy of Greek epigram?, 
and in the G7€th page of it are Ibund the 'UniaftSta Sd/itt"- 
otaxa of Anacreon. 

8 " Le meme (M. Vossius) m'a liit qu'il avoit possede un 
Anacreon, ou Scaliger avoit marque de &u main, qu' Henri 
Etienne n'etoit pas I'auteur de la version Latine des odes 
de ce poete, mais Jean Dorat." — Paalus Colomesius, Par- 
ticularites. 

Colomesius, however, seems to have relied too implicitly 
on Vossius; — almost all these Particularites begin will' 
" M. Vossius m'a dit." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



retus upon one of the sonnets of Ronsard, that 
Henry Stephen communicated to this poet his 
manuscript of Anacreon, before he promulgated 
it to the world.' 

The edition by Le Fevre, 1660. 

The edition by Madame Dacier, 1681, with a 
prose translation.'' 

The edition by Longepierre, 1684, with a 
translation in verse. 

The edition by Baxter; London, 1695. 

A French translation by la Fosse, 1704. 

" L'Histoire des Odes d' Anacreon," by Ga- 
50n ; Rotterdam, 1712. 

A translation in English verse, by several 
nands, 1713, in which the odes by Cowley are 
inserted. 

The edition by Barnes ; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, with a Latin 
version in elegiac metre. 

A translation in English verse, by John Addi- 
son, 1735. 

A collection of Italian translations of Anac- 
reon, published at Venice, 1736, consisting of 
those by Corsini, Regnier,^ Salvini, Marchetti, 
and one by several anonymous authors."* 

A translation in English verse, by Fawkes and 
Doctor Broome, 1760.* 

Another, anonymous, 1768. 

The edition by Spaletti, at Rome, 1781 ; with 
the fac simile of the Vatican MS. 

The edition by Degen, 1786, who published 

1 " La fiction de ce sonnet comme I'auteur m&me m'a dit, 
ost prise d'line ode d'Anacreon, encore non imprimee, qu'il 
a depuis traduit, Sn n^v (ptXri x^^'^<^''" 

2 The autlior of Nouvelles de la Repub. des Lett, bestows 
on this translation much more praise than its merits appear 
to me to justify. 

3 The notes of Regnier are not inserted in this edition ; 
but they must be interesting, as they were for the most part 
communicated by the ingenious Menage, who, we may per- 
ceive, from a passage in the Menagiana, bestowed some 
research on the subject. "C'est aussi lui (M. Bigot) qui 
s'est donne la peine de conf6rer des manuscrits en Italie 
dans le terns que je travaillois sur Anacreon." — Menagiana, 
seconde partie. 

i I find in Haym's Notizia de' Libri rari, Venice, 1670, an 
Italian translation by Cappone, mentioned. 

5 This is the most complete of the English translations. 

6 This ode is the first of tlie serlesin the Vatican manu- 
script, which attributes it to no other poet than Anacreon. 
They who assert that the manuscript imputes it to Basilius, 
have been misled by the words Tou avrov PaaiXiKWi in the 
margin, which are merely intended as a title to the follow- 
ing ode. Whether it be the production of Anacreon or not, 
it has all the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beauti- 
ful imitation of the poet's happiest manner. 

7 Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 

Through the mist of soft desire.] *' How could he know 
at the first luok (says Baxter) that the poet was ^lAtufoj ? " 



also a German translation of Anacreon, es 
teemed the best. 

A translation in English verse, by "Urquhart, 
1787. 

The edition by Gail, at Paris, 1799, with a 
prose translation. 



ODE L6 

I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure, 
The minstrel of the Teian measure ; 
'Twas in a vision of the night. 
He beam'd upon my wondering sight. 
I heard his voice, and warmly pressed 
The dear enthusiast to my breast. 
His tresses wore a silvery dye. 
But beauty sparkled in his eye ; 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire. 
Through the mist of soft desire.' 
His lip exhal'd, whene'er he sigh'd, 
The fragrance of the racy tide ; 
And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss to meet, 
An infant, of the Cyprian band. 
Guided him on with tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drew 
His braid, of many a wanton hue ; 
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breath'd of him and blush'd with wine.* 

There are surely many telltales of this propensity ; and tin 
following are the indices, which the physiognomist gives, 
describing a disposition perhaps not unlike that of Anacreon : 
OipOaXixoi. KXct^uneyoi, Kvnaipoi/rti ev avroi;, tif afpoSiaia 
xai eviradeiav CTTTOrivTai. ovtc &£ a&iKoi,ovTCKaKovpyui, axne 

(pvatui favXris, ovre apiovaot. Sdamantius. " The eyes 

that are humid and fluctuating show a propensity to pleasure 
and love ; they bespeak too a mind of integrity and benefi- 
cence, a generosity of disposition, and a genius for poetry." 

Baptista Porta tells us some strange opinions of the ancient 
physiognomists on this subject, their reasons for which were 
curious, and perhaps not altogether fanciful. Vide Physiog- 
nom. Johan. Baptist. Ports. 

8 / took the wreath, whose inmost twine 

Breath'd of him, S{c.] Philostratus has the same thought 
in oneof hisE.own/ca, tvhere lie speaks of the garland which 
he had sent to his mistress. Ei ie liovXei ri (ptXcj xa/Ji^tc" 
dai, ra Xei\pava anTt-rrfiitpov, utikctl -nviovra poioiv /wfov 
aXXa Kat aov. " If thou art inclined to gratify thy lover, 
send him back the remains of the garland, no longer b^^ath- 
ing of roses only, but of thee ! " Which pretty conceit is 
borrowed (as the author of the Observer remarks) in a well- 
known little song of Een Jonson's : - 

" But tliou thereon didst only breathe. 
And sent it back to me ; 
Since when it looks and smells, I swear. 
Not of itself, but thee ! " 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



I hung it.o'er my thoughtless brow, 
And ah ! I feel its magic now : ' 
I feel that even his garland's touch 
Can make the bosom love too much. 



ODE II. 

Give me the harp of epic song, 
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along ; 
But tear away the sanguine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 
Proclaim the laws of festal rite,' 
I'm monarch of the board to-night ; 
And aU around shall brim as high, 
And quaff the tide as deep as I. 
And when the cluster's mellowing dews 
Their warm enchanting balm infuse, 
Our feet shall catch th' elastic bound. 
And reel us through the dance's round. 
Great Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee, 
In wild but sweet ebriety ; 
Flashing around such sparks of thought. 
As Bacchus could alone have taught. 

Then, give the harp of epic song. 
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along ; 
But tear away the sanguine string. 
For war is not the theme I sing. 



ODE III.» 

Listen to the Muse's lyre. 
Master of the pencil's fire ! 
Sketch'd in painting's bold display, 
Many a city first portray ; 



1 Andah! I feel its magic now :] This idea, as Longepierre 
remarks, occurs in an epigram of the seventh book of the 
Anthologia. 



E^uTC HOI TtivovTi avvearaovaa XapixXu 
AaOjirt 7-01)5 iStovi a/iipcSaXc (rjcipavovs, 
Hi'P oXdtiv OaTTTCl HC 

While I unconscious quafPd my wine, 

'Twas tiien thy tingers slyly stole 
Upon my brow that wreath of thine. 

Which since has madden'd all my soul. 

- Proclaim the laws of festal rite] The ancients prescribed 
cirtain laws of drinking at their festivals, for an account 
of which see the commentators. Anacreon here acts the 
Rymposiarch, or master of the festival. I have translated 
according to those who consider xvncXXa StCT/Jcoi/ as an 
inversion of Seaiiavs kuttcXXwi'. 

i* La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen this poem by 



Many a city, revelling free. 
Full of loose festivitv. 
Picture then a rosy train, 
Bacchants straying o'er the plain ; 
Piping, as they roam along. 
Roundelay or shepherd song. 
Paint me next, if painting may 
Such a theme as this portray. 
All the earthly heaven of love 
These delighted mortals prove. 



ODE IV." 

Vulcan ! hear your glorious task ; 

I do not from your labors ask 

In gorgeous panoply to shine. 

For war was ne'er a sport of mine. 

No — let me have a silver bowl, 

Where I may cradle all my soul ; 

But mind that, o'er its simple frame 

No mimic constellations flame ; 

Nor grave upon the swelling side, 

Orion, scowling o'er the tide. 

I care not for the glitt'ring wain. 

Nor yet the weeping sister train. 

But let the vine luxuriant roll 

Its blushing tendrils round the bowl. 

While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid 

Is culling clusters in their shade.* 

Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, 

Wildly press the gushing grapes, 

And flights of Loves, in wanton play. 

Wing through the air their winding way ; 

Wliile Venus, from her arbor green, 

Looks laughing at the joyous scene, 

And young Lyseus by her side 

Sits, worthy of so bright a bride. 



considerable interpolations of his own, which he thinks are 
indispensably necessary to the completion of the description. 

< This ode, Aulas Gellius tells us, was performed at an 
entertainment where he was present. 

5 While many a rose-lipp'd bachant maid, 4'c.] I have 
availed myself here of the additional lines given in the 
Vatican manuscript, which have not been accurately insert- 
ed in any of the ordinary editions : — 

Tlniriaov apiTcXovi /t'li 
Kai 0orpvai Kar' airtov 
Ktti ftatvaSai rpvycjaai 
Hout Sn Xr/fov oitiov, 
ArjuoSaraf Trarouiraf, 
Tav( CFUTvpuvi yiXoivra?, 
Kai xpuo-otij Tovi eptiiTOi, 
Koi Kvdepriv ycXoiaav, 
'Opuv KaXo) Avaico, 
EpojTO k' 'AfipoSirriv 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE V.' 

Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 

Grave for me an ample bowl, . 

Worthy to shine in hall or bower, 

When spring time brings the reveller's hour. 

Grave it with themes of chaste design. 

Fit for a simple board like mine. 

Display not there the barbarous rites 

In which religious zeal delights ; 

Nor any tale of tragic fate 

Which History shudders to relate. 

No — cull thy fancies from above, 

Themes of heav'n and themes of love. 

Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy, 

Distil the grape in drops of joy, 

And while he smiles at every tear. 

Let warm-ey'd Venus, dancing near. 

With spirits of the genial bed. 

The dewy herbage deftly tread. 

Let Love be there, without his arms,' 

In timid nakedness of charms ; 

1 Dcgen thinks that this ode is h more inoilem imitation of 
the preceding. There is a poem by Cieliiis Calcagniniis, in 
the manner of both, where he gives instructions about the 
making of a ring. 

Tornabis annuhim mihi 

Et fabre, et apte, et commode, &e. &c. 

2 Lei Love be there, without his arms, ^c] Thus Sannazaro 
in ihe eclogue of Gallicio nell' Arcadia : — 

Vegnan li vaghi Amori 
Senza fiamnielle, 6 strali, 
Scherzando insieme pargoletti e nudi 
Fhittering on the busy wing, 

A train of naJted Cupids came. 
Sporting around in harmless ring. 

Without a dart, without a flame. 

And thus in the Pervigilium Veneris : — 

Ite nymphiE, posuit arnia, feriatus est amor. 
Love is disarm'd — ye nymphs, in safety stray. 
Your bosoms now may boast a holiday ! 

3 But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 

r tremble for t'le rosy boys.] An allusion to the fable, that 
Apollo had killed his beloved boy Hyacinth, while playing 
with hhn at quoits. " This (says M. La Fosse) is assuredly 
the sense of the text, and It cannot admit of any other." 

The Italian translators, to save themselves the trouble of 
a note, have taken the liberty of making Anacreon himself 
explain this fable. Thus Salvini, the most literal of any of 
them! — 

Ma con lor noii giuochi Apollo ; 

Che in fiero risco 

Col diiro disco 

A Giacinto fiacco il collo. 

» This beautiful fiction, which the commentators have at- 
iributed to Julian, a royal poet, the Vatican MS. pronounces 
t" be the genuine ofTsprlng of Anacreon. It lias, indeed, all 
the features of tlio parent: — 



And all the Graces, link'd with I<ove, 
Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove 
While rosy boys disporting round. 
In circlets trip the velvet ground. 
But ah ! if there Apollo toys, 
I tremble for the rosy boys.^ 



ODE VI.* 

As late I sought the spangled bowers, 
To cull a wreath of matin flowers. 
Where many an early rose was weepin«. 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.* 
I caught the boy, a goblet's tide 
Was richly mantling by my side, 
I caught him by his downy wing. 
And whelm'd him in the racy spring. 
Then drank I down the poison'd bowl, 
And Love now nestles in my soul. 

yes, my soul is Cupid's nest, 

1 feel him fluttering in my breast. 

et facile insciis 
Noscitetur ab omnibus 

5 fVliere many an early rose was weepins, 
I found the urchin Cupid sleepinsr.] This idea is prettilj 
imitated m the following epigram by Andreas Naiigerius : 

Florentes dum forte vagans mea Hyella per horto- 

Texit odoratis lilia cana rosis, 
Ecee rosas inter latifanteni invenit Amorem 

Et simul annexis floribus implicuit. 
Luctatur prinio, et contra nitentlbus alia 

Indomitus tentat solvere vinclapuer: 
Wox ubi lacteolas et dignas niatre papillas 

Vidit et ora ipsos nata movere Deos, 
Impositosque comse ambrosios ut sentit odores 

Ciuosque legit diti niesse beatus Arabs ; 
" I (dixit) mea, quisre novum tibi, mater, Amorem, 

Imperio sedes hsc erit apta meo." 

As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, 
A wreath of many mingled flow'rets wove. 
Within a rose a sleeping Love she found, 
And in the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 
A while he struggled, and impatient tried 
To break the rosy bonds the virgin tied ; 
But when he saw her bosom's radiant swell, 
Her features, where the eye of Jove might dwell ; 
And caught th' ambrosial odors of her hair. 
Rich as the breathings of Arabian air ; 
" O, mother Venus," (said the raptur'd child, 
By charms, of more than mortal bloom, beguil'd,) 
" Go, seek another boy, thou'st lost thine own, 
" Hyclla's arms shall now be Cupid's throne I " 

This epigram of Naugerius is imitated by Lodovico l).>'rf 
in a poem, beginning 

Mentre raccoglie hor uno, hor altro fiore 
Vicina a un rio di chiare et lucid' onde, 
LIdia, &c. &c. 



ODES OF AXACREON. 



87 



ODE VIL' 

The women tell me every day 
That all my bloom has pass'd away. 
•' Behold," the pretty wantons cry, 
" Behold this mirror with a sigh ; 
The locks upon thy brow are few, 
And, like the rest, they're withering too ! 
Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 
I'm sure I neither know nor care ; ^ 
But this I know, and this I feel. 
As onward to the tomb I steal, 
That still as death approaches nearer, 
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ; ' 
And had I but an hour to live. 
That little hour to bliss I'd give. 



ODE VIII.« 

1 CARE not for the idle state 

Of Persia's king,* the rich, the great ; 



1 Albert! has imitated this ode in a poem, beginning 

Nisa mi dice e Clori 
Tirsi, tu se' pur veglio. 

2 Whether decline has thinned mrj hair, 

Pm sure I neither know nor care :] Henry Stephen very 
justly remarks tlie elegant negligence of expression in the 
original here : 

Eyio Sc TUi Ki'iias jiev, 

E(r £10-11', £(t' ainqXdoy, 

OvK oiia. 

A7id Longepierre has adduced from Catullus, what he thinks 
a similar instance of this simplicity of manner: — 

Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id quoque nescit. 
Longepierre was a good critic ; but perhaps the line which 
he has selected is a specimen of a carelessness not very com- 
mendable. At the same time I confess, that none of tlie 
Latin poets have ever appeared to me so capable of imitating 
tlie graces of Anacreon as Catullus, if he had not allowed 
a depraved imagination to hurry him so often into mere vul- 
gar licentiousness. 

3 That still as death approaches nearer. 

The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ,] Pontanus lias a 
very delicate thought upon the subject of old age : 

Uuid rides, Matrona.' senem quid tcmnis amantera.' 
Quisquis amat nulla est conditione senex. 

Why do you scorn my want of youth, 
And with a smile my brow behold .' 

Lady dear ! believe this truth, 
That he who loves cannot be old. 

* " The German poet Lessing has imitated this ode. Vol. i. 
p. 24." Degen. Gail de Editionibus. 

Baxter conjectures that this was written upon the occasion 
of our poet's returning the money to Polycrates, according 
to the anecdote in Stoba' s. 



I envy not the monarch's throne. 
Nor wish the treasur'd gold my own. 
But O, be mine the rosy wreath, 
Its freshness o'er my brow to breathe ; 
Be mine the rich perfumes that flow. 
To cool and scent my locks of snow.® 
To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, 
As if to-morrow ne'er would shine ; 
But if to-morrow comes, why then — 
I'll haste to quaff my wine again. 
And thus while all our days are bright. 
Nor time has dimm'd their bloomy light, 
Let us the festal hours beguile 
With mantling cup and cordial smile ; 
And shed from each new bowl of wine 
The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. 
For Death may come, with brow unpleas- 
ant. 
May come, when least we wish him pres- 
ent. 
And beckon to the sable shore. 
And grimly bid us — drink no more ! > 



5 I care not for the idle state 

Of Persia's Idng, 4'c.] " There is a fragment of Archilo- 
chus in Plutarch, ' De tranquillitate animi,' which our pnel 
has very closely imitated here ; it begins, 

Ov HOI ra Vvyeoi ruv iroXvxpvaov //sAsi." Barnes. 

In one of the monkish imitators of Anacreon we find tlie 
same tiiought : — 

i'vx'iv eyirjv epaircj, 

Ti aoi ^cXcii yiveaOai ; 

OeXets Tvyeu) ra koi tu ; 

6 Be mine the. rich perfumes that flow. 

To cool and scent my lucks of snow.] In the original, jivpoici 
KaraSpexciv viritvriv. On account of this idea of perfuming 
the beard, Cornelius de Pauw pronounces the wliole ode tc 
be the spurious production of some lascivious monk, who 
was nursing his beard with unguents. But he should have 
known, tliat this was an ancient eastern custom, which, if 
we may believe Savary, still exists : " Vousvoyez, Monsieur 
(says this traveller), que I'usage antique de se parfuuier la 
tete et la barbe,*celebre par le prophete Roi, subsi^teencoro 
de nos jours." Lettre 12. Savary likewise cites this very 
ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not thought the idea \r. 
consistent, having introduced it in the lollowins liups : 

HiBC mihi cura, rosis et cingere tempura myrto 

Et curas multo delapidare mera 
Haec mihi cura, comas et barbam tmgere succo 

Assyrio et dulces continuare jocos. 

This be my care, to wreathe my brow with flowers. 
To drench my sorrows in the ample bowl , 

To pour rich perfumes o'er my beard in showers, 
And give full loose to mirth and joy of soul ! 



• " Sicut ungucntinninco«ite quod dcscendithi barbu 
Pseaunie 133." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE IX. 

I PRAY thee, by the gods above,' 
Give me the mighty bowl I love, 
And let me sing, in wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-night ! " 
Alcmaeon once, as legends tell, 
Was frenzied by the fiends of hell ; 
Orestes too, with naked tread, 
Frantic pac'd the mountain head ; 
And why ? a murder'd mother's shade 
Haunted them still where'er they stray'd. 
But ne'er could I a murderer be, 
The grape alone shall bleed by me ; 
Yet can I shout, with wild delight, 
•' I Avill — I wiU be mad to-night." 

Ale ides' self, in days of yore, 
Imbru'd his hands in youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy, 
The quiver of th' expiring boy : 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield, 
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. 
But I, whose hands no weapon ask, 
No armor but this joyous flask; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scatter'd wreath of flowers ; 
Ev'n I can sing with wild delight, 
" I will — I will be mad to-night ! " 



ODE X.* 

How am I to punish thee. 

For the wrong thou'st done to me, 



1 The poet is here in a frenzy of enjoyment, and it is, in- 
iced, " aimibilis insania ; " — 

Furor di poesia, 
Di lascivia, e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Bacco, Apollo, et Amore. 

Ritratti del Cavalier Marino. 



Tlii 



•truly, 



; Scaliger expresses it, 

Insanire dulce 

Et sapidum furere furorein. 

2 This ode is addressed to a swallow. I find from Degen 
md from Gail's index, that the German poet Weisse has 
Imitated it, Scherz. Lieder. lib. ii. carm. 5 ; that Ramler 
also lias imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 335 ; and 
Bome others. See Gail de Editionibus. 

We are here referred by Degen to that dull bonk, the Epis- 
tles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, third book ; where lophon 
complains to Eraston of being wakened by the crowing of 
a cock, from his vision of riches. 

3 Slllij swallow, prating thing, ^c] The loquacity of the 
swallow was pr ^'crbialized ; thus Nicostratus : — 



Silly swallow, prating thing * — 
Shall I clip that wheeling wing ? 
Or, as Tereus did of old,* 
(So the fabled tale is told,) 
Shall I tear that tongue away, 
Tongue that utter'd such a lay .' 
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been ! 
Long before the dawn was seen. 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind. 
Just when I was nearly blest, 
Loud thy matins broke my rest ! 



ODE XL* 

" Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 

What in purchase shall I pay thee 

For this little waxen toy. 

Image of the Paphian boy ? " 

Thus I said the other day, 

To a youth who pass'd my way ; 

" Sir," (he answer'd, and the while 

Answer' d all in Doric style,) 

" Take it, for a trifle take it ; 

'Twas not I who dared to make it ; 

No, believe me, 'twas not I ; 

O, it has cost me many a sigh. 

And I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep ! " ^ 

" Here, then, here," (I said with joy,) 

" Here is silver for the boy : 

He shall be my bosom guest. 

Idol of my pious breast ! " 



El TO (7Vvcxo)S Kai TToAAa Kai raxzwi XaAci* 
Hi/ TOM (Pjionetv Tiapaarijiouy ai xfAfcJowj 
'EXiyovr' av ijfiMV o-u^poi/EOTEpai ttoAu. 

If in prating from morning till night, 

A sign of our wisdom there be, 
The swallows are wiser by right, 

For they prattle much faster than we. 

* Or, as Tereus did, of o'd, ^-c] Modern poetry has con- 
firmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale ; but 
many respectable authorities among the ancients assigned 
this metamorphose to Progne, and made Pl)ilomel the swal- 
low, as Anacreon does iiere. 

6 It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative 
simplicity of this ode, and the humor of the turn with wliich 
it concludes. I feel, indeed, that the translation must ap- 
pear vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. 

6 ./3nd / can no longer keep 

Little gods, who vmrder sleep!] I have not literally ren- 
dered the epithet -aavTopiKTa ; if it has arjy meaning here, it 
is one, perhaps, better omitted. 



ODES OF ANACIIEON. 



Now, young Love, I have thee mine, 
Warm me with that torch of thine ; 
Make me feel as I have felt, 
Or thy waxen frame shall melt : 
I must burn with warm desire, 
Or thou, my boy — in yonder fire.' 



ODE XII. 

They tell how Atys, wild with love. 
Roams the mount and haunted grove ; * 
Cybele's name he howls around,' 
The gloomy blast returns the sound ; 
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring,* 
The votaries of the laurell'd king 
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream. 
And rave in wild, prophetic dream. 
But frenzied dreams are not for me, 
Great Bacchus is my deity ! 
Full of mirth, and full of him. 
While floating odors round me swim,* 
While mantling bowls are full supplied. 
And you sit blushing by my side. 



{ burn with, inarm desire, 

, my boy — in yonder fire.] From this Longepierre 



1 f mi 

Or tin 

roiijectnres, that, whatever Aiiacreon might say, he feltsome- 
limes the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits from 
the power of Love a warmth wliich he could no longer ex- 
|y-ct from Nature. 

- They trll how Atys, wild with love, 

Riuims the mount and haunted grove ;] There are many 
i-.ntrailictory stories of the loves of Cybele and Atys. It is 
certain that he was mutilated, but whether hy his own fury, 
c.r Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors are not 
agreed. 

3 Cijbele's name he howls around, ^c] I have here adopted 
the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives to Cybele : — 
In montibus Cybelen 
Magno sonans buatu. 

* Oft, too, by Claros' hallow'd spring'^ ijjc.] This fountain 
was in a grove, consecraftd to Apollo, and situated between 
Colophon and Lcbedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle 
there. Scaliger thus alludes to it in his Anacreontica : 

Semel ut concitus oestro, 
Veliiti qui Clarias aquas 
Ebibere loquaces, 
Uuo plus canunt, plura volunt. 

6 Wliile floatinrr odors, Sfc-I Spaletti has quite mistaken 
the import of Knptatieii;, as applied to the poet's mistress — 
'■ Mel fatigatus amicSL ; " — thus interpreting it in a sense 
winch must want either delicacy or gallantry ; if not, per- 
haps, both, 
c And what did I unthinking do 7 

I took to arms, undaunted, too ;] Longepierre has here 
quoted an epigram from the Antliologia, in which the poet 
assumes Reason as the armor against Love. 

iiir>iT;jai TTpoi ep'-OTd vcpi (TTtpvoim Xnyicrfiot,, 
Ovie lie viKT\au, jxpvui cwv n-po; tva. 
12 



I will be mad and raving too — 
Mad, my girl, with love for you ! 



ODE XIII. 

I WILL, I will, the conflict's past, 
And I'll consent to love at last. 
Cupid has long, with smiling art, 
• Invited me to yield my heart ; 
And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign'd ; 
And so repell'd the tender lure, 
And hop'd my heart would sleep secure. 

But, slighted in his boasted charms, 
The angry infant flew to arms ; 
He slung his quiver's golden fi"ame, 
He took his bow, his shafts of flame, 
And proudly summon'd me to yield, 
Or meet him on the martial field. 
And what did I unthinking do ? 
I took to arms, undaunted, too ; ' 

Qvaroi &' aOavarto (rvve'ScvaoiJtar riv Se 0nri6ov 
Bu/fX"" ^Xlt '■' li"voi Tcpoi io' tyo) Swafiai ; 
With Reason I cover my breast as a shield, 
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ; 
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er he dismay'd ; 
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 
Alas ! then, unable to combat the two, 
Unfortunate warrior, what should I do ? 
This idea of the iwesistibility of Cupid and Bacchus 
united, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is 
so truly Anacreontic, that its introduction here may be par- 
doned. It is an imitation, indeed, of our poet's sixth ode. 

Lavossi Amore in quel vicino fiume 

Ove giuro (Pastor) che bevend' io 

Bevei le fiamme, anzi I'istesso Die 

Ch'or con I'humide piume 

Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intomo. 

Ma che sarei s' io lo bevessi un giomo, 

Bacco, nel tuo Hquore ! 

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d' Amore. 

The urchin of the bow and quiver 

Was bathing in a neighboring river, 

Where, as I drank on yestereve, 

(Shepherd youth, the tale believe,) 

"Twas not a cooling, crystal draught, 

'Twas liquid flame I madly quafPd ; 

For Love was in the rippling tide, 

1 felt him to my bosom glide ; 

And now the wily, wanton minion 

Plays round my heart with restless pinion. 

A day it was of fatal star, 

But ah, 'twere even more fatal far. 

If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire, 

I found this flutl'ring, young desire : 

Then, then indeed my soul would prove, 

E'en more than ever, drunk with love! 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Assum'd the corselet, shield, and spear, 
And, like Pelides, smil'd at fear. 
Then (hear it, all ye powers above !) 
I fought with Love ! I fought with Love ! 
And now his arrows all were shed, 
And I had just in terror fled — 
When, heaving an indignant sigh, 
To see me thus unwounded fly, 
And, having now no other dart, 
He shot himself into my heart ! ' 
My heart — alas the luckless day ! 
Receiv'd the God, and died away. 
Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield ! 
Thy lord at length is forc'd to yield. 
Vain, vain, is every outward care, 
The foe's within, and triumphs there. 



1 Jind, having now no other dart. 

He shot himself iHto\iiy heart!] Dryden has parodied this 
thought in the following extravagant lines: — 

I'm all o'er Love ; 

Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so fast, 
He shot himself into my breast at last. 

2 The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means 
nothing more, than, by a lively hyperbole, to inform us, that 
his heart, unfettered by any one object, was warm with de- 
votion towards the sex in general. Cowley is indebted to 
this ode fur the hint of his ballad, called " The Chronicle ; " 
and the learned Menage has imitated it in a Greek Anacre- 
ontic, which has so much ease and spirit, that tlie reader 
may not be displeased at seeing it here : — 

npos BtaNA. 

El aXcrtoiv TO (pvXXa, 

Atifiiiii'iovs re nutag, • 

El nvKTo; aarpa navra, 

IlanaitTiuvs re xi/aiipiovi, 

'AA05 re KV(inTOiiTi, 

Avi>n, Bitoj', a/jtOnetv, 

Kai TOVi c/iovi epu)ras 

Avvri, Bfcoi/, af>iOixFAV, 

KiJprji', yvi/aiKa, Xrjpuv, • 

S//i/ff)rji', yUarjii, McytaTijn, 

AcvKiiv TL Kin M.c\aivav, 

Ofjeiaini, NuTTHiaf, 

Nnpmfas re vaaag 

'O aui ipiXoi ipiXriae, 

HauTMi/ KO/joi iiiv eariv, 

hurriv vetiov 'Epijirodv, 

Asmrotvav AfpuSirnv, 

Xfivanv, (cuAfir, yXvKCiap, 

Epaofttav, TTodeivn", 

Aet iiovni' (j>i\riaai 

Ey(oyc itr) Suvainriv. 

Tell the foliage of the woods. 
Tell the billows of the floods, 
Number midnight's starry store. 
And the sands that crowd the shore. 
Then, my Bion, thou mayst count 
Of my loves the vast amount 
I've been loving, all my days. 
Many nymphs, in many ways ; 



ODE XIV.* 

Count me, on the summer trees. 
Every leaf that courts tiie breeze , 
Count me, on the fojiny deep. 
Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 
Then, when you have number'd these 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
Count me all the flames I prove, 
All the gentle nymphs I love. 
First, of pure Athenian maids 
Sporting in their olive shades, 
You may reckon just a score, 
Nay, I'll grant you fifteen more. 
In the fam'd Corinthian grove, 
Where such countless wantons rove,* 



Virgin, widow, maid, and wife — 
I've been doting all my life. 
Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains, 
Goddesses of groves and mountains. 
Fair and sable, great and small, 
Yes, I swear I've lov'd them all ! 
Soon was every passion over, 
I was but the moment's lover ; 
O, I'm such a roving elf. 
That the Queen of Love herself, 
Though she practis'd all her wiles. 
Rosy bltishos, wreathed smiles. 
All her beauty's proud endeavor 
Could not chain my heart forever. 
3 Count me, on the summer trees. 

Every leaf, Sfc] This figure is called, by rhetoricians, the 
Impossible (uduvaroi/), and is very frequently made use of 
in poetry. The amatory writers have exhausted a world of 
imagery by it, to express the infinite number of kisses whicl: 
they require from the lips of their mistresses: in this CatuI 
lus led the way. 

— Guam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, 
Furtivos hoininum vident amores ; 
Tam te basia multa basiare 
Vesano satis, et super, Catullo est: 
UusE nee pernumerare curiosi 
Possint, nee mala fascinare lingua. Carm. 7. 

As many stellar eyes of light. 
As through the silent waste of night, 
Ga/.ing upon this world of shade, 
Witness some secret youth and maid, 
Who fair as thou, and fond as 1, 
In stolen joys enainour'd lie, — 
So many kisses, ere I slumber, 
Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number ; 
So many kisses we shall count. 
Envy can never tell th' amount. 
No tongue shall blab the sum, but mine ; 
No lijis shall fascinate, but thine ! 
* In the fam'd Corinthian grove. 

Where such cow tless wantons rove, ^c.] Corinth was very 
famous for the beauty and number of its courtezans. Venus 
was the deity principally worshipped by the pei.ple, and tl.fii 
constant prayer was, that the gods should increase llic imiu 
ber of her worshippers. We may perceive from the anplica 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Chains of beauties may be found, 

Chains, by which my heart is bound ; 

There, indeed, are nymphs divine. 

Dangerous to a soul like mine.' 

Many bloom in Lesbos' isle ; 

Many in Ionia smile ; 

Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast ; 

Caria too contains a host. 

Sum them all — of. brown and fair 

You may count two thousand there. 

"What, you stare ? I pray you, peace ! 

More I'll find before I cease. 

Have I told you all my flames, 

'Mong the amorous Syrian dames ? 

Have I nuniber'd every one. 

Glowing under Egypt's sun ? 

Or the nymphs, who blushing sweet 

Deck the shrine of Love in Crete ; 

Where the God, with festal play, 

Holds eternal holiday? 

Still in clusters, still remain 

Gades' warm, desiring train ; ' 

Still there lies a myriad more 

On the sable India's shore ; 

These, and many far remov'd, 

All are loving — all are lov'd ! 



tion of the verb KnpivBial^Eiv, in Aristophanes, that the lubri- 
city of the Corinthians liad become proverbial. 

1 There, iiidetd, are nymphs divine, 

D<ingeious to a soul like mine.] " With justice has the 
poet attributed beauty to the women of Greece." — Degen. 

M. de Pauw, the author of Dissertations upon the Greeks, 
is of a difTerent opinion ; he thinks, that by a capricious 
partiality of nature, the other sex had all the beauty ; and 
by this supposition endeavors to account for a very singular 
depravation of instinct among that people. 

2 Oales' warm, desiring train ;] The Gaditanian girls 
were like the Buladieres of India, whose dances are thus 
described by a French author : " Les danses sont presque 
toutes des pantomimes d'ainour ; le plan, le dessein, les at- 
titudes, les mesures, les sons et les cadences de ces ballets, 
tout respire cette passion et en exprime les voluptes et les 
fureurs." — Uistoire du Commerce des Europ. dans les deux 
Indes. — Raynal, 

The music of the Gaditanian females had all the volup- 
tuous character of their dancing, as appears from Martial : — 
Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat. 

Lib. iii. epig. C3. 
Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our bard in his mind, 
when he wrote his poem " De diversis amoribus." See the 
Anthologia Italorum. 

3 The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to 
his mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue 
is imagined. 

The ancients made use of letter-carrying pigeons, when 
tliey went any distance from home, as the most certain means 
of conveying uitelligence back. That tender domestic at- 
tachment, which attracts this delicate little bird through 



ODE XV. 

Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,' 
Thus your humid pinions move. 
Shedding through the air in shoM-erg 
Essence of the balmiest flowers ? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove. 

Curious stranger, I belong 
To the bard of Teian song ; 
"With his mandate now I fly 
To the nymph of azure eye ; — 
She, whose eye has madden'd many,- 
But the poet more than any. 
Venus, for a hymn of love, 
AVarbled in her votive grove,* 
('Twas in sooth a gentle lay.) 
Gave me to the bard away. 
See me now his faithful minion, — 
Thus with softly-gliding pinion, 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of passion through the air. 
Oft he blandly whispers me, 
" Soon, my bird, I'll set you free." 
But in vain he'll bid me fly, 
I shall serve him till I die. 



every danger and difficulty, till it settles in its native nest 
affords to the author of " The Pleasures of Memory " a fine 
and interesting exemplification of his subject. 

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 

The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love .' 

See the poem. Daniel Heinsius, in speaking of Dousa, who 

adopted tliis method at the siege of Leyden, expresses asnn- 

ilar sentiment. 

duo patriffi non tendit amor.' Mandata referre 
Postquani hominem nequiiv mittere, misit avem. 

# 

Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, the Chris- 
tians intercepted a letter, tied to the legs of a dove, in which 
the Persian Emperor promised assistance to the besieged. — 
Holy War, cap. 24, book i. 

* She, whose eye has madden'd many, ^c] For Tvpavvov 
in the original, Zeune and Schneider conjecture that we 
should read rvpavvov, in allusion to the strong influence 
winch this object of his love held over the mind of Polycra 
tes. See Degen. 

6 Venus, for a hymn of love. 

Warbled in her totive grove, ^c.] " This passage is inval- 
uable, and I do not think that any thing so beautiful or so 
delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of 
the poetry of the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother 
of the Graces and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn with 
one of her favorite doves ! " — Longepierre. 

De Pauw objects to the authenticity of this ode, because 
it makes Anacreon his own panegyrist ; but poets have a 
license for praising themselves, which, with some indeed, 
may be considered as comprised under their general privi 
lege of fiction. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



•J 



Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruffling winds and chilling rain, 
O'er the plains, or in the dell, 
On the mountain's savage swell, 
Seeking in the desert wood 
Glooni}^ shelter, rustic food. 
Now I lead a life of ease. 
Far from rugged haunts like these. 
From Anacreon's hand I eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet ; 
Flutter o'er his-goblet's brim. 
Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then, when I have wanton'd round 
To his lyre's beguiling sound ; 
Or with gently-moving wings 
Fann'd the minstrel while he sings ; 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers ! 

This is all — away — away — 
You have made me waste the day. 
How I've chatter'd ! prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 



ODE XVI.» 

Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
Mimic form and soul infuse,^ 

1 This ode and the next may he called companion pictures ; 
they are highly finished, and frive us an excellent idea of the 
taste of the ancients in beauty. Franciscus Junius quotes 
them in his third book " De Pictura Veterum." 

This ode has been imitated by Ronsard, Giuliano Goselini, 
&c. &c. Scaliger alludes to it thus in his Anacreontica : 
Olim lepore blando, 
Litis versibus 
Candidus Anacreon 
Quani pingeret amicus 
Descripsit Venerem suam. » 

The Teian bard, of former days, 
Attun'd his sweet descriptive lays, 
And taught the painter's hand to trace 
His fair beloved's every grace. 
In the dialogue of Caspar Barlaus, entitled " An forraosa 
sit ducenda," the reader will find many curious ideas and 
descriptions of womanly beauty. 

2 7Vio« whose soft and rosy hues 

Mimic fiiTtn and soul infuse,] I have followed here the 
reading of the Vatican MS. p^Sens. Painting is called "the 
rosy art," either in reference to coloring, or as an indefinite 
ejiithet of excellence, from the association of beauty with 
that flower. Salvuii has adopted this reading in his literal 
translation : — 

Delia rosea arte signore. 

3 TJie lovely maid that's far aicay.] If this portrait of the 
poet's n-.Jstress be not merely ideal, the omission of her name 
is much to be regretted. Meleager, in an epigram on Anac- 
teon, mentions " the golden Eurypyle" as his mistress. 



Best of painters, come portray 
The lovely maid that's far away.' 
Far away, my soul ! thou art. 
But I've thy beauties all by heart. 
Paint her jetty ringlets playing. 
Silky locks, like tendrils straying ; * 
And if painting hath the skill 
To make the spicy balm distil,* 
Let every little lock exhale 
A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
Where her tresses' curly flow 
Darkles o'er the brow of snow. 
Let her forehead beam to light, 
Burnish'd as the ivory bright. 
Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jetty arches o'er her eyes. 
Each, a crescent gently gliding. 
Just commingling, just dividing. 

But, hast thou any sparkles warm, 
The lightning of her eyes to form ? 
Let them effuse the azure rays 
That in Minerva's glances blaze, 
Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 
In Cytherea's languid eyes." 
O'er her nose and cheek be shed 
Flushing white and soften' d red ; 



* Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 

Silky locks, like tendr Is straying .] The ancients have 
been very enthusiastic in their praises of the beauty of hair. 
Apuleius, in the second book of his Milesiacs, says, that 
Venus herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by the 
Graces and the Loves, could not be pleasing even to her 
husband Vulcan. 

Stesichorus gave the epithet K-a>A(7rAo<ra^'is to the Graces, 
and Simonides bestowed the same upon the Muses. See 
Hadrian Junius's Dissertation upon Hair. 

To this passage of our poet, Selden alluded in a note on 
the Polyolbion of Drayton, Song the Second, where observ- 
ing, that the epithet " black-haired " was given by some of 
the ancients to the goddess Isis, he says, " Nor will I swear, 
but that Anacreon (a man very judicious in the provoking 
motives of wanton love), intending to bestovi' on his sweel 
mistress that one of the titles of woman's special ornament, 
well-haired ((fuAAiff^o/ca/^ ■?), thought of this when he gave 
his painter direction to make her black-haired." 

6 ^nd if painting hath the skill 

To make Vie spicy balm distil, ^c] Thus Philostratus, 
speaking of a picture : eiratvu) xai tuv evipoaov rui ooiijjv, 
Kat ipriiit yeyfjitfOai avni utra rijy oa-itrj;. " I admire tlie 
dewiness of these roses, and could say that their very smell 
was painted." 

9 Mix'd with the liquid light that lies 

In Cytherea's languid eyes] Marchetti explains thus th« 
vypov of the original : — 

Dipingili umidetti 
Tremuli e lascivetti, 
Q,uai gli ha Ciprigna I'alma Dea d'Amore. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bashful rose.' 
Then her lip, so rich in bUsses, 
Sweet petitioner for kisses,* 
Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love's invasion. 
Next, beneath the velvet chin, 
"^^Tiose dimple hides a Love within,' 
Mould her neck with grace descending, 
In a heaven of beauty ending ; 
While countless charms, above, below, 
Sport and flutter round its snow. 
Now let a floating, lucid veil. 
Shadow her form, but not conceal ; * 
A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
And leave the rest to Fancy's dream. 
Enough — 'tis she ! 'tis all I seek ; 
It glows, it lives, it soon vnll speak ! 



ra<so has painted in the same manner the e5'es of Armi- 
da : — 

dual raggio in onda le scintilla un riso 
Negli umidi occhi trcmulo e lascivo. 

Within her humid, melting eyes 
A brilliant ray of laughter lies, 
Soft as the broken solar beam, 
That trembles in the azure stream. 

The mingled expression of dignity and tenderness, which 
Anacreon requires the painter to infuse into the eyes of his 
mistress, is more amply described in the subsequent ode. 
Both descriptions are so exquisitely touched, that the artist 
must have been great indeed, if he did not yield in painting 
tu the poet. 

1 Mingling tints, as when there glows 

In snowy milk the bashftd rose.] Thus Propertius, eleg. 3, 
lil). ii. 

Utque roscB puro lacte natant folia. 

And Davenant, in a little poem called " The Mistress," 

Catch as it falls the Scythian snow, 
Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. 

Thus too Taygetus : — 

Que lac atque rosas vincis candore rubenti. 

These last words may perhaps defend the " flushing white " 
of the translation. 

2 Tiler her lip, so rich in blisses, 

Sweet petitioner for kisses,] The " lip, provoking kisses," 
in the o"ginal, is a strong and beautiful expression. Achil- 
les Tati >s speaks of xctXrt fiaXOaKa npn; ra ipiXjjfiara, 
" Lips s ft and delicate for kissing." A grave old commen- 
tator, D-Dnysius Lambinus, in his notes upon Lucretius, 
I ells U9 with the apparent authority of experience, that 
" Suavp'ss viros osculantur puellae labiosae, quam qufe sunt 
brevibu« labris." And ^neas Sylvius, in his tedious unin- 
(erestini; story of the loves of Euryalus and Lucretia, where 
he part-.cularizes the beauties of the heroine (in a very false 
and law)red style of latinity), describes her lips thus : — 
" O? porvum decensqiie, labia coralini colons ad morsum 
aptiwina." — Epist. 114, lib. i. 



ODE xvn.» 

And now with all thy pencil's truth, 

Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth ! 

Let his hair, in masses bright, 

Fall like floating raj's of light ; ' 

And there the raven's dye confuse 

With the golden sunbeam's hues. 

Let no wreath, with artful twine, ^ 

The flowing of his locks confine ; 

But leave them loose to every breeze, 

To take what shape and course they please. 

Beneath the forehead, fair as snow, 

But flush'd with manhood's earlj' glow, 

And guileless as the dews of dawn,' 

Let the majestic brows be drawn, 



8 JVezt, beneath the velvet chin. 

Whose dimple hides a Love within, ^c] Jladame Daciei 
has quoted here two pretty lines of Varro : — 

Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 
Vestigio demonstrant moUitudinem. 
In her chin is a delicate dimple. 

By Cupid's own finger impress'd ; 
There Beauty, bevvitchingly simple. 
Has chosen her innocent nest 
* JVow let a flouting, lucid veil. 

Shadow her form, but not conceal, cf-c] This delicate art 
of description, which leaves imagination to complete tlie 
picture, has been seldom adopted in the imitations of this 
beautiful poem. Ronsard is exceptionably minute ; and Po- 
litianus, in his charming portrait of a girl, full of rich and 
exquisite diction, has lifted the veil rather too much. The 
" questo che tu m' intendi " should be always left to fancy. 

5 The reader, who wishes to acquire an accurate idea of 
the judgment of the ancients in beauty, will be indulged by 
consulting Junius de Pictura Veterum, lib. 3, c. 9, where 
he will find a very curious selection of descriptions and 
epithets of personal perfections. Junius compares this ode 
with a description of Theodoric, king of the Goths, in tlie 
second epistle, first book, of Sidonuis ApoUinaris. 

6 Let his hair, in masses bright, 

Fall like flatting rays of light ; ifc] He here describes the 
sunny hair, the " flava coma," which the ancients so much 
admired. The Romans gave this color artificially to tl.tir 
hair. See Stanisl. Kobienzyck. de Luxu Romanorum. 

1 Let no wreath, with artful twine, ^c.] If the orisiria- 
here, which is particularly beautiful, can admit of any ad- 
ditional value, that value is conferred by Gray's admirali.m 
of it. See his letters to West. 

Some annotators have quoted on this passage the descrip- 
tion of Photis's hair in Apuleius ; but nothing can be more 
distant from the simplicity of our poet's manner, than that 
aflfectation of richness which distinguishes tlie style of 
Apuleius. 

8 ButfiusWd with manhood's early glow, 

Jlnd guileless as the dews of dawn, S[c.] Torrentius, upon 
the words " insignem tenui fronte," in Horace, Od. 33, 
lib. 1, is of opinion, incorrectly, I think, that " tcirii " ]:■.-' 
bears the same meaning as the word j- ,\ ^ 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Of ebon hue, enrich'd by gold, 
Such as dark, shining snakes unfold. 
Mix in his ej-es the power alike. 
With love to win, with awe to strike ; • 
Borrow from Mars his look of ire, 
Fiom Venus her soft glance of fire ; 
Blend them in such expression here, 
That we by turns may hope and fear ! 

Now from the sunny apple seek 
The velvet down that spreads his cheek ; 
And there, if art so far can go, 
Th' ingenuous blush of boyhood show. 
While, for his mouth — but no, — in vain 
Would words its witching charm explain. 
Make it the very sent, the throne. 
That Eloquence would claim her own ; ^ 
And let the lips, though silent, wear 
A. life look, as if words were there.' 

Xext thou his ivory neck must trace, 
Moulded with soft but manly grace ; 
Fair as the neck of Paphia's boy, 
Where Paphia's arms have hung in joy. 



1 .mix in his eyes the power alike. 

With love to win, witfi awe to strike ; ^c] Tasso gives a 
Eimilar character tn the eyes of Clorinda : — 

Lampeggiar gli occhi, e folgorar gli sguardi 
Dolci ne I'ira. 

fler eyes were flashing with a heavenly heat, 
A fire that, even in anger, still was sweet. 
Tlie poetess Veronica Cambra is more ditfuse upon this 
variety of expression : — 

Occhi lucenti e belli. 

Come esser piio ch' in un medesmo istante 
Nascan de voi si nuove forme et tante? 
Lieti, mesti, snperbi, hiimil', altieri, 
Vi mostrate in un piinto, onde di speme, 
Et di timor, de empiete, &c. &c. 
O, tell me, brightly-beaming eye, 
Whence in your little orbit lie 
So many different traits of fire. 
Expressing each a new desire. 
Now with pride or scorn you darkle, 
iS'ow with love, with gladness, sparkle, 
While we who view the varying mirror. 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 

Chevrean, citing the lines of our poet, in his critique on 
the pneins of Malherbe, produces a Latin version of them 
from a manuscript which he had seen, entitled " Joan. 
Filconis Anacreimtici Lusus." 

2 That Eloquence would claim her own ;] In the original, 
asi in the preceding ode, Pitho, the goddess of persuasion, or 
eloquence. It was worthy of the delicate imagination of 
the (Jreeks to deify Persuasion, and give her the lips for her 
throne. We are here reminded of a very interesting frag- 
ment »f Anacreon, preserved by the scholiast upon Pindar, 
and suppused to belong to a poem reflecting with some 



Give him the winged Hermes' hand,* 
With which he waves his snaky wand ; 
Let Bacchus the broad chest supply. 
And Lcda's son the sinewy thigh; 
While, through his whole transparent frame, 
Thou show'st the stirrings of that flame. 
Which kindles, when the first love sigh 
Steals from the heart, unconscious why. 

But sure thy pencil, though so bright, 
Is envious of the eye's delight, 
Or its cnamour'd touch would show 
The shoulder, fair as sunless snow, 
Which now in veiling shadow lies, 
Remov'd from all but Fancy's eyes. 
Now, for his feet — but hold — forbear — 
I see the sun-god's portrait there ; ^ 
Why paint Bathyllus ? when, in truth. 
There, in that god, thou'st sketch'd the 

youth. 
Enough -,r let this bright form be mine, 
And send the boy to Samos' shrine ; 
Phoebus shall then Bathyllus be, 
Bathyllus then, the deity ! 



severity on Simonides, who was the first, we are told, that 
ever made a hireling of his muse : — 

Odd' apyvpcn ttot' e\an\f/€ UctOco. 
Nor yet had fair Persuasion shone 
In silver splendors, not her own. 
3 jjnrf let the lips, though silent, wear 

A life look, as if words were there.] In the original XnAwi' 
ain-n. The mistress of Petrarch "parla con silenzio," 
which is perhaps the best method of female eloquence. 

* Give him the winged Hermes' hand, ^-c] In Shakspeare'3 
Cynibeline there is a similar method of description : — 

this is his hand. 

His foot mercurial, his martial thigh. 
The brawns of Hercules. 

We find it likewise in Hamlet. Longepierre thinks that the 
hands of Mercury are selected by Anacreon on account of 
the graceful gestures which were supposed to characterize 
the god of eloquence ; but Mercury was also the patron of 
thieves, and may perhaps be praised as a light-fingered 
deity. 

5 But hold— forbear — 

/ see the sun-god's portrait there ;] The abrupt turn here 
is spirited, but requires some explanation. While the artist 
is pursuing the portrait of Bathyllus, Anacreon, we must 
suppose, turns round and sees a picture of Apollo, which 
was intended for an altar at Samos. He then instantly tells 
the painter to cease his work ; that this picture will serve 
for Bathyllus ; and that, when he goes to Samos, he may 
make an Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he liad 

" Bathyllus (says Madame Dacier) could not be nio.'e ele- 
gantly praised, and this one passage does him more hoiior 
than the statue, however beautiful it might be, which Polyc 
rates raised to him." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE xvni.' 

Now the star of day is high, 

Fly, my girls, in pity fly, 

Uring me wine in brimming urns,' 

Cool my lip, it burns, it burns ! 

Sunn'd by the meridian iire. 

Panting, languid I expire. 

Give me all those humid flowers,' 

Drop them o'er my brow in showers. 

Scarce a breathing chaplet now 

Lives upon my feverish brow ; 



1 An elegant translation of this ode, says Degen, may be 
f nid in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. v. p. 403. 

-' Brinrrmewineinbrimm.iigurns,S(c.] Ot\%.Tn£iv ajivari. 
T\k\ ainystis was a method of drinking used among the 
t'hracians. Tims Horace, "Threicia vincat ainystide." 
Mad. Dacier, Longepierre, &c. &c. 

Parrhasius, in his twenty-sixth epistle (Thesanr. Critic, 
viil. i ), explains the araystis as a draught to t)e exhaus/ed 
vvlihoiit drawing breath, " uno haustu." A note in the 
niaigin of this epistle of Parrhasius says, " Politianus ves- 
Iriii esse putahat," hut adds no reference. 

■i r?(iic me. all those Immid flowers, ^c] According to the 
original reading of this line, the poet says, " Give me the 
tlnw or of whie " — Date flosculos Lytei, as it is in the ver- 
sion of Elias Andreas ; and 

Dch pnrgetimi del fiore 
Di quel ahno e bnon liquore, 
as Itognier has it, who supports the reading. The word 
A)() s would undoubtedly bear this application, which is 
F('tii"\vhat similar to its import in the epigram of Simonides 
nju'ii Sophocles : — 

V^GS'ryOrii ycpau So^'"')cX<:i:f, av6o( aoiSiov. 
anrl !los in the Latin is frequently applied in the same man- 
r.i'r — thus Cethegus is called by Ennius, Flos inlibatus 
p(i|ii!li, suadajque medulla, " The immaculate flower of the 
peu|ile, and the very marrow of persuasion." See these 
vci-os cited by Aulus Gellius, lib. xii., which Cicero praised, 
ami Seneca thought ridiculous. 

lint in the passage before us, if we admit eveivcoi/, accord- 
ing to Faher's conjecture, the sense is sufficiently clear, 
w iilioul having recourse to such refinements. 

^ F.fcrij dewy rose I xoear 

Shed.t it.1 tears, and withers there.] There are some beau- 
lifijl lines, by Angcrianus, upon a garland, which I cannot 
vpsil (luotiiig I'.ere: — 

Ante ibres madidae sic sic pendete corollae, 

iMaiic orto imponet Coelia vos capiti ; 
At quum per niveam cervicem influxerit humor, 

Oiiitc, nun ruris sed pluvia hiec lacrimae. 
\'\ (Vlia's arbnr all the night 

Hang, humid wreath; the lover's vow ; 
' nl haply, at the morning light. 

My love shall twine thee round her brow 
Tlicn, if upon her bosom bright 

S.tne drops of dew shall fall from thee, 
' ell her, they are not drops of night, 

Cm teai-s of -sorrow shed by me ' 



Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears, and withers there.* 

But to you, my burning heart,* 

What can now relief impart ? 

Can brimming bowl, or flowret's dew, 

Cool the flame that scorches you ? 



ODE XIX.« 

Here recline you, gentle maid,^ 
Sweet is this embowering shade ; 
Sweet the young, the modest trees, 
Rufiled by the kissing breeze ; 



In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth is this moss- 
covered grotto of stone," there is an idea very singularly 
coincident with this of Angerianus : — 
And thou, stony grot, in thy arch mayst presei-ve 
Some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew ; 
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll ser^'e 
As tears of my sorrow intnisted to yon. 

5 But to you, my burning heart, ^c] The transition here 
is peculiarly delicate and impassioned ; but the commenta- 
tors have perplexed the sentiment by a variety of readings 
and conjectures. 

6 The description of this bower is so natural and animated, 
that we almost feel a degree of coolness and freshness while 
we peruse it. Longepierre has quoted from the first book of 
the Anthologia, the following ejiigram, as somewhat resem- 
bling this ode : — 

Epxro Kai Kar' Cjiav [C^tii ttitw, a to /tcXtxpov 
Upos /laXaKovg rix^t KCKXt/icva ^efvpovg. 

Hutii K-ai Kpuvmapa pcXicTaycs, evda peXiaSoyv 
'aSvf epnitatuis VTrvov ayo) KaXapioii. 

Come, sit by the shadowy pine 

That covers my sylvan retreat ; 
And see how the branches incline 

The breathing of zephyr to meet. 

See the fountain, that, flowing, diffuses 

Around me a glittering spray ; 
By its brink, as the traveller muses, 

I soothe him to sleep with my lay. 

1 Here recline you, gentle maid, Sfc] The Vatican Ms>. 
reads (iaOnXX'jv, which renders the whole poem mataphori- 
cal. Some commentator suggests the reading of p.iBvXX'iv, 
which makes a pun upon the name ; a grace that Plato 
himself has condescended to in writing of his boy Atrnip. 
See the epigram of this philosopher, which I quote on the 
twenty-second ode. 

There is another epigram by this philosopher, pieserved in 
Laertius, which turns upon the same word. 

Aartip TTpiv pet' eXapirc; evi l^oyotcriv euo;, 
' Nuc (!c Savi'<v Xapncis tTrrcpog tv tpSiinevoi;. 

In life thou vi'ert my morning star. 

But now that death has stol'n thy light, 

Alas! thou shinestdim and far. 

Like the i)ale beam that weeps at night. 

In the Veneres Blyenburgicte, under the head of " Allu- 

siones," we find a number of such frigid conceits upoa 

names, selected from the poets of the middle ages. 



96 



ODES OF AXACREOX. 



Sweet the little founts that weep, 
Lulling soft the mind to sleep ; 
Hark ! they whisper as they roll, 
Calm persuasion to the soul ; 
Tell me, tell me, is not this 
All a stilly scene of bliss ? 
Who, my girl, would pass it by ? 
Surely neither you nor I.' 



ODE XX.* 

One day the Muses twin'd the hands 
Of infant Love with flow'ry bands ; 
And to celestial Beauty gave 
The captive infant for her slave. 



1 JVlio, my gir-l, would pass it by 7 

Surely neither you nor I.] Tlie finish given to the picture 
oy this simple exclamation rig av ovv bpaiv rrapeXdoi, is in- 
imitable. Yet a French translator says on the passage, " This 
conclusion appeared to me too trifling after such a descrip- 
tion, and I thought proper to add somewhat to the strength 
of the original." 

2 The poet appears, in this graceful allegory, to describe 
tlio softening influence which poetry holds over the mind, in 
making it peculiarly susceptible to the impressions of beauty. 
In the fullowing epigram, however, by the philosopher Plato, 
(Diog. Laert. lib. 3,) the Muses are represented as disavow- 
ing the influence of Love. 

'A KuTTjOij y[ovaat(n, Knpaata, rav AcppoSirav 

Ti^ar', 71 rov Epiora vpiniv c^on'XiCTO/xai. 
A'l Mauam iron Kvirpiv, Apet ra arojpvXa ravra- 

'Hitiv ov ■Kcrarai rovro to naiSaptov. 
" yield to my gentle power, Parnassian maids ; " 

Thus to the Muses spoke the Queen of Charms — 
" Or Love shall flutter through your classic shades. 

And make your grove the camp of Paphian arms ! " 
" No," said the virgins of the tuneful bower, 

" We scorn thine own and all thy urchin's art ; 
Though Mars has trembled at the infant's power. 

His shaft is pointless o'er a Muse's heart ! " 
Tliere is a sonnet by Benedetto Guidi, the thought of 
which was suggested by this ode. 

Scherzava dentro all' auree chiome Amore 

Dell' alma donna della vita mia : 
E tanta era il piacer ch' ei ne sentia, 

Clie non sapea, nh volea uscirne fore. 
Ciuando ecco ivi annodar si sente il core, 

Si, che per forza aiicor convien che stia : 
Tai lacci alta beltate orditi avia 

Del crespo crin, per farsi etemo onore. 
Onde offre infin dal ciel degna mercede, 
A chi scioglie il figliuol la bella dea 
Da tanti nodi, in ch' ella stretto il vede. 
Ma ei vinto a due occhi I' arme cede : 
Et t' affatichi indamo, Citerea ; 
Che s' altri '1 scioglie, egli a legar si riede 
Love, wandering through the golden maze 

Of my beloved's hair. 
Found, at each step, such sweet delays. 
That rapt he linger'd there. 



His mother comes, with many a toy, 
To ransom her beloved boy ; ' 
His mother sues, but all in vain, — 
He ne'er will leave his chains again. 
Even should they take his chains away, 
The little captive still would stay. 
" If this," he cries, " a bondage be, 
O, who could wish for liberty ? " 



ODE XXI." 

Observe when mother earth is dry, 
She drinks the droppings of the sky ; 
And then the dewy cordial gives 
To ev'ry thirsty plant that lives. 

And how, indeed, was Love to fly. 

Or how his freedom find. 
When every ringlet was a tie, 

A chain, by Beauty twin'd. 
In v.ain to seek her boy's release. 

Comes Venus from above : 
Fond mother, let thy efforts cease, 

Love's now the slave of Love. 
And, should we loose his golden chain, 
The prisoner would return again ! 

3 His mother comes, with many a toy, 

To ransom her beloved boy ; ^c] In the first idyl of Mos 
chus, Venus thus proclaims the reward for her fugitive 
child : — 

'O iiavvTa; yspag t^ei, 

Miadoi TOi, TO tptXajxa to KvrrpiSof rjK S', ayayrj; v.v 

Ov yv^ivov TO i/)(Aa//a, tv S',-0) ^eve, kui ttXcov cJeij. 

On him, who the haunts of my Cupid can show, 

A kiss of the tenderest stamp I'll bestow ; 

But he, who can bring back the urchin in chains. 

Shall receive even something more sweet for his pains. ' 

Subjoined to this ode, we find in the Vatican MS. the fol- 
lowing lines, which appear to me to boast as little sense as 
metre, and Which are most probably the interpolation of the 
transcriber : — 

H^v^tXr]; AvaKpsoiu 
H(5ii;i£\»)s Se. SoTTipw 
TltvSapiKov TO 6t poi ixcXo; 
"ZvyKvpaaai rij cyxi^oi 
To rpia Tavra poi ^oKCt 
Kai Aiovv(Tos cktcXOmv 
Kat na(ptri ■rrapnxp-'Oi 
Kai avTos Epcug kuv CTrteii'. 

* Those critics who have endeavored to throw the chains 
of precision over the spirit of this beautiful trifle, require tun 
much from Anacreontic philosophy. Among others, Gail 
very sapiently thinks that the poet uses the epithet ueXawr), 
because black earth absorbs moisture more quickly than any 
other ; and accordingly he indulges us with an experimental 
disquisition on the subject. — See Gail's notes. 

One of the Capilupi has imitated this ode, in an epitaph on 
a drunkard : — 

Dum vixi sine fine bibi, sic imbrifer arcua 
Sic tellus pluvias sole perusta bibit. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



97 



The vapors, which at evening weep, 
Are beverage to the swelling deep ; 
And when the rosy sun appears, 
He drinks the ocean's misty tears. 
The moon too quaffs her paly stream 
Of lustre, from the solar beam. 
Tften, hence with all your sober thinking ! 
Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; 
rU make the laws of nature mine, 
And pledge the universe in wine. 



ODE xxn. 

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm, 
AVas once a weeping matron's form ; ' 



Sic bibit assidue fontes et flumina Pontus, 
Sic semper sitiens Sol maris iiaiirit aquas. 

Ne te igitur jactes plus me, Silene, bibisse ; 
Et mihi da victas tu quoque, Bacche, manus. 

HiPPOLYTUS CaPILUPUS. 

While life was mine, the little hour 

In drinking still unvaried flew ; 
I drank as earth imbibes the shower. 
Or as the rainbow drinks the dew j 
As ocean quafTs the rivers up, 

Or flushing sun inhales the sea: 
Silenus trembled at my cup, 
And Bacchus was outdone by me ! 
I cannot omit citing those remarkable lines of Shakspeare, 
where the thoughts of the ode before us are preserved with 
euch striking similitude : 

I'll example you with thievery. 
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea. The moon's an arrant thief. 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun. 
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The mounds into salt tears. The earth's a thief. 
That feeds, and breeds by a composture stol'n 
From general excrements. 

Timon of Alliens, act iv. sc. 3. 

1 a weeping matron's form ;] Niobe. — Ogilvie, in 

his Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients, in remarking 
upon tlie Odes of Anacreon, says, " In some of his pieces 
there is exuberance and even wildness of imagination ; in 
that particularly, which is addressed to a young girl, where 
he wishes alternately to be transformed to a mirror, a coat, 
a stream, a bracelet, and a pair of shoes, for the different 
purposes which he recites ; this is mere sport and wanton- 
ness." 

It is tlie wantonness, however, of a very graceful Muse ; 
" ludit amabiliter." The compliment of this ode is exqui- 
sitely delicate, and so singular for the period in which Anac- 
reon lived, when the scale of love had not yet been gradu- 
ated into all its little progressive refinements, that if we were 
inclined to question the authenticity of the poem, we should 
find a much more plausible argument in the features of mod- 
em gallantry which it bears, than in any of those fastidious 
conjectures upon which some commentators have presumed 
60 far. Degen thinks it spurious, and De Pauw pronounces 
it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes refer us to 
13 



And Progne, hapless, frantic maid, 
Is now a swallow in the shade. 
O, that a mirror's fortn were mine, 
Th^t I might catch that smile divine ; 
And like my own fond fancy be, 
Reflecting thee, and only thee ; 
Or could I be the robe which holds 
That graceful form within its folds ; 
Or, turn'd into a fountain, lave 
Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perfume for thy hair, 
To breathe my soul in fragrance there ; 
Or, better still, the zone, that lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs.' 
Or ev'n those envious pearls that show 
So faintly round that neck of snow — 



several imitations of this ode, from which I shall only select 
the following epigram of Dionysius : — 

Ei9' ai't^Of yzvo^^Jqv, av Sc yc arcixovaa nap' avyaq 

'Srr/dea yvitvoxrais, kui ne nviovra AaSoij. 
Eife paiov yevonriv viroTopclivpuv, u(j>pa fte X^Pff'" 

Apaixevri, KOfiicrais are&tai xviveoii. 
Ei6c Koivov ytvofinv XtVKOXpooi', o(J)pa /te x^P"'" 
Apaptevn, liaXXov arts XP"'"!! KOp'.arn. 
I wish I could like zephyr steal 

To wanton o'er thy mazy vest ; 
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom veil. 
And take me panting to thy breast ! 
I wish I might a rosebud grow, 

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower. 
To place me on that breast of snow, 

Where I should bloom, a wintry flower. 
I wish I were the lily's leaf, 

To fade upon that bosom warm, 
Content to wither, pale and brief, 
The trophy of thy fairer form ! 

1 may add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful a wish in 
a distich preserved by Laertius : 

Aarepa; ciaaBpei;, Aariip epog- eiOe ycvi^iprjv 
Ovpafos, us TTuXXoti opnaaiv £(j ae BXcizoj, 

TO STELLA. 

Why dost thou gaze upon the sky .' 

O, that I were that spangled sphere. 
And every star should be an eye, 
To wonder on thy beauties here ! 
Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine philosopher, to 
justify himself for his verses on Criteas and Charinus. See 
his Apology, where he also adduces the example of Anac- 
reon ; " Fecere tamen et alii talia, et si vos igtoiatis, apud 
Grbcos Teius quidam, &.c. &c." 

2 Or, better still, th' zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast, and feels its siirhs.] This raii/iiiwasa 
ribbon, or band, called by the Romans fascia and strophium, 
which the women wore for the purpose of restraining the 
exuberance of the bosom. Vide Polluc. Onoma;5t. Thus 
Martial : — 

Fascia crescentes dominse compesce papillas. 

The women of Greece not only wore this zone, but con- 
demned themselves to fasting, and made use of certain dnict 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Yes, I would be a happy gem, 
Like them to hang, to fade like them. 
What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
O, any thing that touches thee ; * 
Nay, sandals for those airy feet — 
Ev'n to be trod by them were sweet ! ' 



ODE XXIII.* 

I OFTEN wish this languid lyre, 
This warbler of my soul's desire. 
Could raise the breath of song sublime. 
To men of fame, in former time. 
But when the soaring theme I try, 
Along the chords my numbers die. 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 
" Our sighs are given to love alone ! " 
Indignant at the feeble lay, 
I tore the panting chords away, 
Attun'd them to a nobler swell. 
And struck again the breathing shell ; 
In all the glow of epic fire. 
To Hercules I wake the lyre.' 

and powders for the same purpose. To these expedients 
they were compelled, in consequence of their inelegant 
fashion of compressing the waist into a very narrow com- 
pass, which necessarily caused an excessive tumidity in the 
bosom. See Dioscorides, lib. v. 

1 JVlij/, sandals fur those airy feet — 

En'ii to be trod by them were sweet !] The soiihist Philos- 
tratus, in one of his love letters, has borrowed this thought ; 
CO aicTot TTuScg, co KaA>05 eXi.vdepi>s, o) rpiaevdaiiiuyv eyu 
Kut liUKaptos cat/ TvarriacTe lie. — " O, lovely feet ! O, excel- 
lent beauty ! O, thrice happy and blessed should I be, if you 
would but tread on me ! " In Shaicspeare, Romeo desires 
to be a glove : — 

O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might kiss that cheek ! 

And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea some- 
what like that of the thirteenth line : — 

He, spying her, bounc'd in, where as he stood, 
" O Jove ! " quoth she, " why was not I a flood .' " 
In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, that whimsical far- 
rago of " all such reading as whs never read," we find a 
translation of this ode made before 1633. — " Englished by 
Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act i. scene 7." 

2 According to the order in which the odes are usually 
placed, this (GtAw \eyeiv ArpeiSuc) forms the first of the 
series ; and is thought to be peculiarly designed as an intro- 
duction to the rest. It however characterizes the genius of 
the Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the burden of his 
layij, is not even mentioned in it : 

cum multo Venerem confundere mero 

Precepit Lyrici Teia Musa senis. Ovid. 

The twenty-sixth Ode, 2u nen Atj^tif ra Or]Sn?, might, 

with just as much propriety, be placed at the head of his songs. 

We find the sentiments of the ode before us expressed by 

Bion with much simplia y in his fourth idyl. The above 



But Still its fainting sighs repeat, 
" The tale of love alone is sweet ! " * 
Then fare thee well, seductive dream, 
That mad'st me follow Glory's theme ; 
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit part ; 
And all that one has felt so well 
The other shall as sweetly tell ! 



ODE XXIV.5 

To all that breathe the air of heaven, 
Some bone of strength has Nature given. 
In forming the majestic bull. 
She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; 
A hoof of strength she lent the steed. 
And wing'd the timorous hare with speed 
She gave the lion fangs of terror. 
And o'er the ocean's crystal mirror. 
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng 
To trace their liquid path along ; 

translation is, perhaps, too paraphrastical ; but the ode has 
been so frequently translated, that I could not otherwise 
avoid triteness and repetition, 
s In all the glow of epic fire, 

To Hercules I wake the lyre.] Madame Dacier generally 
translates Xvpn into a lute, which I believe is inaccurate. 
" D'expliquer la lyre des anciens (says M. Sorel) par un 
lutli, c'est ignorer la difl^erence qu'il y a entre ces deux in- 
strumens de musique." — Bibliolheque Frangoise. 
* But still its fainting sighs repeat, 

" The tale if love alone is sweet ! "] The word avTKpuvet 
in the original, may imply that kind of musical dialogue 
practised by the ancients, in which the lyre was made to 
respond to the questions proposed by the singer. Tliis was 
a method which Sappho used, as we are told by Hermo- 
genes ; " oruv r/jv Xvpiiv cpura Ta-iripb), xat 'oTav avrr) 
anoKpivriTai." — Ilcpi IScuv, rop, SevT. 

6 Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of this ode in the 
following lines of one of his poems : — 
Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma, 

Et sua fffimineum possidet arma genus, 
UnguUque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua taurum, 

Armata est forma fcemina pulchra sul. 
And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken b' 
Corisca in Pastor Fido : 

Cosi noi la bellezza 

Ch' 6 vertii nostra cosi propria, come 

La forza del leone, 

E I'ingegno de 1' huomo. 

The lion boasts his savage powers. 

And lordly man his strength of mind ; 
But beauty's charm is solely ours. 
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign'd. 
" An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode (says 
Degen) may be found in Grimm an den Aiimerk uber einiga 
Oden des Anakr." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



99 



Wliile for the umbrage of the grove, 
She pluin'd the Avarbling world of love. 

To man she gave, in that proud hour, 
The boon of intellectual power.' 
Then, what, O woman, what, for thee, 
Was left in Nature's treasury ? 
She gave thee beauty — mightier far 
Than all the pomp and power of war.* 
Nor steel nor fire itself hath power 
Like woman, in her conquering hour. 
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
SmUe, and a world is weak before thee ! ' 



ODE XXV.* 

Once in each revolving year, 
Gentle bird ! we find thee here. 
When Nature wears her summer vest, 
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest ; 
But when the chilling winter lowers, 
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers 
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where sunny hours forever smile. 
And thus thy pinion rests and roves, 
Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 



1 To man she gave, in that proud hour. 

The boon if intellectual power.] In my first attempt to 
translate this ode, I had interpreted tppovnua, with Baxter 
and Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue ; but I 
do not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the iin- 
pnrl which I have now given to it. For, why need we con- 
sider this possession of wisdom as exclusive.' and in truth, 
as tlie. design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of 
beauty, above all the rest which Nature has distributed, it is 
perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, 
to prefer the radiance of female charms to the cold illumina- 
tion of wisdom and prudence ; and to think that women's 
eyes are 

the books, the academies. 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. 

2 She gave thee beauty — mightier far 

Than all the pomp and power of war.] Thus Achilles Tati- 
us : — ic«XX"{ olvTtpov rtrpoiaKCt j3e\ov;, Kat Jia ruiv o<p 
6aAf<(.ii; SIS Triv ll/v\rit' Karappet. O/iOxX/ioj yap bSng 
ipoTiKM Tpiivixari. " Beauty wounds more swiftly than the 
arrow, and passes through the eye to tlie very soul ; for the 
eye is the inlet to the wounds of love." 

3 Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 

Smile, and a -world is weak before thee!'] Longepierre's 
remark here is ingenious: — "The Romans," says he, 
" were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used 
a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beauti- 
lul. Thus Plautus, act 2, scene 2. Bacchid. 

Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 
' Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius." 



That brood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest ! * 
StUl every year, and all the year. 
They fix their fated dwelling here ; 
And some their infant plumage try. 
And on a tender winglet fly ; 
"While in the shell, impregn'd with fires, 
Still lurk a thousand more desires ; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping. 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves , 
One urchin imps the other's feather. 
Then twin desires they wing together. 
And fast as they thus take their flight, 
Still other urchins spring to light. 
But is there then no kindly art. 
To chase these Cupids from my heart ; 
Ah, no ! I fear, in sadness fear, 
They will forever nestle here ! 



ODE XXVI.« 

Tht harp may sing of Troy's alarms, 
Or tell the tale of Theban arms ; 



* We have here another ode addressed to the swallow* 
Albert! has imitated both in one poem, beginning 
Perch' io pianga al tuo canto, 
Rondinella importuna, &c. 
6 Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within this hapless breast, 

Jlnd never, never change their nest !] Thus Love is reprfr 
sented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longepierre from 
the Anthologia : — 

Alt! (loi Svvci fiev ev ovaaiv nX"^ cpoiroi, 

O/jfia 6c Tiya iroOot; to yXvKV Sukov (pcpei. 
OvS' fi I'uf, ov (pEyyoi CKOiixictv, aXX' inro ^iXr/iwv 

HSe iruv KpaStTj yvuiaroi ciieart rvrrns. 
£i -irravot, ix'l tat nor' tcpnrraaOat nev tpwrti 
Oi(5ar', aTTOTrrnfC <5' ovd' haov laxvcre. 
'Tis Love that murmurs in my breast, 
And makes me shed the secret tear ; 
Nor day nor night my soul hath rest. 
For night and day his voice I hear. 
A wound within my heart I find, 

And O, 'tis plain where Love has been ; 
For still he leaves a wound behind. 
Such as within my heart is seen. 
O, bird of Love ! with song so drear. 
Make not my soul the nest of pain ; 
But, let the wing which brought thee here. 
In pity waft thee hence again ! 
6 " The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare 
also Weisse Scherz. Lieder, lib. iii.. der Soldat " Gail, 
Degen. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



With other wars my song shall burn, 
For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 
'Twas not the crested warrior's dart, 
That drank the current of my heart ; 
Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, 
Have made this vanquish' d bosom bleed ; 
No — 'twas from eyes of liquid blue 
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ; ' 
And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes ! 



ODE xxvn.» 

We read the flying courser's name 
Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 
And, by their turban' d brows alone, 
The warriors of the East are known. 
But in the lover's glowing eyes, 
The inlet to his bosom lies ; ^ 
Through them we see the small faint mark, 
Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark 



1 JVb — 'twas from eyes of liquia blue 

A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ;] Longepierre has quoted 
part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, 
which has a fancy something like this 

On lit XfXijSaf, 
To\uTa, ZrinoipiXai cfijiaat Kpvnroijtrvos. 

Archer Love! though slyly creeping. 
Well I know where thou dost lie ; 

I saw thee tlirough the curtain peeping, 
That fringes Zenophelia's eye. 

The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes, 
But few have turned the thought so naturally as Anacreon. 
Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress " un petit camp 
d'amours." 

2 This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican 
MS., but I have conformed to the editions in translatmg 
Uiem separately. 

" Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Raraler 
Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Bluraeulese, lib. iv. p. 313." 

8 But in the lover's glowing eyes. 

The inlet to his bosom lies ;] " We cannot see into the 
heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers — 

n cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto. 

M, La Fosse has given the following lines, as enlarging 
»n the thought of Anacreon : — 

Lorsque je vois un araant, 
n cache en vain son tourment, 
A le trahir tout conspire, 
6a langueur, son embarras, 
Tout ce qu'il pent faire ou dire 
Merae ce qu'il ne dit pas. 

In vain the lover tries to veil 
The flame that in his bosom lies ; 



ODE xxvni.* 

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, 

The husband of the Paphian dame 

Moulded the glo^^•ing steel, to form 

Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm ; 

And Venus, as he plied his art. 

Shed honey round each new-made dart, 

While Love, at hand, to finish all, 

Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall ; » 

It chanc'd the Lord of Battles came 

To visit that deep cave of flame. 

'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd 

His spear with many a lifedrop blush'd ; 

He saw the fiery darts, and smil'd 

Contemptuous at the archer child. 

" What ! " said the urchin, " dost thou smUe ? 

Here, hold this little dart a while. 

And thou wilt find, though swift of flight, 

My bolts are not so feathery light." 

Mars took the shaft — and, O, thy look, 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took ! — 



His cheeks' confusion tells the tale, 

We read it in his languid eyes: 
And while his words the heart betray. 
His silence speaks ev'n more than tliey. 

4 This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who, I 
believe, was the author of tiiat curious little work, called 
" Hexameron Rustique." He makes use of this, as well as 
the thirty-fiftli, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation 
of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. — Journ^e Quatri^me. 

6 While Love, at hand, to fi-iiUh all. 

Tipped every arrow's point with gall ;] Thus Claudian : — 

Labuntur gemini fontes, hie dulcis, amarus 
Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis, 
Unde Cupidineas armavit fama sagittas. 

In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall. 
And one with honey flows, and one with gall ; 
In these, if we may take the tale from fame. 
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame. 

See Alciatus, emblem 91, on the close connection which 
subsists between sweets and bitters. " Apes ideo pungunt 
(says Petronius), quia ubi dulce, ibi et acidum invenies." 

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in 
Horace, may vie with this before us in fancy, though not in 
delicacy: — 

ferus et Cupido 

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas 
Cote cruenta,. 

And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts. 
Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts. 

Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened 
the image by the omission of the epithet " cruenta." 
Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagiuas ? Eka. 1. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 101 


Sighing, he felt the urchin's art, 


Since that devited thirst began, 


And cried, in agony of heart, 


Man has forgot to feel for man ; 


" It is not light — I sink with pain ! 


The pulse of social life is dead, 


Take — take thy arrow back again." 


And all its fonder feelings fled ! 


" No," said the child, " it must not be ; 


War too has suUied Nature's charms. 


That little dart was made for thee ! " 


For gold provokes the world to arms : 




And 0, the worst of all its arts. 




It rends asunder loving hearts. 


ODE XXIX. 




Yes — loving is a painful thrill, 
And not to love more painful still ; ' 


ODE XXX.« 


But 0, it is the worst of pain. 


'TwAS in a mocking dream of night — 


To love and not be lov'd again ! 


I fancied I had wings as light 


Affection now has fled from earth. 


As a young bird's, and flew as fleet ; 


Nor fire of genius, noble birth, 


While Love, around whose beauteous feet, 


Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 


I knew not why, hung chains of lead, 


From beauty's cheek one favoring smile. 


Pursued me, as I trembling fled ; 


Gold is the woman's only theme. 


And, strange to say, as swift as thought, 


Gold is the woman's only dream. 


Spite of my pinions, I was caught ! 


0, never be that wretch forgiven — 


AVhat does the wanton Fancy mean 


Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 


By such a strange, illusive scene ? 


Whose grovelling eyes could first adore. 


I fear she whispers to my breast, 


Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. 


That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its rest ; 


Yes — loving is a painful thrill. 


Friend ! each other friend above, 


^itd not to love more painful still; ^c] The following 


Come with nie, and learn to love. 


Anacreontic, addressed by Menage to Daniel Hue, en- 


Loving is a simple lore. 


«hrces, with much grace, the " necessity of loving : " — 


Graver men have learn'd before ; 


Xlepi Tov Sciv ^(A/juai. 
IIpoj UiTpov AavtriXa 'XcttOv. 


Nay, the boast of former ages. 
Wisest of the wisest sages, 
Sophroniscus' prudent son. 


Msya ^avfia TO}v aoi^wv. 


Was by love's illusion won. 


XapiTuv5aXoi,-X£TTe, 


O, how lieavy life would move. 


•t-tXooi.eu, (o tratpc. 


If we knew not how to love ! 


^iXcriaav o'l aopiarai. 


Love's a wlielstone to the mind ; 


"tiAtijffC acytvui avr/p, 


Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. 


Tu TiKfOf TOV Xoj^ppovtaKOV, 


When the soul dejected lies, 


To^im -^-irrip airaani- 


Love can waft it to the skies ; 


Ti S' ai/ev yei/otr' Epojroj; 


When in languor sleeps the heart. 


Akovti ^£1/ eart li/vxns-* 


Love can wake it witli his dart ; 


llri.pvycacTii' £15 OAu/iirov 


When the mind is dull and dark. 


KariiKCtiievovi avaipci. 


Love can light it with his spark ! 


BpaSini n-rnyiiivoiat 


Come, 0, come tlien, let us haste 


BcXeeai eia^eipei. 


All the bliss of love to taste ; 


Hvpt Xnpirtiiu; tpativto 


Let us love both night and day, 


VvTiiipuiTCiJOVi Kadaipet, 


Let us love our lives away ! 


^lActO/itV OVU, 'XCTT£, 


And when hearts, from loving free. 


'i'LXea.pii, CO craioe. 


(If indeed such hearts there be,) 


ASlKUS ii Xot&opouvTi 


Frown upon our gentle flame, 


Aytovi eptjjTui )]piov 


And the sweet delusion blame ; 


KaKov ivioiuu TO povvov, 


This shall be my only curse. 


'lua pn (Su^air' CKCii-oj 


(Could I, could I wish them worse ?) 


^i\u„j TZ Kui ij)iXsicri)a,. 


May they ne'er the rapture prove, 


Thoa ! of tuneful bards the first. 


Of the smile from lips we love ! 


Thou ! by all the Graces nurs'd ; 


2 Barnes imagines from tliis allegory, that our poet raa> 




ried very late in life. But I see nothing in the ode which 


' Tliis line is borrowed from an epigram by Alphens of JUtylene 


alludes to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of 


Which jNIeuage, I think, says somewhere he was himsell'the first to 


Cupid ; and I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in 


pioduce to the world :- 


her life of the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure 


*iOC1£ £(rriv Epuf aKOvrj. 


to marry. 



ODES OF ANACREO^ 



That though my fancy, for a while, 
Hath hung on many a woman's smile, 
I soon dissolv'd each passing vow, 
And ne'er was caught by love till now ! 



ODE XXXI.» 

Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, 

(Arms enough for such a god,) 

Cupid bade me wing my pace. 

And try with him the rapid race. 

O'er many a torrent, wild and deep. 

By tangled brake and pendent steep, 

With weary foot I panting flew. 

Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.' 

And now my soul, exhausted, dying. 

To my lijj was faintly flying ; ' 

And now I thought the spark had fled, 

When Cupid hover'd o'er my head. 



1 Tlie design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much 
greater pain attends insensibility tlian can ever result from 
the tenderest impressions of love. Longepierre has quoted 
an ancient epigram which bears some similitude to this 
ode : — 

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis 

Carpebam, et sonmo lumina victa dabam ; 
Cum me ssvus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis 

Excitat, et lacerum pervigijare jubet. 
Tu famulus mens, inqnit, ames cum mille puellas, 

Solus lo, solus, dure jaeere potes ? 
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunica(|ue soluta, 
Omne iter impedio, nullum iterexpedio. 
Nunc propero, mine ire piget ; rursumque redire 

Pcenitct ; et pudor est stare via media. 
Ecce tacent vuces hominum, strepitusque ferarum, 

Et volucrum rantus, tiirbaque fida canuni. 
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torumque, 
Et sequor imperium, sieve Cupido, tuum. 
Upon my couch 1 lay, at night profound, 
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound. 
When Cupid came and snatcli'd me from my bed. 
And forc'd me many a weary way to tread. 
"What! (said the god) shall yon, whose vows are known. 
Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone? " 

1 rise and follow ; all the night I stray, 
Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way; 
Tracing with naked foot tlie painful track. 
Loath to proceed, yet fearful to go back. 

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd, 
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing Hocks are heard, 
J, I alone, a fugitive from rest, 
i'assion my guide, and madness in my breast. 
Wander the world around, unknowing where. 
The slave of love, the victim of despair! 

2 Till my brow dropp'd with cliilly dew.] I have followed 
those who read rcifiiv iti^ajs for TTiti>tv vSpif ; the former is 
partly authorized by the MS. wliich reads ireipei/ i6pu>s. 

3 And now my auuI, exiiuusted, dying, 

To my lip wtu faintly fiying ; 4-e.] In the original, he 
cays, his heart Hew tu his nose ; but our manner more nat- 



And fanning light his breezy pinion. 
Rescued my soul from death's dominion 
Then said, in accents half reproving, 
" Why hast thou been a foe to loving ? " 



ODE XXXTI.» 

Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves. 
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves ; 
And while in luxury's dream I sink, 
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hour of revelry 
Young Love shall my attendant be — 
Dress'd for the task, Adth tunic round 
His snowy neck and shoulders bound, 
Himself shall hover by my side. 
And minister the racy tide ! 



urally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato 
tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulua 
Gellius: — 

Triv xl/uxiVj Ayadcjva <pt\iov, cti x^'Xeaiv taxpv. 

HA0£ yap {] T\riii(i>v toj 6ta6ncf>pei"l- 
Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip. 

And drink thy breath, in trance divine, 
My soul then flutters to my lip, 
Ready to fly and mix with thine. 
Aulas Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in 
which we find a number of those mi^narJusesof expression, 
which mark the etfemination of the Latin language. 
< And fanning ligla liis breezy pinion, 
Rescued my sonl from death's dominion ;] " The facility 
with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of 
love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may 
occasion." — La Fosse. 

6 We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining 
upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cupbearer. Some inter- 
preters have ruined the picture by making Epws the name 
of his slave. None but Love should till the goblet of Anac- 
reon. Sappho, in one of her fragments, has assigned this 
ofiice to Venus. E^^€, Kvnpt, x/'uo-£<«'o-(f ev KvXiKtoam 
dSpuii crvppcpiypci'iv 4j,\i.ucn f^-.TUf) oivu^oixru rovrui<ri 
Tuis Tatpuiicpuii ^CK(U aoif. 
Which may be tlius paraphrased : — 

Hither, Venus, (pieen of kis.se3. 
This shall be the night of blisses , 
This the night, to friendship dear. 
Thou shall be our Hebe here. 
Fill (he golden brimmer high. 
Let it sparkle like thine eye ; 
Bid the rosy current gusli. 
Let it mantle like thy blush. 
Goddess, hast thou e'er above 
Seen a feast so rich in love.' 
Not a soul that is not mine ! 
Not a soul that is not thine ! 
" Compare with this ode (says the German commentator; 
the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. 
p. 296, 'Amor als Diener.' " 



ODES OF ANACREON. 103 


0, swift as wheels that kindling roll, 


1 heard the baby's tale of woe ; 


Our life is hurrying to the goal : 


I neard the bitter night winds blow ; 


A scanty dust, to feed the wind, 


And sighing for his piteous fate. 


Is all the trace 'twill leave behind 


1 trimm'd my lamp and op'd the gate. 


Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom 


I'was Love ! the little wandering sprite,' 


Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 


His pinion sparkled through the night. 


Can flowery breeze, or odor s brcatn, 


I knew him by his bow and dart ; 


Affect the still, cold sense of death ? 


I knew him by my fluttering heart. 


no ; I ask no balm to steep 


Fondly I take him in, and raise 


With fragrant tears my bed of sleep ; 


The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 


But now, while every pulse is glowing. 


Press from his dank and clinging hair 


Now let me breathe the balsam flowing ; 


The crystals of the freezing air. 


Now let the rose, with blush of fire, 


And in my hand and bosom hold 


Upon my brow in sweets expire ; 


His little fingers thrilling cold. 


And bring the nymph whose eye hath power 




To brighten even death's cold hour. 


And now the embers' genial ray 


Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, 


Had warm'd his anxious fears away ; 


To join the blest elysian choir. 


" I pray thee," said the wanton child, 


With wine, and love, and social cheer. 


(My bosom trembled as he smil'd,) 


I'll make my own elysium here ! 


" I pray thee let me try my bow, 




For through the rain I've wander'd so. 




That much I fear, the midnight shower 


ODE XXXTTL' 


Has injur'd its elastic power." 




The fatal bow the urchin drew ; 


'TwAS noon of night, when round the pole 


Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 


The sullen Bear is seen to roll ; 


As swiftly flew as glancing flame. 


And mortals, wearied with the day. 


And to my inmost spirit came ! 


Are slumbering all their cares away ; 


" Fare thee well," I heard him say. 


An infant, at that dreary hour, 


As laughing wild he wing'd away ; 


Came weeping to mj' silent bower, 


«' Fare thee well, for now I know 


And wak'd me with a piteous prayer. 


The rain has not relax'd my bow ; 


To shield him from the midnight air. 


It still can send a thrilling dart. 


"And who art thou," I waking cry, 


As thou shalt own with all thy !;eart ! ' 


" That bidd'st my blissful visions fly ? " ' 




" Ah, gentle sire ! " the infant said, 




" In pity take me to thy shed ; 




Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 


ODE XXXI V.« 


I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 




Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 


THOU, of all creation blest, 


Illumes the drear and misty way ! " 


Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest 


1 M. Bernard, the author of L'Art d'aimer, has written a 


* In a Latin ode addressed to the grasshopper, Rapin has 


ballet called " Les Surprises de I'Ainoiir," in which the 


preserved some of the thoughts of our author: — 


subject of the third entree is Anacreon, and the story of this 


O quiE virenti graminis in toro. 


ode suggests one of the scenes. — CEuvres de Bernard, Anac. 


Cicada, blande sidis, et herbidos 


scene 4th. 


Saltus oberras, otiosos 


The German annotator refers us here to an imitation by 


Ingeniosa ciere cantiis. 


Uz, lib. iii., " Amor and sein Briider ; " and a poem of 


Sen forte adultis floribus incubas. 


Kleist, "die Heilung." La Fontaine has translated, or 


CoBli caducis ebria fletibus, &c. 


rather imitated, this ode. 






O thou, that on the grassy bed 


2 " Ana who art thou," l waking cry, 


Which Nature's vernal liand has spread. 


" That bidd'it my blissful visions flij ? "] Anacreon appears 


Reclinest soft, and tun'sl thy song, 


to have been a vohiptuary even in dreaming, by the hvely 


The dewy herbs and leaves among ! 


regret which he expresses at being disturbed from his vision- 


Whether thou ly'st on springing flowers. 


ary enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvii. 


Drunk with tlie balmy nioniing showers. 


3 'Twos Love! f:e title waiidrring sprite, ^c] See the 


Or, &c. 


beautiful description of Cupid, by Moscluis, in his first idyl. 


See what Licetus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93 and 185. 



104 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Upon the \^i!dwoo(l's leafy tops, 1 

To drink the dew that morning drops, 
And chirp thy song with such a glee, ' 
That happiest kings may envy thee. 
Whatever decks the velvet field, 
Whatc'cr the circling seasons yield. 
Whatever buds, whatever blows. 
For thee it buds, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, 
To him thy friendly notes are dear ; 
For thou art mild as matin dew ; 
And still, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins to paint the bloomy plain, 
Wc hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; 
Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear. 
And bless the notes and thee revere ! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone ;* 
Apollo calls thee all his own ; 
'Twas he who gave that voice to thee, 
'Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

1 ^nd chirp thy song with xiich a glee, Sfc] " Some authors 
iKive affirmed (says Madame Dacier), that it is only male 
grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent ; 
and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Xenar- 
clms, the comic poet, who says £ir' ciatv ol rerTiyss ovk 
evinLiiOiiCi, u>v rai? yviiai^ip CfS' on ovv (jiwvrjs ivt ; 'are 
not the grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives'?" 
This note is orignally Henry Stephen's ; but 1 chose ratliei" 
f'o make a lady my authority for it. 

2 The Muses love thy shriUy tone ; ^c] Phile, de Animal. 
Prnprietat. calls this insect Movrrai; i/ii,\«s, the darling of the 
Muses ; and Movacjp npviv, the bird of the Muses ; and we 
find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in 
the following punning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes 
Laertius : — 

Tm;; -KavTMp S' r)yciTo irAaTWOTflTof, aA>' ayoprirm 
'H(5u£7rr;s T£TTiliv t(Toyjia(pos, ul 0' 'EKiiSriiiOv 
Acu/ifiei e<pig<iii€voi oiru XsipioeTtrav i£io-i. 
This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, y, where 
there occurs the very same simile. 

3 Melodious insect, child of earth,] Longepierre has quoted 
the two first lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first 
book of the Anthologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to 
the swan : 

hpKti TCTTiyai ficQvaai Saow;, a'SXi movrei 

AcifJcii' KVKVCou ctat ysyoifOTCpoi. 
In dew, that drops from morning's wings. 

The gay Cicada sipping Hosts ; 
And drunk with dew, his matin sings 
Sweeter than any cygnet's notes. 
* Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nine- 
teenth idyl ; but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in 
delicacy of point and naivet6 of expression. Spenser, in one 
of his smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely on 
the same subject. The poem to which I allude, begins 
thus: — 

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering 

All in his miahcr's lap; 
A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring, 
Aliout him flew by hap, &c. &c. 



Unworn by age's dim decline, 
The fadeless blooms of youth are thina. 
Melodious insect, child of earth,^ 
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth ; 
Exempt from every weak decay. 
That withers vulgar frames away ; 
With not a drop of blood to stain 
The current of thy purer vein ; 
So blest an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a little deity ! 



ODE XXXV.* 

Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless urchin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee ; 

The bee awak'd — with anger wild 

The bee awak'd, and stung the child. 



In Almeloveeii's collection of epigrams, there is one by 
Luxorius, correspondent somewhat with the turn of Anac- 
reon, where Love complains to his mother of being wound 
ed by a rose. 

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The 
infimtine complainings of the little god, and the natural and 
impressive reflections which they draw from Venus, are 
beauties of inimitable grace. I may be pardoned, perhaps, 
for introducing here another of Menage's Anacreontics, not 
for its similitude to the subject of this ode, but for some faint 
traces of the same natural simplicity, which it appears to m« 
to have preserved : — 

E/7a)5 ttot' ev xopctatf 
Toji/ naptittfwv aojrov, 
Tnv I'ot (pi\Tiv Koptvvav, 
'ilj et<kii, iii TTpui avrrjv 
TlpoceSpapc- T/JOXlXu 
A'SviJUi re xetpai anrtav 

4>lA£l /i£, /i'!T£/), £(7r£. 

KaAoB/j£i/») Kopivva, 
Mfjrr)/), tpvOpia^ei, 
'il{ napOcvoi pitv uixra. 
K' avToi 6e ivax^patvtov, 
'Hi ofipaai n\avr)9eii, 
E/Jdjs epvBpiai^et. 
Eyoi, ie o\ Trapaora;, 
Ml ivaxepaive, <l)Jipi. 
'KvTTpiv re Kill Koptvuav 
Aiayfotaai uvk ex"vai 
Kai oi li\eKovTti uju. 

•As dancing o'er the enamell'd plain. 
The flow'ret of the virgin train. 
My soul's Corinna lightly play'd. 
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid ; 
He saw, and in a moment flew. 
And round her neck his arms he threw ; 
Saying, with smiles of infant joy, 
" O, kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy ! " 
Unconscious of a mother's name, 
The modest virgin blush'd with sliame ' 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Loud and piteous are his cries ; 
To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 
" O mother ! — I am wounded through — 
I die with pain — in sooth I do ! 
Stung by some little angry thing, 
Some serpent on a tiny wing — 
A bee it was — for once, I know 
I heard a rustic call it so." 
Thus he spoke, and she the while 
Hear I him with a soothing smile; 
Then said, " My infant, if so much 
Thou feel the little wild bee's touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be. 
The hapless heart that's stung by thee ! " 



ODE XXXVI.' 

If hoarded gold possess'd the power 

To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, 

And purchase from the hand of death 

A little span, a moment's breath, 

How I would love the precious ore ! 

And every hour should swell my store : 

That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 

To waft mc to his bleak dominion,* 

I might, by bribes, my doom delay. 

And bid him call some distant day. 

But, since not all earth's golden store 

Can buy for us one bright hour more, 



And angry Cupid, scarce believing 
That vision could be so deceiving — 
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame '. 
It made ev'n Cupid blush with shame. 
" Be not asham'd, my boy," I cried. 
For I was lingering by his side ; 
" Corinna and thy lovely mother. 
Believe me, are so like each other. 
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd. 
And take thy Venus for the maid." 
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has given a translation 
of this ode of Anacreon. 

1 Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his dialogue be- 
tween Anacreon and Aristotle in the shades, where, on 
weighing the merits of both these personages, he bestows 
the prize of wfsdom upon the poet. 

" The German imitators of this ode are, Lessing, in his 
poem'Gestern Briidcr,' &c. ; Gleim, in the ode 'An den 
Tod ; ' and Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl., Gotting. 1783, p. 

8 T/ifit when Death came, with sliadnwy pinion, 

To waft me to kis bl ak dominion, 4-c.] The commentators, 
who are so fond of disputing " de lansi caprin^," have been 
very busy on the authority of the phrase i/' av ^avtiv nr'.\B-n. 
The reading of I'l;' ai OivaToi cirtMri,\v\i\ch De Medenbach 
proposes in his Amoenitates Literaria;, was already hinted 
by Le Fevre, who seldom suggests any thing worth notice. 

3 The (rnblft rich, the board of fri nds, 

BHiose social souls the goblet blends ;] This communion 
U 



Why should we vainly mourn our fate, 
Or sigh at life's uncertain date ? 
Nor w-ealth nor grandeur can illume 
The silent midnight of the tomb. 
No — give to others hoarded treasures — 
Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures 
The goblet rich, the board of friends. 
Whose social souls the goblet blonds ; ' 
And mine, while yet I've life to live, 
Those joys that love alone can give. 



ODE XXXVII.* 

'TwAS night, and many a circling bowl 
Had deeply warm'd my thirsty soul ; 
As luU'd in slumber I was laid, 
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd. 
With maidens, blooming as the dawn, 
I seem'd to skim the opening lawn ; 
Light on tiptoe bath'd in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew ! 

Some ruddy striplings, who look'd on — 
With cheeks, that like the wine god's shone 
Saw me chasing, free and wild, 
•These blooming maids, and slyly smil'd ; 
Smil'd indeed with wanton glee. 
Though none could doubt they envied me. 



of friendship, which sweetened the I)owl of Anacreon, has 
not been forgotten by the author of the following scholium, 
where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial 
simplicity. 'XyiaifCiu ijcu ainaTov anSpi SunTco. A'vrepov 
ie, KaXov fvriv ytvtadai. To rpirou ^e, n'XovTiii/ U(5i/Awj. 
Kai TO Tcraprov (TVneSaf pcra tcov ^tXcoi/. 

Of mortal blessings here the first is health, 
And next those charms by w^-ich the eye we move ; 

The third is wealth, unwounding guiltless wealth, 
And then, sweet intercourse with those we love ! 

4 " Compare with this ode the beautiful poem ' der Tra- 
um ' of Uz." — Degcn. 

Le Fevre, in a note upon this ode, enters into an elaborate 
and learned justification of drunkenness ; and this is proba- 
bly the cause of the severe reprehension which he appears 
to have sufl%red for his Anacreon. " Fuit olim fateor (says 
he in a note upon Longinus), cum Sapphonem amatiam. 
Sed ex quo ilia me perditissima foeniina pei.e niiserum per- 
didit cum sceleratissiino suo congerrone, (Anacreontem dico, 
si nescis. Lector,) noli sperare, &c. &c." He adduces on 
this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ehriety, at the 
Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. 
He likewise quotes the following line from Alexis, which he 
says no one, who is not totally ignorant of the world, can 
hesitate to confess the truth of: — 

OuJcij (pi\oTroTris tariv avOpdrnoi KaKo;, 

" No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man " 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



And still I flew — and now had caught 

The panting nymphs, and fondly thought 

To gather from each rosy lip 

A kiss that Jove himself might sip — 

When sudden all my dream of joys, 

Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 

All were gone ! ' — " Alas ! " I said, 

Sighing for th' illusion fled, 

" Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 

O, let nie dream it o'er and o'er ! " ' 



ODE XXXVIII.' 

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, 
Let us raise the song of soul 
To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ; 
The god who taught the sons of earth 
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth ; 
Him, who was nurs'd with infant Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian grove ; 
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms.'' 
O, 'tis from him the transport flows, 
Which sweet intoxication knows ; 
With him, the brow forgets its gloom. 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 

Behold ! — my boj^s a goblet bear, 
Whose sparkling foam lights up the air. 



i ir/ien sudden all my dream of joys. 
Blushing vympks ami laughing boys, 
Ml were gone !] " Ndiiims says of Bacchus, almost in the 
•ime words that Anacreon uses, — 

Eyponsvoi Sc 
Xlapdevuv ovK CKixiac, icai riQt\t.v avdii lautu ' 
Waking, he lost the phantom's charms. 
The nymph had faded from his arms ; 
Again to shiiiiber he essay'd, 
Again to clasp the shadowy maid. Longepierre. 
^gain, siceet sleep. Chat seme restore, 
O, let me drram it o'er and o'er!"] Doctor Johnson, in 
his preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the commen- 
tators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence 
of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, al- 
ludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon before 
us: — "I have been told that when Caliban, after a pleas- 
ing dream, says, ' I cried to sleep again,' the author imitates 
Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on 
the same occasion." 

3 " Compare with this beautiful ode to Bacchus the verses 
of Ilagediirn, lib. v., ' das Gesellschaftliche ; ' and of Bur- 
ger, p. 51, &c. &c. "— Degen. 
* Him that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms.] Robertellus, upon the 
«pitlialamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious derivation 



Where are now the tear, the sigh ? 
To the \vinds they fly, they fly ! 
Grasp the bowl ; in nectar sinking, 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! 
Say, can the tears we lend to thought 
In life's account avail us aught ? 
Can we discern with all our lore. 
The path we've yet to journey o'er ? 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
'Tis only wine can strike a spark.* 
Then let me quaff" the foamy tide, 
And through the dance meandering glide 
Let me imbibe the spicy breath 
Of odors chafd to fragrant death ; 
Or from the lips of love inhale 
A more ambrosial, richer gale ! 
To kearts that court the phantom Care, 
liCt him retire and shroud him there ; 
While Ave exhaust the nectar'd bowl. 
And swell the choral song of soul 
To him, the god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ! 



ODE XXXIX. 

How I love the festive boy, 
Tripping through the dance of joy ! 
How I love the mellow sage. 
Smiling through the veil of age ! 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance of joy appears. 



of CytheriEa, the name o( Venus, rrapn to KCvOnv roi'j 
tpwTa%. which seems to hint that " Love's fairy favors ur» 
lost, when not conceaied." 
i Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 

'Tis only wine can strike a spark.] The brevity of life 
allows arguments for the voluptuarj' as well as the moralist. 
Among many parallel passages vvnich Longepierre has ad- 
duced, I shall content myself with this epigram from Un 
Aiithologia. 

AoviTa;j£t/oi, IlpofitKri, wxaaioptOa, Kai rof axparov 

'EA/ftu/jti/, (fuAiifas pcii^ovai apatitvoi. 
'Paiof h xmpovTiiJv can piuf. eira ru Aoira 

Tripas KcoXvaei, xai to tcXiij S-ai/anif 
Of which the following is a paraphrase : — 
Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam. 
To plunge us in yon cooling stream ; 
Then, hastening to the festal bower. 
We'll pass in mirth the evening hour ; 
'Tis thus our age of bliss shall fly. 
As sweet, though passing as that sigh. 
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip, 
" Come, while you may, of rapture sip." 
For age will steal the graceful form. 
Will chill the pulse, while throbbing warm , 
And death — alas ! that hearts, which Ihrill 
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still ! 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



107 



Snows may o'er his head be flung. 
But his heart — his heart is young.* 



ODE XL. 

I KNOW that Heaven hath sent me here, 
To run this mortal life's career ; 
The scenes which I have journeyed o'er, 
Return no more — alas ! no more ; 
. And all the path I've yet to go, 
I neither know nor ask to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy fetters round this soul to link ; 
Never can heart that feels with me 
Descend to be a slave to thee ! * 
And O, before the vital thrill, 
Which trembles at my heart, is still, 
I'll gather Joy's luxuriant flowers, 
And gild with bliss my fading hours ; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the tomb ! ' 



1 Snoios may o'er his head be filing. 

But his heart — his heart is young,] Saint Pavin makes 
the same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl 
Je sais bien que les destinees 
Ont mal conipassee nos annees ; 
Ne rcgardez que mon amour ; 
Peut-etre en serez vous emue. 
II est jeune et n'est que du jour. 
Belle Iris, que je vous ai vu. 
Fair and young tliou bloomest now. 

And I full many a year have told ; 
But read the heart and not the hrovv, 

Thou Shalt not find my love is old. 
My love's a child ; and tliou canst say 

How much his little age may be, 
For he was born tlie very day 

Wlien first 1 set niy eyes on thee ! 

* JVever can heart that feels with me 

Descend to be a slave to thee .'] Longepierre quotes here an 
epigram from the Authologia, on account of the similarity 
of a particular phrase. Though by no means Anacreontic, it 
is marked by an interesting simplicity which has induced 
me to paraphrase it, and may atone for its intrusion 

EATTif Kai (TV TVX1 li^ya xaiperc. tov Xinev^ evpov. 

OvSsv t/iot x' Vfitv, Kail^cre rov; iier' eiie 
At length to Fortune, and to you, 
Delusive flope ! a last adieu. 
The charm that once beguil'd is cj er. 
And I have reach'd my destin'd shores 
Away, away, your flattering arts 
May now betray some simpler hearts. 
And you will smile at their believing, 
And they shall weep at your deceiving ! 

* Bacchus shall bid my wintrr bloom, 

And Vcmis dance me to the tomb .'] The same commenta- 
tor hai quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian, 



ODE XLI. 

"When Spring adorns the dewy scene, 
How sweet to walk the velvet green. 
And hear the west wind's gentle sighs. 
As o'er the scented mead it flies ! 
How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 
Ready to burst in tears of wine ; 
And with some maid, who breathes but love 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove,'' 
Or sit in some cool, green recess — 
O, is not this true happiness? 



ODE XLII.» 

Yes, be the glorious revel mine. 
Where humor sparkles from the wine. 
Around me, let the youthful choir 
Respond to my enlivening lyre ; 
And while the red cup "foams along, 
Mingle in soul as well as song. 



in which he makes him promulgate the precepts of gooa 
fellowship even from the tomb. 

n 'WaKi yttv ToJ' asiaa, Kai ek tv/iSov Sc /?oijo-(j, 

Ittvere, rrptv ravrriv anipiBaXnaQt koviv. 
This lesson oft in life I sung, 

And from my grave I still shall cry, 
" Drink, mortal, drink, while time is young. 
Ere death has made thee cold as I." 
< And with some maid, w'lo breathes but love. 
To walk, at noontide, through tlie grove,] Thus Horace : — 

Uuid habes illius, illius 
Qua spirabat ainores. 
Qua; me siirpuerat mihi. Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 

And does there then remain but this, 
And hast thou lost each rosy ray 

Of her, who breath'd the soul of bliss. 
And stole me from myself away ? 

s The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly ae- 
picted. His love of social, harmonized pleasures, is ex- 
pressed with a warmth, amiable and endearing. Among 
the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the following ; it '\i 
the only one worth translation and it breathes the same 
sentiments with ''.,\s ode : — 

Ou (piXus, b( Kprimpt TTupa ttAco) oiiroiroTa^cov, 

Nti/ceu Kai TToXeiiov SaxpvaevTa Xcytt, 
AAA' bcTii Movaccof Te,Kai ayXaa icup' A<ppuoiTiis 

Sufi/iicryaji', cpaTrjs /iK/juvtrui cvippuavvris. 
When to the lip the brimming cup is pressed, 

And hearts are all afloat upon its stream. 
Then banish from my board th' unpoli.sli'd guest, 

Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme. 
But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes 

The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower ; 

O, give me hini, whose soul expansive breathes 

And blends refinement with tlie social liour 



108 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Then, while I sit, with flow'rets crown'd, 
To regulate the goblet's round, 
Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, 
Be seated smiling by my side, 
And earth has not a gift or power 
That I would envy, in that hour. 
Envy ! — O, never let its blight 
Touch the gay hearts met here to-night. 
Far hence be slander's sidelong woiinds. 
Nor harsh dispute, nor discord's sounds 
Disturb a scene, where all should be 
Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us hear the harp's gay note 
Upon the breeze inspiring float. 
While round us, kindling into love. 
Young maidens through the light dance move. 
Thus blest with mirth, and love, and peace, 
Sure such a life should never cease ! 



ODE XLIII. 

While our rosy fillets shed 
Freshness o'er each fervid head. 
With many a cup and many a smile 
The festal moments we beguile. 
And while the harp, impassion'd, flings 
Tuneful rapture from its strings,' 
Some airy nymph, with graceful bound, 
Keeps measure to the music's sound ; 



1 And while the harp, impassion'' d, flings 

Tuneful rapture from iti strings, S^c] Respecting the bar- 
biton a host of authorities may he collected, which, after all, 
leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is 
scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed 
as the music of the ancients. The authors * extant upon the 
subject are, I imagine, little understood ; and certainly if one 
of their moods was a progression by quarter tones, which we 
are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity 
was by no means the characteristic of their melody ; for this 
is a nicety of progression, of which modem music is not 
susceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenaus, attributed 
to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called to 
fif'riiia Tov AuaKficdfTus. Neanthes of Cy/.icus, as quoted 
<jy Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horau on 
the wor<ls •• Le:?bouin barbiton," in the first ode. 

2 And 0, the sadness in his xig-h, 

Ai o'er his lip 'he accents die!] Longepierre has quoted 
hero an epigram from the Anthologia : — 

Kivpri Tii li' CipiXnoc nodcoTTcpa xtiAfffii' iyp'it;. 

NiKrap cnv to ipiXiipa. r» yap CTopa vzKTafioi eirvet. 

Niii/ nedvu) TO tpiXrjpa, koXvv tov cpiora irtnuiKOii. 
Of n hich the following paraphrase may give some idea : — 

• Collected by Mcibomlus. 



Waving, in her snowy hand. 

The leafy Bacchanalian wand. 

Which, as the tiipping wanton flies, 

Trembles all over to her sighs. 

A youth the while, with loosen'd hair, 

Floating on the listless air. 

Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, 

A tale of woes, alas, his own ; 

And O, the sadness in his sigh, 

As o'er his lip the accents die ! ' 

Never sure on earth has been 

Half so bright, so blest a scone. 

It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home ; ' - 

And Venus, too, with all her wiles, 

And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, 

All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity ! * 



ODE XLIV.* 

Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 
Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers, 
In the bowl of Bacchus steep, 
Till with crimson drops they weep. 
Twine the rose, the garland twine, 
Every leaf distilling wine ; 
Drink and smile, and learn to think 
That we were born to smile and drink. 
Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 
That ever drank the amber shower ; 



The kiss that she left on my lip, 

Like a devvdrop shall lingering lie; 
'Twas nectar she gave me to sip, 

'Twas nectar 1 drank in her sigh. 
From the moment she printed that kisa, 

Nor reason, nor rest has been mine ; 
My whole soul has been drunk with the bliss, 

And feels a delirium divine ! 

3 It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen hi me; — ] The introductiort 
of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Ma- 
dame Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, 
where these deities were personated by the 'company in 
masks. The translation will conform with either idea. 

4 All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Oenius of FeM'tvity .'] K»j/ios, the deity or genius of 
mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures, gives a very 
lively description of this god. 

5 This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose ; and again, 
in the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the 
praises of that flower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the ro- 
mance of Achilles Tatiiis, to which Barnes refers us, the 
rose IS fancifully styled "the eye of Howers ; " and the 
same poetess, in another fragment, calls the tavors of the 
Muse " tlie roses of Pieria." See tlie notes on the fifty-fiftii 
ode. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



109 



Rose, thou art the fondest child 

Of dimpled Spring, the wood nymph wild. 

Even the Gods, who walk the sky, 

Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 

Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, 

His hair with rosy fillet braids, 

When with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces.' 

Then bring me, showers of roses bring. 

And shed them o'er me while I sing ; 

Or while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine. 

Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 

I lead some bright nymph through the dance,' 

Commingling soul with every glance ! 



ODE XLV. 

Within this goblet, rich and deep, 

T cradle all my woes to sleep. 

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 

Or pour the unavailing tear ? 

For death will never heed the sigh. 

Nor soften at the tearful eye ; 

And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, 

Must all alike be seal'd in sleep. 

Then let us never vainly stray. 

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way ; 



" Compare with this ode (says the German annotator) the 
beautiful ode of Uz, ' die Rose.' " 

1 ffhen with the bluahinnr, sister Ora'-es, 

The wanton winding dance he traces.] " This sweet idea 
of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to Anac- 
reon." — Degen. 

2 / lead some bright nymph through the dance, ^c] The 
epithet /yafluKoAirof, which he gives to the nymph, is liter- 
ally " full-bosomed." 

3 Then let us never vainly stray. 

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way ; ^c] I have thus 
endeavored to convey the meaning of n Je toi/ 0iov irXa- 
nofiai ; according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line : — 
E che val, fuor della strada 
Del piacere alma e gradita, 
Vaneggiare in questa vita? 
■• The fastidious affectation of some commentators has 
denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four 
last lines to be the patchwork of some miserable versificator, 
and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears to me, on 
the contrary, to be elegantly graphical ; full of delicate ex- 
pressions and luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of ISe 
irwj enpos (Jiat'cvTos is striking and spirited, and has been 
imitated rather languidly by Horace : — 

Vides ut alta stet nive candidura 

Soracte 

The imperative iSs is infinitely more impressive; — as in 
Shakspeare, 

But look, the mom, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hilL 



But wisely quaff the losy wave. 
Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave ; 
And in the goblet, rich and deep, 
Cradle our crying woes to sl^ep. 



ODE XLVI. 

Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing ; 
While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way.* 
The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish'd into silent sleep ; " 
And mark ! the flitting sea birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the murky clouds away , 
And cultur'd field, and winding stream, 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells ; 
Gemming shoots the olive t^vine, 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; 



There is a simple and poetical description of Spring, in 
Catullus's beautiful farewell to Bithynia. Carm. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this ode 
was written after he had returned from Athens, to settle in 
his paternal seat at Teos ; where, in a little villa at some 
distance from the city, commanding a view of the ^Esean 
Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature 
and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in 
Anac. Vita, $ xxxv. This supposition, however unauthcnti- 
cated, forms a pleasing association, which renders the poem 
more interesting. 

Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus has paraphrased 
somewhere this description of Spring; but 1 cannot meet 
with it. See Chevreau, CEuvres Mel6es. 

" Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hage- 
dorn, book fourth, 'derFrdhling,' and book fifth, 'der Mai,'" 

6 While virgin Graces, warm with May, 

Fling roses o'er her dewy way.] De Pauw reads, Xa/iinij 
fuia ^pvovaiv, " the roses display theit graces." This i9 
not uningenious; but we lose by it the beauty of the person 
ification, to the boldness of which Regnier has rather frivo- 
lously objected. 

6 The murmuring billows of the deep 

Have languish'd into silrnt sleep ; fyc] It has been justly 
remarked, that the liquid flow of the line a-naXvierai yaXrivri 
is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it de- 
scribes. ' 

1 .Slid cultur'd Jleld, and winding stream, ^c] By ffpiiTcov 
tpya " the works of men " (says Baxter), he means cities, 
temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by ths 
beams of the sun. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



All along the branches creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 



ODE XLVII. 

'Trs true, my fading years decline. 

Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, 

As deep as any stripling fair, 

%yhose cheeks the flush of morning wear ; 

And if, amidst the wanton crew, 

I'm caU'd to wind the dance's clew. 

Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, 

Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand, 

But brandishing a rosy flask,* 

The only thyrsus e'er I'U ask ! ' 

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, 
Embrace her in the field of arms ; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. 
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave, 
And bathe me in its brimming wave. 
For though my fading years decay, 
Though manhood's prime hath pass'd away. 
Like old Silenus, sire divine, 
With blushes borrow'd from my -wine, 
I'll wanton 'mid the dancing train, 
And live my follies o'er again ! 



ODE XLVIII. 

When my thirsty soul I steep, 
Every sorrow's luU'd to sleep. 
Talk of monarchs ! I am then 
Ilichest, happiest, first of men ; 



1 But brandishing- a rosy flask, ^c] A(tko; was a kind of 
lentliern vessel for wine, veiy much in use, as should seem 
by the proverb acKo; xai ^vXaKog, which was applied to 
those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This 
proverb is mentioned in some verses quoted by Athenseus, 
from the Hesione of Alexis. 

2 The only thyrsus e'er Pll ask !] Phornutus assigns as a 
reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that 
inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary. 

3 fvy leaves my brow intwining, S^c] " The ivy was con- 
secrated to Bacchus (says Montfaucon), because he formerly 
lay hid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because 
its leaves resemble those of the vine." Other reasons for 
its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, 
may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, &c. &c. 

< Arm ye, arm ye, men of might. 

Hasten to the sanguine fight ;] I have adopted the inter- 
pretation of Regiiier and others : — 



Careless o'er my cup I sing. 
Fancy makes me more than king ; 
Gives me wealthy Croesus' store, 
Can I, can I wish for more ? 
On my velvet couch reclining. 
Ivy leaves my brow intwining,' 
While my soul expands with glee, 
What are kings and crowns to me .' 
If before my feet they lay, 
I would spurn them aU away ! 
Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ; * 
But let me, my budding vine ! 
Spill no other blood than thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see. 
That alone shall vanquish me — 
W^ho think it better, wiser far 
To fall in banquet than in war. 



ODE XLIX.» 

When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, 

The rosy harbinger of joy, 

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl. 

Thaws the winter of our soul* — 

When to my inmost core he glides. 

And bathes it with his ruby tides, 

A flow of joy, a lively heat. 

Fires my brain, and wings my feet. 

Calling up round me visions known 

To lovers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing of love, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float around. 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to its murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blissful trance. 
Again we'll sport, again we'll dance. 



Altri segua Marte fero ; 

Ciie sol Bacco^ '1 mio conforto. 

6 This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same 
character, are merely chansons k boire; — the effusions 
probably of the moment of conviviality, and afterwards 
sung, we may imagine, with rapture throughout Greece. 
But that interesting association, by which they always re- 
called the convivial emotions that produced them, can now 
be little felt even by the most enthusiastic reader ; and 
much less by a phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing 
in them but dialects and particles. 

6 Who, with the sunshine of the bowl. 

Thaws the winter of our soul — ^c] Aiiaioj is the title 
which he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious 
circumstance, that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi 
among the Jews for Aevi (one of the bacchanal cries), and 
accordingly supposed that they worshipped Bacchus. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



lU 



ODE L.» 

When M^ine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ; '■^ 

And freshen'd by the goblet's dews, 

^ly soul invokes the heavenly Muse. 

When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er ; 

I think of doubts and fears no more ; 

But scatter to the railing wind 

Each gloomy phantom of the mind. 

When I drink wine, th' ethereal boy, 

Bacchus himself, partakes my joy ; 

And while we dance through vernal bowers,' 

Whose ev'ry breath comes fresh from flowers, 

In wine he makes my senses swim, 

Till the gale breathes of nought but him ! 



Again I drink, — and, lo, there 
A calmer light to fill my dreams ; 
The lately ruffled wreath I spread 
With steadier hand around my head ; 
Then take the lyre, and sing " how blest 
The life of him who lives at rest ! " 
But then comes witching wine again, 
With glorious woman in its train ; 



1 Faber thinks this Ode spurious; but, I believe, he is 
Niisnlar In his opinion. It has all the spirit of our author. 
x.ike the wreath which he presented in the dream, " it 
?niells of Aiiacreon." 

'I'lie form of the original is remarlcable. It is a Ifind of 
Boi'.ii (if seven quatrain stanzas, each beginning with the line 
'Or' eycti ntbi tov oivov. 

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting but of 
throo lines. 

" (Compare with this poem (says Degen) the verses of Hag- 
edarn, lib. v., 'der Wein,' where that divine poet has wan- 
toned in the praises of wine." 

2 When wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ;J " Anacreon is not the only 
one (says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poet- 
ry. We find an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia, 
which begins thus : — 

Oii/oj roi xaj3(£i/Ti neya; ircXei in-iroj aoiSw, 
'YSwp ic Kivcjv, KaXov ov tckoi; ettoj. 
If with water you fill up your glasses. 
You'll never write any thing wise ; 
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus, 
Which carries a bard to the skies ! 

3 ^na mhile we dance through vernal bowers, 4'c.] If some 
of the translators had observed Doctor Trapp's caution, with 
regard to KuXvai/9eaiv n' cv avpaif, "Cave ne cesium intel- 
ligas," they would not have spoiled the simplicity of Anac- 
reon's fancy, by such extravagant conceptions as the fol- 
lowing : — 

Quand je bois, mon ceil s'imagine 
Clue, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums divers, 
Bacchus m' importe dans les airs, 

ReuipU de sa liqueur divine. 



And, while rich perfumes round me rise, 

That seem the breath of woman's sighs, 

Bright shapes, of every hue and form, 

Upon my kindling fancy swarm, 

TiU the whole world of beauty seems 

To crowd into my dazzled dreams ! 

\Vhen thus I drink, my heart refines. 

And rises as the cup declines; 

Rises in the genial flow, 

That none but social spirits know, 

When, with young revellers, round the bo-y^l. 

The old themselves grow young in soul ! * 

O, when I drink, true joy is mine, 

There's bliss in every drop of wine. 

All other blessings I have known, 

I scarcely dar'd to call my own ; 

But this the Fates can ne'er destroy, 

Till death o'ershadows all my joy. 



ODE LI.* 
Fly not thus my brow of snow, 
Lovely wanton ! fly not so. 
Though the wane of age is mine, 
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine, 



Indi mi mena 
Mentre lieto ebro, deliro, 
Baccho in giro 
Ter la vaga aura serena. 

* When, with young revellers, round the bowl. 
The old themselves grow young in soul!] Subjoined to 
Gail's edition of Anacreon, we find some curious letters 
upon the Qtacrot of the ancients, which appeared in the 
French Journals. At the opening of the Odeon in Paris, 
the managers of that spectacle requested Professor Gail to 
give them some uncommon name for their fetes. He sug- 
gested the word " 'J'hiase," which was adopted ; but the 
literati of Paris questioned the propriety of the term, and 
addressed their criticisms to Gail through the medium ol 
the public prints. 

6 Alberti has imitated this ode ; and Capilupus m the fol- 
lowing epigram, has given a version of it : — 

Cur, Lalage, mea vita, meos contemn is amores.' 
Cur fiigis e nostro pulchra paella sinu.' 

Ne fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora cams, 
Inque tuo roseus fulgeat ore color. 

Aspice ut intextas deceant quoque flore corollas 
Candida purpureis lilia mista rosis. 

O, why repel my soul's impassion'd vow. 
And fly, beloved maid, these longing arms? 

Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow. 
While thine are all the summer's roseate charms.' 

See the rich garland cull'd in vernal weather. 
Where the young rosebud with tlie lily glows ; 

So, in Love's wreath we both may twine together, 
And I the lily be, and thou the rose. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



Still I'm doom'd to sigh for thee, 
Blest, if thou eouldst sigh for me ! 
See. in yonder flowery braid, 
CuU'd for thee, my blushing maid,' 
IIow the rose, of orient glow, 
Mingles with the lily's snow ; 
Mark, how sweet their tints agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me ! 



ODE LII.« 

Away, away, ye men of rules. 

What have I to do with schools ? 

They'd make me learn, they'd make me think, 

But would they make me love and drink ? 

Teach me this, and let me swim 

My soul upon the goblet's brim ; 

Teach me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsive heart to mine,^ 

For, age begins to blanch my brow, 

I've time for nought but pleasure now. 

Fly, and cool my goblet's glow 
At yonder fountain's gelid flow ; 
I'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink 
This soul to slumber as I drink. 



1 See, in yonder flowery braid, 

CulVd for thee, my blushing maid,\ " In the same man- 
ner that Anacreon pleads for the whiteness of his locks, 
from the beauty of the color in garlands, a shepherd, in 
Tlieocritus, endeavors to recommend his black hair: — 
Kai TO 101' iJt^av can, Kai a ypa-rrra vaKtvdo;, 
A.AA' eniras cv Toti oTCqiavoii ra vpiora Xcyovrat " 
Lnhgepierre, Barnes, J^c. 

'■i " This is doubtless the work of a more modern poet than 
Anacreon ; for at the period when he lived rhetoricians were 
not known." — Degen. 

Though this ode is found in the Vatican manuscript, I am 
much inclined to agree in this argument against its authen- 
ticity ; for though the dawnings of the art of rhetoric might 
already have appeared, the first who gave it any celebrity 
was Corax of Syracuse, and he flourished in the century 
aftor Anacreon. 

Our poet anticipated the ideas of Epicurus, in his aversion 
to the labors of learning, as well as his devotion to volup- 
tuousness. Xlnaav Trai^tiav //ava/)(ot ipevycTC, said the 
pliilosopher of the garden in a letter to Pythocles. 

3 Teach me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsive heart to mine.] By XP'"'"!! AippoSirris 
here, 1 understand some beautiful girl, in tlie same manner 
that Ai aios is often used for wine. " Golden " is frequently 
an epithet of beauty. Thus in Virgil, " Venus aurea ; " 
and in Prnpertius, " Cynthia aurea." Tibullus, however, 
calls an old woman " golden." 

The translation d'Autori Anonimi, as usual, wantons on 
fcis passage of Anacreon : 

E m' insegni con piu rare 
Forme accorte d'involare 



Soon, too soon, my jocund sJave, 
You'll deck your master's grassy grave ; 
And there's an end — for ah, you know 
They drink but little wine below ! * 



ODE Lin. 

When I behold the festive train 

Of dancing youth, I'm young again ! 

Memory wakes her magic trance, 

And wings me lightly through the dance. 

Come, Cybeba, smiling maid ! 

Cull the flower and twine the braid ; 

Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Burn upon my forehead's snows ; * 

And let me, while the wild and young 

Trip the mazy dance along. 

Fling my heap of years away, 

And be as wild, as young, as they. 

Hither haste, some cordial soul ! 

Help to my lips the brimming bowl ; 

And you shall see this hoary sage 

Forget at once his locks and age. 

He still can chant the festive hjonn, 

He still can kiss the goblet's brim ; • 



Ad amabile beltade 
II bel cinto d' onestade. 

* .^wd there's an end — for ah, you know 

They drink but little wine below .'] Thus Mainard : — 

La Mort nous guette ; et quand ses loia 

Nous ont enfermes une fois 

Au sein d'une fosse profonde, 

Adieu bons vins et bon repas ; 

Ma science ne trouve pas 

Des cabarets en I'autre monde. 
From JIainard, Gorabauld, and De Cailly, old Pretieo 
poets, some of the best epigrams of the English language 
have been borrowed. 
6 Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Bum upon my forehead's snows; 4'c.] Licetus, in his Ili- 
eroglyphica, quoting two of our poet's odes, where he calls 
to his attendants for garlands, remarks, " Constat igitur 
floreas coronas poetis et potantibus in symposio convenire, 
non autem sapientibus et philosophiam affectantibus." — ' t 
appears that wreaths of flowers were adapted for poets and 
revellers at banquets, but by no means became those who 
had pretensions to wisdom and philosophy." On this prin- 
ciple, in his 152d chapter, he discovers a refinement in Virgil, 
describing the garland of the poet Silenus, as fallen off; 
which distinguishes, he thinks, the divine into.\ication of 
Silenus from that of common drunkards, who always wear 
their crowns while they drink. Such is the "labor inep- 
tiarum " of commentators ! 

6 He still can kiss the goblet's brim ; 4*c.] Wine is pre- 
scribed by Galen, as an excellent medicine for Old men ; 
" ftuod frigidos et humoribus expletos calefaciat, fcc. ; " bu* 
Nature was Anacreon's physician. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



As deeply quaff, as largely fill, 
And play the fool right nobly still. 



ODE LIV.i 

Methinks, the pictur'd bull -we see 
Is amorous Jove — it must be he ! 
How fondly blest he seems to bear 
That fairest of Phoenician fair ! 
How proud he breasts the foamy tide, 
And spurns the billowy surge aside ! 
Could any beast of vulgar vein, 
Undaunted thus defy the main ? 
No : he descends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove ! 



There is a proverb in Eriphus, as quoted by Athenseus, 
which says, " that wine makes an old man dance, whether 
he will or not." 

Aoyti sitt' apxaioi, ov koko); exwv, 
Oii/ov Xeyovai rovg yepovrag, oj -narsp, 
HeiOsiv xop^civ ov SeXovras. 

1 " This ode is written upon a picture which represented 
tlie rape of Europa." — Madame Dacier. 

It may probably have been a description of one of those 
coins, which the Sidonians struck off in honor of Europa, 
representing a woman carried across the sea by a bull. 
Tlius Natalis Comes, lib. viii. cap. 23. " Sidonii numismata 
cum foeniina. tauri dorso insidente ac mare transfretante cu- 
derunt in ejus honorem." In the little treatise upon the god- 
dess of Syria, attributed very falsely to Lucian, there is 
mention of this coin, and of a temple dedicated by the Si- 
donians to Astart^, whom some, it appears, confounded with 
Europa. 

The poet Jloschus has left a very beaiftiful idyl on the 
Etor}' of Europa. 

2 JVo: ke descends from climes above, 

He looks the God, he breathes of Jove .'] Thus Moschus : — 



Kpvxps Scov Kai rpcxpe Se/ias' 



ravpo;. 



The god forget himself, his heaven, for love. 
And a bull's form belied th' almighty Jove. 

This ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. " All an- 
tiquity (says Barnes) has produced nothing more beautiful." 
From the idea of peculiar excellence, which the ancients 
attached to this flower, arose a pretty proverbial expression, 
used by Aristophanes, according to Suidas, puSa ii' cipriKag, 
" You have spoken roses," a phrase somewhat similar to 
tlie " dire des fleurettes " of the French. In the same idea 
of excellence originated, I doubt not, a very curious appli- 
cation of the word poiov, for which the inquisitive reader 
may consult Gaulminus upon the epithahmiium of our poet, 
where it is introduced in the romance of Theodorus. Mu- 
retus, in one of his elegies, calls his mistress his rose : — 
Jam te igitur rursus teneo, formosula, jam te 
(Quid trepidas .') teneo ; jam, rosa, te teneo. 

Eleg. 8. 
Now I again may clasp thee, dearest. 
What is Here now, on eartli, thou fearest.' 
1.5 



ODE LV.' 

While we invoke the wreathed spring. 
Resplendent rose ! to thee we'll sing ; * 
Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, 
Whose breath perfumes th' Olympian bowers ; 
Whose virgin blush, of chasten' d dye, 
Enchants so much our mortal eye. 
When pleasure's spring-tide season glows, 
The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 
And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves,* 
An emblem of herself perceives. 
Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 
The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; • 
And long the Muses, heavenly maids. 
Have rear'd in it their tuneful shades. 



Again these longing arms infold thee. 
Again, my rose, again I hold thee. 
This, like most of the terms of endearment in the modem 
Latin poets, is taken from Plautus ; they were vulgar and 
colloquial in his time, but are among the elegances of tho 
modern Latinists. 

Passeratius alludes to the ode before us, in the beginning 
of his poem on the Rose: — 

Carmine digna rosa est ; vellem caneretur ut illam 
Teius arguta cecinit testudine vates. 
■* Resplendent rose ! to thee we'll sing' ;] I have passed over 
the line crvv iraipEt av^si ncXTrnv, which is corrupt in this 
original reading, and has been very little improved by the 
annotators. I should suppose it to be an interpolation, if it 
were not for a line which occurs afterwards : 0£p£ Srj ^vaiv 
Xcyoi/jLev. 

5 ^nd Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, 4'c.] Belleau, in a 
note upon an old French poet, quoting the original here 
aippoiiauiiv r' aOvpua, translates it, " comme les delices et 
mignardises de Venus." 

6 Ofl hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; 4'c.] The following is a 
fragment of the Lesbian poetess. It is cited in the romance 
of Achilles Tatius, who appears to have resolved the num- 
bers into prose. Et toij avBcaiv nOcXcv b Zcv; eirtOeivai 
I3a<xi\ca, TO I'oSov an r'ov avQtuiv e6a(7t\eve. yris sari (cocr/joj, 
(jiVTUv ayXai(Tiia, 0(l>8a\pi0s avdeoiv, Xetpuivog epv6riixa,Ka\- 
Awf aaTpaiTTOV. E/xoro; irvei, Afppo^iTrjv TTpo^evsijSVCtfeat 
ipvWoi; Kojia, evKivriTotg neTaXoi; rpvcpa. to TcraXot ^ 
Zc(pvpa) yeXa. 

If Jove would give the leafy bowels 
A queen for all their world of flowers. 
The rose would be the choice of Jove, 
And blush, the queen of every grove. 
Sweetest child of weeping morning. 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning, 
Eye of gardens, light of lawns. 
Nursling of soft summer dawns ; 
Love's own earliest sigh it breathes, 
Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes. 
And, to young Zephyr's warm caressM 
Spreads abroad its verdant tresses. 
Till, blushing with the wanton's play 
Its cheek wears e'en a richer ray '. 



lU 



ODES OF ANACREOX. 



When, at the early glance of morn, 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid flow'ret thence, 
And wipe with tender hand away 
The tear that on its blushes lay ! 
'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems. 
Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, 
And fresh inhale the spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 

When revel reigns, when mirth is high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There's nought in nature bright or gay. 
Where roses do not shed their ray. 
When morning paints the orient skies. 
Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ; ' 
Young nymphs betray the rose's hue, 
O'er whitest arms it kindles through. 
In Cytherea's form it glows. 
And mingles with the living snows. 

The rose distils a healing balm, 
The beating pulse of pain to calm ; 



1 WTien morning paints the orient skies, 

Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ; 4'c] In the original 
here, he enumerates the many epithets of beauty, borrowed 
from roses, which were used by the poets, vapa tcjv aoipwv. 
We see that poets were dignified in Greece witli the title of 
sagos : even the careless Anacreon, who lived but for love 
and voluptuousness, was called by Plato the wise Anac- 
reon — " fuit hffic sapientia quondam." 

- Preserves the cold inurned clay, ^-c] He here alludes to 
tlie use of the rose in embalming ; and, perhaps (as Barnes 
tiiitiks), to the rosy unguent with which Venus anointed 
the coqise of Hector. — Homer's Iliad \p. It may likewise 
regard the ancient practice of putting garlands of roses on 
the dead, as in Statius, Theb. lib. x. 782. 

hi sertis, hi veris honore soluto 

Accumulant artus, patriaque in sede reponunt 
Corpus odoratum. 

Where " veris honor," though it mean every kind of flowers, 
r-.iy seem more particularly to refer to the rose, which our 
poet in another ode calls capoi ;(£Xr;;(o. We read, in the 
Hieroglypliics of Pierius, lib. Iv., that some of the ancients 
used to order in their wills, that roses should be annually 
scattered on their tombs, and Pierius has adduced some 
sepulchral inscriptions to this purpose. 

2 Jind mocks the vestige of decay .-] When he says that 
tills flower prevails over time itself, he still alludes to its 
eflicaey in embalmment (tenerSL poneret ossa rosi. Propert. 
lib. i. eleg. 17), or perhaps to the subsequent idea of its 
fragrance surviving its beauty ; for he can scarcely mean to 
praise for duration the " nimium breves flores " of the rose. 
Philostratus compares this flower with love, and says, that 
tli-y botU defy tl e influence of time ; xP"""" ^i !""■£ Epwj, 



Preserves the cold inurned clay,'-* 
And mocks the vestige of decay : * 
And when at length, in pale decline. 
Its florid beauties fade and pine. 
Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Difi"u!,es odor even in death ! * 
O, whence could such a plant have sprung ? 
Listen, — for thus the tale is sung. 
When, humid, from the silvery stream, 
Eff'using beauty's warmest beam, 
Venus appear'd, in flushing hues, 
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews ; 
When, in the starry courts above. 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jovo 
Disclos'd the nymph of azure glance. 
The nymph who shakes the martial lance ; - 
Then, then, in strange eventful hour, 
The earth produc'd an infant floAver, 
Which sprung, in blushing glories dress' d. 
And wanton' d o'er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth, 
And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth ! 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide. 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed,* 
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 
Of him who gave the glorious vine ; 



ovre fioSa oiSiv. Unfortunately the similitude lies not in 
their duration, but their transience. 
* Sweet ns in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odor even in death!] Thus Casper Barleeus, in 
his Ritus Nuptiarum : 

Ambrosium late rosa tunc quoque spargit odorem. 
Cum fluit, aut multo languida sole jacet. 
Nor then the rose its odor loses. 

When all its flushing beauties die ; 
Nor less ambrosial balm diff"uses, 
When wither'd by the solar eye. 

6 With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 

The sweetly orient buds they dijCd, 4'c.] The author of the 
" Pervigilium Veneris " (a poem attributed to Catullus, the 
style of which appears to me to have all the labored luxuri- 
ance of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of the rose 
to the blood from the wound of Adonis — 

rosae 

FusjE aprino de cruore — 
according to the emendation of Lipsius. In the following 
epigram this hue is differently accounted for : — 
Ilia quidem studiosa suum defendere Adonim, 

Gradivus stricto quem petit ense ferox, 
Affixit duris vestigia caeca rosetis, 

Albaque divino picta cruore rosa est. 
While the enamour'd queen of joy 
Flies to protect her lovely boy. 

On whom the jealous war god rushes; 
She treads upon a thorned rose. 
And while the wound with crimson flows, 
Tlie snowy flow'ret feels her blood, and blushes 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 

ODE LVI.» 

He, who instructs the youthful crew 
To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, 
And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses, 
All the bliss that wine possesses ; 
He, who inspires the youth to bound 
Elastic through the dance's round, — 
Bacchus, the god again is here. 
And leads along the blushing year ; 
The blushing year with vintage teems. 
Ready to shed those cordial streams, 
AVliich, sparkling in the cup of mirth. 
Illuminate the sons of earth ! " 

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine, — 
Blest infant of the pregnant vine. 
Which now in mellow clusters swells, — 
O, when it bursts its roseate cells^ 
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow. 
To balsam every mortal woe ! 
None shall be then cast down or weak, 
For health and joy shall light each cheek; 
No heart will then desponding sigh, 
For wine shall bid despondence fly. 
Thus — till another autumn's glow 
Shall bid another vintage flow. 

1 " Compare with this elegant ode the verses of TJz, lib. i. 
die VVeinlese.' " — Degen. 

This appears to be one of the hymns which were sung at 
tlie anniversary festival of the vintage ; one of the tviXriviui 
vif'ci, as our poet himself terms them in the fifty-ninth ode. 
We cannot help feeling a sort of reverence for these classic 
relics of tlie reli^'ion of antiquity. Horace may be supposed 
to have written the nineteenth ode of his second book, and 
the twenty-fifth of the third, for some bacchanalian celebra- 
tion of this kind. 

2 Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 

nUminate the sons of earth!] In the original Trornv 
aarniov Knijugcof. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet 
line had the nepentlie of Homer in his mind. Odyssey, 
lib. iv. This nepenthe was a something of exquisite charm, 
Infused by Helen into the wine of her guests, which had 
the power of dispelling every anxiety. A French writer, 
De Mere, conjectures that this spell, which made the bowl 
SH beguiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See 
Bayle, art. Helene. 

3 This ode is a very animated description of a picture of 
Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess in her 
first emergence from the waves. About two centuries after 
our poet wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embellished 
this subject, in his famous painting of the Venus Anadyo- 
mciie, the model of which, as Pliny mfornis us, was the 
beautiful Campaspe, given to him by Alexander; though, 
according to Natalis Comes, lib. vii. cap. Ifi, it was Phryne 
who sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the ode before 



ODE LVn.:* 

Whose was the artist hand that spreat' 

Upon this disk the ocean's bed ?* 

And, in a flight of fancy, high 

As aught on earthly wing can fly. 

Depicted thus, in semblance warm, 

The Queen of Love's voluptuous form 

Floating along the silv'ry sea 

In beauty's naked majesty ! 

O, he hath given th' enamour'd sight 

A witching banquet of delight, 

Where, gleaming through the waters clear. 

Glimpses of undream'd charms appear. 

And all that mystery loves to screen, 

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen.* 

Light as a leaf, that on the breez« 
Of summer skims the glassy seas. 
She floats along the ocean's breast. 
Which undulates in sleepy rest ; 
While stealing on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heaving billows. 
Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose,' 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows. 
Illume the liquid path she traces, 
And burn within the stream's embraces. 
Thus on she moves, in languid pride. 
Encircled by the azure tide, 

us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne, Brunck, &c. K 
denounce the whole poem as spurious. But, "non eg(( 
paucis offendar maculis." I think it is quite beautiful 
enough to be authentic. 

* Whose vias the artist hand that spread 

Upon this diik the ocean's bed7] Tlie abruptness of «pu 
Tts Tupcvae -novTov, is finely expressive of sudden admir;i 
tion, and is one of those beauties which we cannot but admire 
m their source, though, by frequent imitation, they are now 
become-familiar and unimpressive. 

6 And all that mystery loves to screen. 

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen, ^-c] The picture heif 
has all the delicate character of the semi-reducta Venus, and 
afTor*-. a happy specimen of what the poetry of passion 
ought to be— glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon 
the heart from concealment. Few of the ancients have at 
tained this modesty of description, wliicli. like the golden 
cloud that hung over Jupiter and Juno, is i.-npervious to 
every beam but that of fancy 

6 Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose, ^'c] " 'PoSsmv 
(says an anonymous annotator) is a whimsical epithet foi 
the bosom." Neither Catullus nor Gray have been of his 
opinion. The former has the expression. 

En hie in roseis latet papillis. 

And the latter, 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd hours, &c. 

Crottus, a modern Latinist, might indeed be censured for 
too vague a use of the epithet " rosy," when he applies it 
to the eyes : — " e roseis oculis." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



As some fair lily o'er a bed 

Of violets bends its graceful head. 

Beneatb their queen's inspiring glance, 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance, 
Bearing in triumph 3'oung Desire,' 
And infant Love with smiles of fire ! 
While, glittering through the silver waves, 
The tenants of the briny caves 
Around the pomp their gambols play. 
And gleam along the watery way. 



ODE LVIII.« 

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion. 
Escapes like any faithless minion,''' 
And flies me (as he flies me ever *), 
Do I pursue him ? never, never ! 
No, let the false deserter go. 
For who would court his direst foe ? 
But, when I feel my lighten'd mind 
No more by grovelling gold confin'd. 
Then loose I all such clinging cares. 
And cast them to the vagrant airs. 
Then feel I, too, the Muse's spell. 
And wake to life the dulcet shell. 
Which, rous'd once more, to beauty sings. 
While love dissolves along the strings ! 

But scarcely has my heart been taught 
How little Gold deserves a thought. 



1 young Desire, ^c] In the original 'Ifjspoj, who 

ivas the same deity with Jocus among the Romans. Aure- 
lius Augurellus has a poem beginning — 

Invitat olim Bacchus ad crenam suos 
Comon, Jocum, Cupidinem. 

Which Parncll has closely imitated : — 

Gay Bacchus, liking Estcourt's wine, 

A noble meal bespoke us ; 
And for the guests that were to dine, 

Brouglit Comus, Love, and Jocus, &c. 

I have followed Barnes's arrangement of this ode, which, 
chough deviating somewhat from the Vatican MS., appears 
to me the ni3re natural order. 

3 When Oold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion. 

Escapes like any faithless minion, ^c] In the original 'O 
ipaKimi b x/zwos. There is a kind of pun in these words, 
as Madame Uacierhas already remarked ; for Chrysos, which 
nignifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. In one 
of Lucian's dialogues, there is, I think, a similar play upon 
tlie word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called 
golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are, in general, 
nven more vapid than our own ; some of the best are those 
recorded of Diogenes. 

* ^nd flies me {as he flies me ever), ^c] Aet 6', act ixe 
(.cvyet. This grace of iteration has already been taken no- 
tice of. Though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is 



When, lo ! the slave returns once more. 
And with him wafts delicious store 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
In slu«iber seals the anxious heart. 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps forever ! 

Away, deceiver ! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing ? 
Sweet is the song of amorous fire. 
Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre ; 
O, sweeter far than all the gold 
Thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold. 
Well do I know thy arts, thy wiles — 
They wither'd Love's young wreathed smiles ; 
And o'er his lyre such darkness shed, 
I thought its soul of song was fled ! 
They dash'd the wine cup, that, by him. 
Was filled with kisses to the brim.* 
Go — fly to haunts of sordid men. 
But come not near the bard again. 
Thy glitter in the Muse's shade. 
Scares from her bower the tuneful maid ; 
And not for worlds would I forego 
That moment of poetic glow. 
When my full soul, in Fancy's stream, 
Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme. 
Away, away ! to worldlings hence. 
Who feel not this diviner sense ; 
Give gold to those who love that pest, — 
But leave the poet poor and blest. 



peculiarly expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we may 
easily believe that it was one of the many sources of that 
energetic sensibility which breathed through the style of 
Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be said 
that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who can feel 
its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he complains of 
the infidelity of his mistress, Lesbia : — 

Coeli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia ilia, 

Ilia Lesbia, quam Catullus unam. 

Plus quam se atque suos amavit omnes, 

Nunc, &c. 
Si sic omnia dixisset ! — but the rest does not bear citation. 
5 They dash'd the wine cup, that, by him, 
JVas filled vitli kisses to the bi-im.] Original : — 

HoOiov KVTTcXXa Kipvr];. 
Horace has "Desiderique temperare poculum," not fig- 
uratively, however, like Anacreon, but importing the love 
philters of the witches. By " cups of kisses " our poet may 
allude to a favorite gallantry among the ancients, of drinking 
when the lips of their mistresses had touched the brim : — 
" Or leave a kiss within the cup, 
And I'll not ask for wine." 
As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostratus ; and Lii 
cian has a conceit upon the same idea, "'Iva />ui Tni/ris dni 
/cat <pi\tj;," " that you may at once both drink and kiss." 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



117 



ODE LIX.' 

Ripen'd by the solar beam, 

Now the ruddy clusters teem, 

In osier baskets borne along 

By all the festal vintage throng 

Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 

PJpe as the melting fruits they bear. 

Now, now they press the pregnant grapes, 

And now the captive stream escapes. 

In fervid tide of nectar gushing, 

And for its bondage proudly blushing ! 

While, round the vat's impurpled brim, 

The choral song, the vintage hymn 

Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 

Steals on the charm' d and echoing air. 

ilark, how they drink, with all their eyes, 

The orient tide that sparkling flies. 

The infant Bacchus, born in mirth. 

While Love stands by, to hail the birth. 

When he whose verging years decline 
As deep into the vale as mine. 
When he inhales the vintage cup. 
His feet, new-wing'd, from earth spring up. 
And, as he dances, the fresh air 
Plays whispering through his silvery hair. 
Meanwhile young groups whom love invites. 
To joys ev'n rivalling wine's delights, 
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, 
And^there, in words and looks of love. 
Such as fond lovers look and say. 
Pass the sweet moonlight hours away.' 



ODE LX.3 

Awake to life, my sleeping shell, 
To Phoebus let thy numbers swell ; 



1 The title E7riAr,vi05 ti//i/u{, which Barnes has given to 
tliis ode, is by no means appropriate. We have already had 
one of tliose hymns (ode 50), but this is a description of the 
vintage; and the title tij otvuv, vvliich it bears in the Vati- 
can MS., is more correct than any that have been suggested. 

Degen, in the true spirit of literary scepticism, doubts that 
this ode is genuine, without assigning any reaifon for such a 
suspicion ; — "nonamote, Sabidi, nee possum dicerequare." 
But this is far from satisfactory criticism. 

2 Those well acquainted with the original need hardly be 
r(niind''d that, in these few concluding verses, I have thought 
rifilit to give only the general meaning of my author, leaving 
the Qctails untouched. 

3 This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have been writ- 
ten by Anacreon ; and it is undoubtedly rather a sublimer 
fli(;ht tlian the Teian wing is accustomed to soar. But, in a 
poet of whose works so small a proportion has reached us, 
diversity of style is by no means a safe criterion. If we 



And though no glorious prize be thine. 

No Pythian wreath around thee twine. 

Yet every hour is glory's hour 

To him who gathers wisdom's flower. 

Then wake thee from thy voiceless slum 

bars. 
And to the soft and Phrygian numbers. 
Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat. 
Send echoes from thy chord as sweet. 
'Tis thus the swan, with fading notes, 
Down the Cayster's current floats, 
While amorous breezes linger round. 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 

Muse of the Lyre ! illume my dream. 
Thy Phoebus is my fancy's theme ; 
And hallow' d is the harp I bear. 
And hallow'd is the wreath I wear, 
Hallow'd by him, the god of lays. 
Who modulates the choral maze. 
I sing the love which Daphne twin'd 
Around the godhead's yielding mind ; 
I sing the blusliing Daphne's flight 
From this ethereal son of Light ; 
And how the tender, timid maid 
Flew trembling to the kindly shade, * 
Resign'd a form, alas, too fair. 
And grew a verdant laurel there ; 
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill. 
In terror seem'd to tremble still ! 
The god pursu'd, with wing'd desire ; 
And when his hopes were all on fire, 
And when to clasp the nymph he thought, 
A lifeless tree was all he caught ; 
And, 'stead of sighs that pleasure heaves. 
Heard but the west wind in the leaves ! 

But pause, my soul, no more, no more — 
Enthusiast, whither do I soar r 



knew Horace but as a satirist, should we easily believe there 
could dwell such animation in his lyre ? Suidas says thai 
our puet wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. We 
can perceive in what an altered and imperfect 3tateius works 
are at present, when we find a scholiast upon Horace citing 
an ode from the tliird book of Anacreon. 

* ./Jnd how the tender, timid maid 

Flew trembling to the kindly shade, ^c] Original : — 
T« iicv CK-rrtifitvyt KCi/Tpov, 
4>U(r£(i){ J' a/j£i!//£ fiopiPnv. 

I find the word Kcinpuv here has a double force, as it also 
signifies that "omnium parentem, quam sanctus Numa, &c. 
&c." (See Martial.) In order to confirm this import of the 
word here, those who are curious in new readings, may 
place the stop after (pvacios, thus : — 

To /isi' CKntipevye Kevrpov 
4>uff£&)j, (5' aiiciipc /jop0»)i 



118 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



This sweotly-madd'ning dream of soul 
Hath hurried me beyond the goal. 
Why should I sing the mighty darts 
"Which fly to wound celestial hearts, 
^Vhen ah, the song, with sweeter tone, 
Can tell the darts that wound my own ? 
Still be Anacreon, still inspire 
The descant of the Teian lyre : • 
Still let the nectar' d numbers float, 
Distilling love in every note ! 
And when some youth, whose glowing soul 
Has felt the Paphian star's control, 
When he the liquid lays shall hear. 
His heart will flutter to his ear, 
And drinking there of song divine, 
Banquet on intellectual wine ! * 



still be Anacreon, still inspire 

The descant uf the Teian lyre ;] The original is Tiv Ai/a- 
Kfitovra ittpiov. I have translated it under the supposition 
that the liymn is by Anacreon ; though, I fear, frcun this 
very line, that his claim to it can scarcely be supported. 

Toy Ai/aKpeovTU iniiiv, " Imitate Anacreon." Such is 
the lesson given us by the lyrist ; and if, in poetry, a simple 
elegance of sentiment, enriched by the most playful felicities 
of fancies, be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, 
where shall we find such a guide as Anacreon.' In moral- 
ity, too, with some little reserve, we need nut blush, I think, 
to follow in his footsteps. For if his song be the language 
of his heart, though luxurious and relaxed, he was artless 
and benevolent ; and who would not forgive a few irregu- 
larities, when atoned for by virtues so rare and so endearing ? 
When we think of the sentiment in those lines: — 
Away ! I hate the slanderous dart. 
Which steals to wound th' unwary heart, 
now many are there in the world, to whom we would wish 
to say, Tov AvaxpcovTa /jifion! 

2 Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS., whose 
authority helps to confirm the genuine antiquity of them all, 
though a lew have stolen among tlie number, which we 
may hesitate in attributing to Anacreon. In the little essay 
prefixed to this translation, I observed that Barnes has 
quoted this manuscript incorrectly, relying upon an imper- 
fect copy of it, which Isaac Vossius liad taken. I shall just 
mention two or three instances of this inaccuracy — the 
first wliich occur to me. In the ode of the Dove, on the 
words nrf/jijiffi o-uj /cn^vi/zoj, he says, " Vatican MS. 
av<TKia^(x>t>, etiam Prisciano invito : " but the MS. reads 
(ri)i//fa\n//u, with avoKiaau interlined. Degen too, on the 
same line, is somewhat in error. In the twenty-second 
ode of tliis series, line thirteenth, the Mf*. has rcvtrj with 
III interlined, and Barnes imputes to it the reading of tei/oV;. 
In the fifty-seventh, line twelfth, he professes to have 
preserved the reading of the MS. AXuXni'^i'l S' eir' avrn, 
while the latter has ii}.a\n,n:viii 6' cv' uvra. Almost all 
the otner annotators have transplanted these errors from 
Barnes. 



ODE LXI.=« 

Youth's endearing charms are fled ; 
Hoary locks deform my head ; 
Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 
All the flowers of life decay. * 
Withering age begins to trace 
Sad memorials o'er my face ; 
Time has shed its sweetest bloom, 
All the future must be gloom. 
This it is that sets me sighing ; 
Dreary is the thought of dying ! * 
Lone and dismal is the road 
Down to Pluto's dark abode ; 
And, when once the journey's o'er, 
Ah ! we can return no more ! * 



ODE LXII.^ 
Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, 
As e'er was fill'd, as e'er was quaffd ; 



3 The intrusion of this melancholy ode, among the caie- 
less levities of our poet, reminds us of the skeletons which 
the Egyptians used to hang up in their banquet rooms, to 
inculcate a thought of mortality even amidst the dissipations 
of mirth. If it were not for the beauty of its numbers, the 
1'eian Muse should di.sown this ode. " Quid habet illius, 
illius quEB spirabat amores ? " 

To Stobffius we are indebied for it. 

* Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 

Ml the flowers of life decay.] Horace often, with feeling 
and elegance, deplores the fugacity of human enjoyments. 
See book ii. ode 11 j and thus in the second epistle, book 
ii. : — 

Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes ; 
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum. 

The wing of every passing day 
Withers some blooming joy away. 
And wafts from our enamour'd arms 
The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms. 

5 Dreary is the thought of dying! ^c] Regnier, a liber- 
tine French poet, has written some sonnets on the apprtKK h 
of death, full of gloomy and trembling repentance. Cliau- 
lieu, however, supports more consistently the spirit of the 
Epicurean philosopher. See his poem, addressed to the 
Marquis de Lafare — 

Plus j'approche du terme et moins je le redoute, &.c. 

6 ^nd, when nnce the journey's o'er, 

Ah! we can return no more!] Scaliger, upon Catullus's 
well-known lines, " (iui nunc it per iter, &c.," remarks 
that Acheron, with the same idea, is called avt^oioi b) 
Theocritus, and 6\)(7tK&ftntioi by Nicander. 

7 This ode consists of two fragments, which are to bt 
found in Atlienseus, book x., and which Barnes, from the 
similarity of their tendency, has combined into one. I lliiiik 
this a very Justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in sums 
other fragments of our poet. 

Degen refers us here to verses of bz, lib. iv., " der Trink 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



119 



But let the water aipply flow, 

To cool the grape's intemperate glow ; ' 

Let not the fiery god be single, 

But with the nymphs in union mingle. 

For though the bowl's the grave of sadness, 

Ne'er let it be the birth of madness. 

No, banish from our board to-night 

The revelries of rude delight ; 

To Scythians leave these wild excesses, 

Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses ! 

And while the temperate bowl we wreathe, 

In concert let our voices breathe, 

Beguiling every hour along 

With harmony of soul and song. 



ODE LXIII." 

To Love, the soft and blooming child, 

I touch the harp in descant wild ; 

To Love, the babe of Cyprian bowers, 

The boy, who breathes and blushes flowers ; 

To Love, for heaven and earth adore him, 

And gods and mortals bow before him ! 



ODE LXIV.3 

Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear 
Wounds the fleeting mountain deer ! 



1 But let the water amply flow, 

To cool the /^rape's intemperate gloio ; ^-c] It was Am- 
phictyon who first taught the Greeks to mix water with 
their wine ; in commemoration of wliich circumstance they 
erected altars to Bacchus and tlie nymplis. On this mytho- 
logical allegory the following epigram is founded : — 
Ardentem ex utero Semeles lavere Lysura 

Naiades, extincto fulniinis igne sacri ; 
Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine nymphia 
Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur. 

PlERIUS Valeriancs. 
Which is, non verbum verbo, — 

While heavenly fire consum'd his Theban dame, 
A Naiad caught young Bacchus from tlie tlanie, 
And dipp'd him burning in her purest lymph ; 
Hence, still he loves the Naiad's crystal urn, 
And when his native fires too fiercely burn, 
Seeks the cool waters of the fountain nymph. 

2 " This fragment is preserved in Clemens Alexandrinus, 
Strom, lib. vi. and in Arsenius, Collect. (Jitaac." — Barnes. 

It appears to have been the opening of a hymn in praise 
of Love. 

3 This hymn to Diana is extant in Hephaestion. There is 
an anecdote of our poet, which has led some to doubt 
whether he ever wrote any odes of this kind. It is related 
ly the Scholiast upon Pindar (Isthmionic. od. ii. v. l,as cited 



Dian, Jove's immortal child. 

Huntress of the savage wild I 

Goddess with the sun-bright hair ! 

Listen to a people's prayer. 

Turn, to Lethe's river turn. 

There thy vanquish'd people mourn ! * 

Come to Lethe's wavy shore. 

Tell them they shall mourn no more. 

Thine their hearts, their altars thine ; 

Must they, Dian — must they pine ? 



ODE LXV.5 

Like some wanton filly sporting. 

Maid of Thrace, thou fly'st my courting. 

Wanton filly ! tell me why 

Thou trip'st away with scornful eye, 

And seem' St to think my doating heart 

Is novice in the bridling art ? 

Believe me, girl, it is not so ; 

Thou'lt find this skilful hand can throw 

The reins around that tender form. 

However wild, however warm. 

Yes — trust me I can tame thy force. 

And turn and wind thee in the course. 

Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 

Thou sport amid the herbs and flowers. 

Soon shalt thou feel the rein's control. 

And tremble at the wish'd-for goal ! 



by Barnes) that Anacreon being asked, why he addresseu 
all his hymns to women, and none to the deities.' answered, 
" Because women are my deities." 

I have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting this anecdote, 
the same liberty which I have thought it right to take in 
translating some of the odes ; and it were to be wished that 
these little infidelities were always allowable in interpret- 
ing the writings of the ancients ; thus, when nature is for- 
gotten in the original, in the translation " tanien usque 
recurret." 

■4 Turn, to tethers river turn, 

There thij vanquished people mourn. '] Letlie, a river of 
Ionia, according to Strabo, falling into the Meand( r. In its 
neighborhood was the city called Magnesia, in favor of 
whose inhabitants our poet is supposed to have addresstd 
this supplication to Diana. It was written (as Madame Da- 
cier conjectures) on the occasion of some battle, in which 
the Magnesians had been defeated. 

6 This ode, which is addressed to some Thracian girl, ex- 
ists in Heraclides, and has been imitated very frequently by 
Horace, as all the annotators have remarked. Madame 
Dacier rejects the allegory, which runs so obviously through 
the poem, and supposes it to have been addressed to a young 
mare belonging to Polycrates. 

Pierius, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyphics, cites this 
ode, and informs us that the horse was the hierojlyphica; 
emblem of pride. 



120 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE LXVI.' 

To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest of all that fairest shine ; 
To thee, who rul'st with darts of fire 
This world of mortals, young Desire ! 
And 0, thou nuptial Power, to thee 
Who bear'st of life the guardian key. 
Breathing my soul in fervent praise, 
And weaving wild my votive lays. 
For thee, O Queen ! I wake the lyre. 
For thee, thou blushing young Desire, 
And O, for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 

Look on thy bride, too happy boj% 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all her blushing charms, 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, 
Before the lovely, trembling prey, 
Like a young birdling, wing away ! 
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth. 
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth, 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
"Will soon resign her all thine own. 
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye. 
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh. 
To those bewitching beauties turn ; 
For thee they blush, for thee they burn. 

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers. 
Than she unrivall'd grace discloses. 
The sweetest rose, where all are roses, 
O, may the sun, benignant, shed 
His blandest influence o'er thy bed ; 



1 This ode is introduced in the Romance of Theodorus 
Prodriinius, and is that kind of epithnlamiuin which was 
sung like a scolium at the nuptial banquet. 

Among the many works of the impassioned Sappho, of 
which time and ignorant superstition have deprived us, the 
loss of her epithalamiums is not one of the least that we de- 
plore. The following lines are cited as a relic of one of 
those poems : — 

0\Sie yaiiSpe. aoi iitv Sn yaiios ug apao, 
E((T£r£;X£(Tr', ex^'i i5£ irafjOcvov av apao. 
See Scaligor, in his Poetics, on the Epithalamium. 

2 And foster there an infant tree, 

To bloom like her, and tower like thee .'] Original Kvira- 
ptTToi it. nc(pi-KOi acv cut )c;)7rw. Passeratius, upon the words 
" cum castum amisit florem," in the Nuptial Song of Catul- 
lus, after explaining " flos " in somewhat a similar sense to 
that which Gaulminus attributes to puSnv, says, " Hortum 
quoque vocant in quo flos ille carpitur, et Graecis Knrron can 
TO £ii>r)HaiOv yvvaiKOJV.^^ 

I may remark, in passing, that the author of the Greek 
»pr«ion of this charming ode of Catullus, has neglected a 



And foster there an infant tree, 

To bloom like her, and tower like thee 1 • 



ODE LXVII.» 

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
The wealth of Amalthea's horn ; 
Nor should I ask to call the throne 
Of the Tartessian prince my own ; * 
To totter through his train of years, 
The victim of decUning fears. 
One little hour of joy to me 
Is worth a duU. eternity ! 



ODE Lxvm.* 

Now Neptune's month our sky deforms, 

The angry night cloud teems with storms ; 

And savage winds, infuriate driven. 

Fly howling in the face of heaven ! 

Now, noAV, my friends, the gathering gloom 

With roseate rays of wine illume : 

And while our wreaths of parsley spread 

Their fadeless foliage round our head. 

Let's hymn th' almighty power of wine, 

And shed libations on his shrine I 



ODE LXIX.« 

They wove the lotus band to deck 
And fan with pensile wreath each neck ; 

most striking and Anacreontic beauty in those verses " U( 
flos in septis, &c." which is the repetition of the line, 
" Multi ilium pueri, multae optavere puelliE," with the slight 
alteration of nulli and nullse. Catullus himself, however, 
has been equally injudicious in his version of the famous 
ode of Sappho ; having translated j-EAwiraf Ijiepozu, but 
omitted all notice of the accompanying charm, aSv (pMvov 
(7UJ. Horace has caught the spirit of it more faithfully : — 

Duice ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 

8 This fragment is preserved in the third book of Strabo. 

* Of the TarUssian prince my own ;] He here alludes to 
Arganthonius, who lived, according to Lucian, a hundred 
and fifty years ; and reigned, according to Herodotus, eiglity. 
See Barnes. 

5 This is composed of two fragments ; the seventieth and 
eighty-first in Barnes. They are both found in Eustathius. 

6 Three fragments form tliis little ode, all of which are 
preserved in Athenaeus. They are the eighty-second, sev- 
enty-fifth, and eighty-third, in Barnes. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



And every guest, to shade his head, 
Three Uttle fragrant chaplets spread ; ' 
And one was of th' Egyptian leaf. 
The rest were roses, fair and brief; 
While from a golden vase profound, 
To all on flowery beds around, 
A Hebe, of celestial shape, 
Pour'd the rich droppings of the grape ! 



ODE LXX.« 

A BROKEN cake, with honey sweet. 
Is all my spare and simple treat : 
And while a generous bowl I crown 
To float my little banquet down, 
I take the soft, the amorous lyre. 
And sing of love's delicious fire : 
In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee ! 



ODE LXXI.' 

With twenty chords my lyre is hung, 
And while I wake them all for thee, 

Thou, O maiden, wild and young, 
Disport'st in airy levity. 

The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler' d mother leaves behind,* 

Is not more wantonly afraid, 

More timid of the rustling wind ! 



1 ^nd (vrry guest, to shadr his head, 

Three little fra^ant chaphts spread ;] Longepierre, to 
give an idea of the luxurious estimation in which garlands 
were held by the ancients, relates an anecdote of a cour- 
tesan, who in order to gratify three lovers, without leaving 
cause for jealousy with any of them, gave a kiss to one, let 
the other drink after her, and put a garland on the brow of 
the third ; so that each was satisfied with his favor, and 
flattered himself with the preference. 

This circumstance resembles very much the subject of one 
of the trnsons of Savari de Mauleon, a troubadour. See 
L'Histoire Litteraire des Troubadours. The recital is a cu- 
rious picture of the puerile gallantries of chivalry. 

2 Compiled by Barnes, from Athenaus, Hephasstion, and 
Arsenius. See Barnes, 80th. 

3 This I have formed from the eighty-fourth and eighty- 
tifth of Barnes's edition. The two fragments are found in 
Athenaaus. 

* The nursling fawn, that in some shade 

Its aiitler'd mother leavs behind, ^c] In the original : — 

'Of £1/ v'Kr) Kcpoeaarii 

An-uX^i^flfif vno ixrirpo;. 

16 



ODE LXXII. 

Fake thee well, perfidious maid. 

My soul, too long on earth delay'd, 

Delay'd, perfidious girl, by thee, 

Is on the wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere. 

Since thou hast ceas'd to love me here ! 



ODE LXXIII.fi 

A WHILE I bloom'd, a happy flower, 
Till Love approach'd one fatal hour, 
And made my tender branches feel 
The wounds of his avenging steel. 
Then lost I fell, like some poor willow 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 



ODE LXXIV.7 

Monarch Love, resistless boy, 

With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, 

And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven's hue, 

Disporting tread the mountain dew ; 

Propitious, O, receive my sighs. 

Which, glowing with entreaty, rise, 

That thou wilt whisper to the breast 

Of her I love thy soft behest ; 

And counsel her to learn from thee. 

That lesson thou hast taught to me. 

Ah ! if my heart no flattery tell, 

Thou'lt own I've learn'd that lesson well ! 



" Homed " here, undoubtedly, seems a strange epithet ; 
Madame Dacier however observes, that Sophocles, Callima- 
chus, &c. have all applied it in the very same manner, and 
she seems to agree in the conjecture of tlie scholiast upon 
Pindar, that perhaps horns are not always peculiar to the 
males. I think we may with more ease conclude it 
to be a license of the poet, "jussit habere puel'um cor- 
nua." 

6 This fragment is preserved by the scholiast upon Aris- 
tophanes, and is the eighty seventh in Barnes. 

6 This is to be found in Hephaestion, and is the eighty- 
ninth of Barnes's edition. 

I have omitted, from among these scraps, a very consider- 
able fragment imputed to our poet, 'EavOn 6' EupvirvXn /xt'Sei, 
&c. which is preserved in the twelfthbookof Athenieus, and 
is the ninety-first in Barnes. If it was really Anacreon who 
wrote it, " nil fuit unquam sic impar sibi." It is in a style 
of gross satire, and abounds with expressions that never 
could be gracefully translated. 

' A fragment preserved by Dion Chrysostom. Orat. ii. de 
Regno. See Barnes, 93. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



ODE LXXV.» 

*^prRiT of Love, whose locks unroll'd, 
Stream on the breeze like floating gold ; 
Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud ; 
And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
Waft, O, waft me hence away ! 
Love ! my soul is full of thee, 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she, the nymph for whom I glow, 
The lovely Lesbian mocks my woe ; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues. 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas ! I fear she keeps her charms, 
In store for younger, happier arms ! 



ODE LXXVL* 

Hither, gentle Muse of mine, 
Come and teach thy votary old 

Many a golden hymn divine, 
For the nymph with vest of gold. 

Pretty nymph, of tender age, 
Fair thy silky locks unfold ; 

Listen to' a hoary sage. 

Sweetest maid with vest of gold ! 



ODE LXXVII.3 

"Would that I were a tuneful lyre, 

Of burnish'd ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dionysian choir, 

Some blooming boy should bear ! 



1 This fragment, which is extant in Athenseus (Barnes, 
101), is supposed, on the authority of ChaniEeleon, to have 
been addressed to Sappho. We have also a stanza attrib- 
uted to her, wliich some romancers have supposed to be her 
answer to Anacreon. " Mais par malheur (as Bayle says), 
Sapplio vint au monde environ cent ou six vingt ans avant 
Anacreon." — JVoavelle.i de la Rep. des Lett. tom. ii. de No- 
vembre, IC84. The following is Iter fragment, the compli- 
aient of which is finely imagined ; she supposes that the 
Muse has dictated the verses of Anacreon : — 
Kcd/oy, 10 ;^pu(ro0/joi'£ Mover' evienrES 
'Xufoti, CK rrii KaXXiyvvaiKos cadXas 

npcaSv; ayavos, 
O Muse ! who sit'st on golden throne, 
Full many a hymn of witching tone 

Tlie Teian sage is taught by thee ; 
But, Goddess, from thy throne of gold, 
The sweetest hymn thou'st ever told, 

He lately learn'd and sung for me 



Would that I were a golden vase, 
That some bright nymph might hold 

My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 
Herself as pure as gold ! 



ODE Lxxvni.* 

When Cupid sees how thickly now, 
The snows of Time fall o'er my brow, 
Upon his wing of golden light. 
He passes with an eaglet's flight, 
And flitting onward seems to say, 
" Fare thee well, thou'st had thy day ! ' 



Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray. 
That lights our life's meandering way. 
That God, within this bosom stealing. 
Hath waken'd a strange, mingled feeling, 
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing. 
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing ! * 



Let me resign this wretched breath, 
Since now remains to me 

No other balm than kindly death, 
To soothe my misery ! * 



I KNOW thou lov'st a brimming measure, 
And art a kindly, cordial host ; 

But let me fill and drink at pleasure — 
Thus I enjoy the goblet most.^ 



I FEAR, that love disturbs my rest, 
Yet feel not love's impassion' d care ; 



2 Formed of the 124th and UDlh fragments in Barnes, 
both of which are to be found in Scaliger's Poetics. 

De Pauw thinks that those detached lines and couplets, 
which Scaliger has adduced as examples in his Poetics, are 
by no means authentic, but of liis own fabrication. 

3 This is generally inserted among the remains of AIcjbus. 
Some, however, have attributed it to Anacreon. See our 
poet's twenty-second ode, and the notes. 

* See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which Iliave taken 
the liberty of adding a turn not to be found in the original, 
is cited by Lucian in his short essay on the Gallic Hercules. 

6 Barnes, 125th. This is in Scaliger's Poetics. Gail has 
omitted it in his collection of fragments. 

« This fragment is extant in Arsenius and Hepliaestion 
See Barnes (69th), who has arranged the metre of it very 
skilfully. 

I Barnes, 72d. This fragment, which is found in Atlie- 
nieus, contains an excellent lesson for the votaries of Jupitef 
Hospitalis. 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



12a 



I think there's madness in my breast, 
Yet cannot find that madness there ! 



From dread Leucadia's frowning steep, 
I'll plunge into the whitening deep : 
And there lie cold, to death resign' d, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind ! ' 



Mix me, child, a cup divine, 
Crystal water, ruby wine : 
Weave the frontlet, richly flushing, 
O'er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer — Love and I 
Shall no more the contest try. 
Here — upon this holy bowl, 
I surrender all my soul ! ^ 



Among the Epigrams of the Anthologia, are 
found some panegyrics on Anacreon, which I 
had translated, and originally intended as a sort 
of Coronis to this work. But I found upon 
consideration, that they wanted variety ; and 
that a frequent recurrence, in them, of the same 
thought, would render a collection of such 
poems uninteresting. I shall take the liberty, 
however, of subjoining a few, selected from the 
number, that I may not appear to have totally 
neglected those ancient tributes to the fame of 
Anacreon. The four epigrams which I give are 
imputed to Antipater Sidonius. They are ren- 
dered, perhaps, with too much freedom ; but 
designing originally a translation of all that are 
extant on the subject, I endeavored to enliven 
their uniformity by sometimes indulging in the 
liberties of paraphrase. 

1 Found in Hephsstion (see Barnes, 95th), and reminds 
one somewhat of the following: — 
Odi et amo ; qiiare id faciam fortasse requiris ; 
Nescio : sed fieri sentio, et excrucior. Carm. 53. 

I love thee and hate thee, but if I can tell 
The cause of my love and my hate, may I die. 

1 can feel it, alas ! I can feel it too well. 

That I love thee and hate thee, but cannot tell why. 

2 This is also in HephcEstion, and perhaps is a fragment 
of some poem, in which Anacreon had commemorated the 
fate of Sappho. It is the 123d of Barnes. 

3 Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Phalareus and 
Eustathius, and subjoined in his edition to the epigrams 
attributed to our poet. And liere is the last of those little 
icattered flowers, which I thought 1 might venture with any 
grace to transplant ; — happy if it could be said of the gar- 
and which they form. To <)' wj;' AvaKOCovroi. 

4 Antipater Sidonius, the author of this epigram, lived, 
according to Vossius, de Poetis Graecis, in the second year 



ANTinATPOY SlAilNIOY, EIS ANAKPEONTA. 

0A-4JOI TiTQuxoQififiiig, AvaxQior, uiapi ae xtoaof 

u^Qa Ts Asi^ioitov noQtpvQsuiv niraXu' 
miyai d' aoyiionTo? uru6Xi(ioivTo yaXu/CTog, 

tvwSeg S' ano yfyj >,Sv ;ffO(To ^it&v, 
oifQix xt Tot anodtij te xui oorsa iciitpiv uoi,'Ta(, 

ti St T15 ip6ificvo(g ^piuTTTtTat svcp^oavva, 
w TO (fiXov artijiag, ipiAf, ^an^iror, ai aw auida 

navxa dtuTiXmna? xai aw totuTi /Jior. 

Around the tomb, 0, bard divine ! 

Where soft thy hallow'd brow reposes, 
Long may the deathless ivy twine, 

And summer spread her waste of roses ! 

And there shall many a fount distil. 
And many a rill refresh the flowers ; 

But wine shall be each purple rill, 
And every fount be milky showers. 

Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 
To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure. 

Who gave to love his tenderest thought, 
Who gave to love his fondest measure, — 

Thus, after death, if shades can feel. 

Thou mayst, from odors round thee streaming, 

A pulse of past enjoyment steal. 

And live aejain in blissful dreaming ! * 



of the 169th Olympiad. He appears, from what Cicero and 
Quinlilian have said of him, to have been a kind of iniprov- 
visatore. See Institut. Orat. lib. x. cap. 7. There is nothing 
more known respecting this poet, e.xcept some particulars 
about his illness and death, which are mentioned as curious 
by Pliny and others ; — and there remain of his works but a 
few epigrams in the Anthologia, among which are found 
these inscriptions upon Anacreon. These remains have 
been sometimes imputed to another poet* of the same name, 
of whom Vossius gives us the followmg account : — " Anti- 
pater Thessahmicensis vixit tempore Augusti Casaris, ut 
qui saltantem viderit Pyladem, sicut constat ex quodam ejus 
epigrammate Afd iXoyiai, lib. iv. tit. et; oyx^arpi^ai. At 
eum ac Batliyllum primos fuisse pantomimos ac .sub Au- 
gusto clarui.-ise, satis notiim ex DIone, &c. &c." 

The reader, who thinks it worth observing, may find h 
strange oversight in Hoffman's quotation of this article from 
Vossius, Lexic. Univers. By the omission of a sentence 
he has made Vossius assert that the poet Antipater was one 
of the first pantomime dancers in Rome. 

Barnes, upon tlie epigram before us, mentions a version 
of it by Brodffius, which is not to be found in that commen- 
tator ; but he more than once confounds Brodaus wilh 
another annotator on the Anthologia, Vincentius 1 
who has given a translation of the epigram. 



* Pleraque tamcn Thess'lTiicensi tribuendavidentur, 
Lectiones et £iiiendi>> 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 

TYMBOS AraxQiiovTog. 6 Ti^iog iv&uSi xvy.ro? 

ErSeij jf!j naiSmr LwqoTaTij fiuritj. 
Ay.fitjv Xei()iociri fiekiiiTai autpt Bu6vXXv) 

' I^iiQu- y.ui y.ioaov itvy.ng uSmSt XiGug. 
OvS' AtdijC out fQutTa? unta^iacr, ev 5' Ax^Qoviog 

fir, 6?.u? tuStrctg KvJiqiSi deouuTi()Tj. 

Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade ; 
Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid.' 
Cold, cold that heart, which while on earth it 

dwelt 
All the sweet frenzy of love's passion felt. 
And yet, O Bard ! thou art not mute in death, 
Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath ; " 
And still thy songs of soft Bathylla bloom, 
Green as the ivy round thy mouldering tomb. 
Nor yet has death obscur'd thy fire of love. 
For still it lights thee through the Elysian 

grove ; 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th' elect 

alone. 
And Venus calls thee even in death her own ! 



the Teian swan is laid.] Thus Horace of Pin- 



dar : 



Multa Dircaeura levat aura cycnum. 
A swan was the liieroglyphical emblem of a poet. Anac- 
reon lias been called the swan of Teos by another of his 
eulogists. 

Ev TOti lJiS\lXPO'S 'IflCpOIUl (TVVTf,0<p0V 

A.vaius AvuKpcovTa, Tii'iov KVKfoi', 
EjipriXas iypl vCKTUpoi /ieSriSoi'ti. 

Eu-ycu')vg. Ai/Oo\oy. 
God of the grape ! thou hast betray'd 

In wine's bewildering dream, 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 
Along the Muse's stream ! — 
TTie Teian, nurs'd with all those honey'd boys, 
The young Desires, light Loves, and rose-lipp'd Joys ! 
2 Still do we catch thy lyre's luxuriius breath;] Thus 
Simouides, speaking of our poet : — 

MoAtt'x S' ov \Ti9n iJcXiTcpwcoi aAA' en kcivo 
BafiSiTur ouSc ^avojv evraacr cti> a'lir]. 

XifjioriSov, AvBo\oy. 
Nor yet are all his numbers mute, 

Though dark within the tomb he lies ; 
But living still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs ! 
This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled " divine," 
though Le F(>vre, in his Poetes Grecs, supposes that the epi- 
grams under h:s i ame are all falsely imputed. The most 
considerable of his remains is a satirical poem upon women, 
preserved by Stobasus, i^oycj yvvaiKMv. 

We may judge from the lines I have just quoted, and the 
import of the epigram before us, that the works of Anacreon 
were perfect In the times of Simonides and Antipater. Ob- 
sopoeus, the commentator here, appears to exult in their 
destruction, and tolling us they were burned by the bishops 



TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 

Seine, imfov naqa kiXov Avaxqtiovrog afitt^uiv. 

El Ti Toi tx ^i(iXuv ij/.6i:v euwv oipiXog, 
Snuaov tfirj anoSii], aneiaov yuio?, otfQa xtv oivit- 

OoTta yifir^Oi raiia voTitofiiru, 
fig 6 Jiorvaov fiiutXtjutvog ovaot xvifiog, 

'fig 6 ifiXaxQijTov avrTQoipug 'aQu.irir^g, 
MrjSs xuraij6iiitrog Bax/ov Si/u tuvtov vnoiato 

Tor yirtrj fieQonwr j^oi^or oifniXofierur,^ 

O STRANGF.R ! if Anacreon's shell 
Has ever taught thy heart to swell * 
With passion's throb or pleasure's sigh, 
In pity turn, as wandering nigh. 
And drop thy goblet's richest tear * 
In tenderest libation here ! 



and patriarchs, he adds, " nee sane id necquicquam fece- 
runt,"attributing to this outrage an effect which it could 
not possibly have produced. 

3 The spirit of Anacreon is supposed to utter these versea 
from the tomb, — somewhat " mutatus ab illo," at least in 
simjilicity of expression. 

1 if .Anacreon's shell 

Hastvr taught thy heart to swell, ^c] We may guess 
from the words ev PiSXwv t/iwi^, that Anacreon was not 
merely a writer of billets-doux, as some French critics have 
called him. Amongst these Mr. Le Fevre, with all his pro- 
fessed admiration, has given our poet a character by no 
means of an elevated cast : — 

Aussi c'est pour cela que la posterite 
L'a toujours justement d'age en age chants 
Conime un franc goguenard, ami de goinfrerie. 
Ami de billets-doux et de badinerie 
See the verses prefixed to his Poetes Grecs. This is unlike 
tlie language of Theocritus, to whom Anacreon is indebted 
for the following simple eulogium : — 

EIS ANAKPEONTOS ANAPIANTA. 

Qaaai Tov auSptai/ra tovtov, la fsi't, 
arruvda, Kai Atj', CTrav c; oikov cvdns' 

AnaKpenvTOS eikov' eiSuv ev Ttoi, 
Toiv Ttpocd' et Tt iTiptacov (oSoJTOtwv. 

■npuaBeti Se X'^rt rois veotaiv aScro, 
epeis arpCKecoi tiXov ruv avipa 

Upon the Statue of Anacreow. 
Stranger ! who near this statue chance to roam, 

Let it a while your studious eyes engage ; 
That you may say, returning to your home, 
" I've seen the image of the Teian sage. 
Best of the bards who deck the Muse's page." 
Then, if you add, " That stri|)lings lov'd him well," 
You tell them all he was, and aptly tell. 
I have endeavored to do justice to the simplicity of this 
inscription by rendering it as literally, I believe, as a verse 
translation will allow. 

5 .And drop thy goblet's rich-st tear, (Jc] Thus Simonides, 
in another of his epitaphs on our poet : — 

Kai iJiv act Ttyyoi vorepr) Spacrus, In b ytpaios 
AapOTcpoti jxaXuKiiiv enuuv ck aroiiaToov, 



ODES OF ANACREON. 



125 



So shall my sleeping ashes thrill 
With visions of enjoyment still. 
Not even in death can I resign 
The festal joys that once were mine, 
When Harmony pursu'd my ways, 
And Bacchus wanton'd to my lays.' 
O, if delight could charm no more. 
If all the goblet's bliss were o'er, 
When fate had once our doom decreed, 
Then dying would be death indeed ; 
Nor could I think, unblest by wine, 
Divinity itself divine ! 



TOT AYTOY, EIS TON ATTON. 

EYJETS iv (fdtusroiatv, Avaxqsov, td&la nortjoag 
efSct d' ij y).vxtnti vvxTiXaXog xt6aQa, 

ivSsi xai SusoStg, to IIu&uiv saQ, w ov ^tXiadcuv, 
/?«g/JrT', aveXQOvov vcxraQ cruQuortov, 

t[i(^i(jjv yaq Eoonug icpvg axoaog' tg Si as fiovrov 
To;a Ts xai axo/.iug £'2*'' sx>}^ijXiag. 



Let vines, in clustering beauty wreath'd, 

Drop all their treasures on his head, 
Whose lips a dew of sweetness breath'd 
Richer than vine hath ever shed ! 
1 ^nd Bacchus tvanton^d to my lays, ^c] The original 
here is corrupted, the line d)j b Aiovvaov, &.c. is unintel- 
ligihle. 

Brunck's emendation improves the sense, but I doubt if 
it can be commended for elegance. He reads the line 
thus : — 

[Of 5 Aioji'DiTiiio \!:\a(Tijicvos ovkotc koiiiwv. 
See Brunck, Analecta Veter. Poet. Grsc. vol. ii. 

~ Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lingering night, ^c] 

In another of these poems, " the niglitly-speaking lyre " of 

the bard is represented as not yet silent even after his death. 

ws b <t>i\aKpr}Tog tz Kai oivoBapiqq (piXoKWHog 

xavi'VX'ui KoovoL* Tnv (piXoiraioa x^Xvv. 

TtpdiviSuv, CIS AvaKpsovra. 
To beauty's smile and wine's delight. 

To joys he lov'd on earth so well. 
Still shall his spirit, all the night, 
Attune the wild, aerial shell ! 

3 The purest nectar of its numbers, fyc] Thus, says 
Brunck, in the prologue to the Satires of Persius : — 

Cantare credas Pegaseium nectar. 
" Melos " is the usual reading in this line, and Casaubon 
has defended it ; but " nectar " is, I think, much more spir- 
ited. 

4 She, the young spring of thy desires, ^c] The original, 
TO HoBmv tap, is beautiful. We regret that such praise 
should be lavished so preposterously, and feel that the poet's 
jiiistress Eurypyle would have deserved it better. Her name 
has been told us by Meleager, as already quoted, and in an- 
other epigram by Antipater. 

• Brunck has Kpovcov ; but Kpovoi, the common reading, better 
8ii:ts a detached quotation. 



At length thy golden hours have wing'd their 
flight. 
And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth ; 
Thy harp, that whisper'd through each linger- 
ing night,* 
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth ! 

She, too, for whom that harp profusely shed 
The purest nectar of its numbers,' 

She, the young spring of thy desires, hath fled. 
And with her blest Anacreon slumbers ! * 

Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every dart * 
That mighty Love could scatter from his 
quiver ; 
And each new beauty found in thee a heart, 
Which thou, with all thy heart and soul, 
didst give her ! ® 

iypa Sc 6epKoiuvoi(Tiv ev omiaaiv ov\ov acijotf, 

aidv(T(Tcjv Xtiraprig audas virepOe Kopn^t 
rie npoi 'EvpvTTvXnv TeTpa/xpevoi . . . 
Long may the nymph around thee play, 

Eurypyle, thy soul's desire, 
Basking her beauties in the ray 

That lights thine eyes' dissolving fire ! 
Sing of her smile's bewitching power, 

Her every grace that warms and blesses ; 
Sing of her brows' luxuriant flower. 
The beaming glory of her tresses. 
The expression here, avdo; Kopr^, "the flower of the 
hair," is borrowed from Anacreon himself, as appears by a 
fragment of the poet preserved in Stobseus : ATreKSipai 6' 
aiTa\r); apojinv avdo%. 

5 Farewell! thou hadst a pulse for every dart, S^c] £0Dy 
o-xojTOf, " Scopus eras naturl," not "speculator," as Barnes 
very falsely interprets it. 

Vincentius Obsopffius, upon this passage, contrives to in 
dulge us with a little astrological wisdom, and talks in a 
style of learned scandal about Venus, " male posita cum 
Marte in domo Saturni." 

6 ^nd each new beauty found in thee a heart, ^c] Thia 
couplet is not otherwise warranted by the original, than as 
it dilates the thought which Antipater has figuratively e.x- 



Critias, of Athens, pays a tribute to the legitimate gallantry 
of Anacreon, calling him, with elegant conciseness, j/vyaiK-'j* 
rinspOTrevpa. 

Toy Se yvvaKCiov peXcwv trXe^avTa itot coSaf, 
'HSw AvuKpetnvra,* Tcoii eig 'EAAaJ' annyev 
'ZvpTT0(n(>)t> cptdtapa, yvfaiKOiv riKcpoirevpa, 
Teos gave to Greece her treasure. 
Sage Anacreon, sage in loving ; 
Fondly weaving lays of pleasure 

For the maids who blush'd approving. 
When in nightly banquets sporting, 

Where's the guest could ever fly him.' 
When with love's seduction courting, 
Where's the nymph could e'er deny him ? 

* Thus Scaliger, in his dediratory verses tn ''on sard : — 
Blandug, suaTiloquus, dulcis Aiiacveuii. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



PREFACE 

TO THE SECOND VOLUME. 

The Poems suggested to me by mj'' visit to 
Bermuda, in the year 1803, as well as by the 
tour which I made subsequently, through some 
parts of North America, have been hitherto very 
injudiciously arranged ; any distinctive character 
they may possess having been disturbed and 
confused by their being mixed up not only with 
trifles of a much earlier date, but also with some 
portions of a classical story, in the form of Let- 
ters, which I had made some progress in before 
my departure from England. In the present 
edition, this awkward jumble has been reme- 
died ; and all the Poems relating to my Trans- 
atlantic voyage will be found classed by them- 
selves. As, in like manner, the line of route 
by which I proceeded through some parts of 
the States and the Canadas, has been left hith- 
erto to be traced confusedly through a few de- 
tached notes, I have thought that, to future 
readers of these poems, some clearer account of 
the course of that journey might not be unac- 
ceptable, — together with such vestiges as may 
still linger in my memory of events now fast 
fading into the background of time. 

For the precise date of my departure from 
England, in the Phaeton frigate, I am indebted 
to the Naval Recollections of Captain Scott, 
then a midshipman of that ship. " We were 
soon ready," says this gentleman, " for sea, and 
a few days saw Mr. Merry and suite embarked 
on board. Mr. Moore Ukewise took his passage 
with us on his way to Bermuda. We quitted 
Spithead on the 25th of September (1803), and 
in a short week lay becalmed under the lofty 
peak of Pico. In this situation, the Phaeton is 
depicted in the frontispiece of Moore's Poems." 

During the voyage, I dined very frequently 
with the officers of the gunroom ; and it was 
not a little gratifying to me to learn, from this 
geull' man's volume, that the cordial regard 
these social and open-hearted men inspired in 
me was not wholly unreturned, on their part. 
After mentioning our arrival at Norfolk, in Vir- 
ginia, Captain Scott says, "Mr. and Mrs. Merry 
left the Phaeton, under the usual salute, accom- 
panied by Mr. Moore ; " — then, adding some 



kind compliments on the score of talents, &c., 
he concludes with a sentence which it gave me 
tenfold more pleasure to read, — " The gun- 
room mess witnessed the day of his departure 
with genuine sorrow." From Norfolk, after a 
stay of about ten days, under the hospitable 
roof of the British Consul, Colonel Hamilton, I 
proceeded, in the Driver sloop of war, to Ber- 
muda. 

There was then on that station another youth- 
ful sailor, who has since earned for himself a 
distinguished name among English writers of 
travels. Captain Basil Hall, — then a midship- 
man on board the Leander. In his Fragments 
of Voyages and Travels, this writer has called 
up some agreeable reminiscences of that period ; 
in perusing which, — so full of life and reality 
are his sketches, — I found all my OAvn naval 
recollections brought freshly to my mind. The 
very names of the diff'erent ships, then so fa- 
miliar to my ears, — the Leander, the Boston, 
the Cambrian, — transported me back to the 
season of youth and those Summer Isles once 
more. 

The testimony borne by so competent a wit 
ness as Captain Hall to the truth of my sketches 
of the beautiful scenery of Bermuda is of far 
too much value to me, in my capacity of trav- 
eller, to be here omitted by me, however con- 
scious I must feel of but ill deserving the praise 
he lavishes on me, as a poet. Not that I pre- 
tend to be at all indifferent to such kind tributes ; 
— on the contrarj', those are always the most 
alive to praise, who feel inwardly least confi- 
dence in the soundness of their own title to it. 
In the present instance, however, my vanity 
(for so this uneasy feeling is always called) seeks 
its food in a different direction. It is not as a 
poet 1 invoke the aid of Captain Hall's opini 
but as a traveller and observer ; it is not to 
invention I ask him to bear testimony, bu 
my matter of fact. 

" The most pleasing and most exact descrip- 
tion which I know of Bermuda," says this gen- 
tleman, " is to be found in Moore's Odes and 
Epistles, a work published many years ago. 
The reason why his account excels in beauty as 
well as in precision that of other men probably 
is, that the scenes described lie so much beyond 
the scope of ordinary observation in colder cli- 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



127 



mates, and the feelings which they excite in the 
beholder are so much higher than those pro- 
duced by the scenery we have been accustomed 
to look at, that, unless the imagination be deeply 
drawn upon, and the diction sustained at a cor- 
respondent pitch, the words alone strike the ear, 
while the listener's fancy remains where it was. 
In Moore's account there is not only no exag- 
geration, but, on the contrary, a wonderful de- 
gree of temperance in the midst of a feast which, 
to his rich fancy, must have been peculiarly 
tempting. He has contrived, by a magic pecu- 
liarly his own, yet without departing from the 
truth, to sketch what was before him with a 
fervor which those who have never been on the 
spot might well be excused for setting down as 
tlie sport of the poet's invention." ' 

How truly politic it is in a poet to connect 
his verse with well-known and interesting lo- 
calities, — to wed his song to scenes already in- 
vested with fame, and thus lend it a chance of 
sharing the charm which encircles them, — I 
have myself, in more than one instance, very 
agreeably experienced. Among the memorials 
of this description, which, as I learn with pleas- 
ure and pride, stiU keep me remembered in 
some of those beautiful regions of the West 
which I visited, I shall mention but one slight 
instance, as showing how potently the Genius 
of the Place may lend to song a life and imper- 
ishableness to which, in itself, it boasts no claim 
or pretension. The following lines, in one of 
my Bermudian Poems, 

'Twas tlicre, in the shade of the Calabash Tree, 
With a few who could feel and remember like me, 
still live in memory, I am told, on those fairy 
shores, connecting my name with the picturesque 
spot they describe, and the noble old tree which 
I believe still adorns it.' One of the few treas- 
ures (of any kind) I possess, is a goblet formed 
of one of the fruit shells of this remarkable tree, 
which was brought from Bermuda, a few years 
since, by Mr. Dudley Costello, and which that 
gentleman, having had it tastefully mounted as 
a goblet, very kindly presented to me ; the fol- 
lowing words being part of the inscription which 
it bears : — "To Thomas Moore, Esq., this cup, 
formed of a calabash which grew on the tree 
that bears his name, near Walsingham, Bermu- 
da, is inscribed by one who," &c. &c. 

From Bermuda I proceeded in the Boston, 
with my friend Captain (now Admiral) J. E. 

1 Fragments of Voyages and Travels, vol. ii. chap. vi. 

2 A representation of this calabash, taken from a drawing 
of it made, on the spot, by Dr. Savage of the Royal Artil- 



Douglas, to New York, from whence, after a 
short stay, we sailed for Norfolk, in Virginia ; 
and about the beginning of June, 1804, I set 
out from that city on a tour through part of the 
States. At Washington, I passed some days 
with the English minister, Mr. Merry ; and was, 
by him, presented at the levee of the President, 
Jefferson, whom I found sitting with General 
Dearborn and one or two other officers, and in 
the same homely costume, comprising slippers 
and Connemara stockings, in which Mr. Merry 
had been received by him — much to that for- 
mal minister's horror — when waiting upon 
him, in full dress, to deliver his credentials. 
My single interview with this remarkable per- 
son was of very short duration ; but to have 
seen and spoken with the man who drew up 
the Declaration of American Independence was 
an event not to be forgotten. 

At Philadelphia, the society I was chiefly 
made acquainted with, and to which (as the 
verses addressed to " Delaware's green banks " ^ 
sufficiently testify) I was indebted for some of 
my most agreeable recollections of the United 
States, consisted entirely of persons of the Fed- 
eralist or Anti-Democratic party. Few and 
transient, too, as had been my opportunities, of 
judging for myself of the political or social state 
of the country, my mind was left open too much 
to the influence of the feelings and prejudices 
of those I chiefly consorted with ; and, certain- 
ly, in no quarter was I so sure to find decided 
hostility, both to the men and the principles 
then dominant throughout the Union, as among 
officers of the British navy, and in the ranks of 
an angry Federalist opposition. For any bias, 
therefore, that, under such circumstances, my 
opinions and feelings may be thought to have 
received, fiill allowance, of course, is to be made 
in appraising the weight due to my authority 
on the subject. All I can answer for, is the 
perfect sinceritj' and earnestness of the actual 
impressions, whether true or erroneous, under 
which my Ej^istles from the United States were 
written ; and so strong, at the time, I confess, 
were those impressions, that it was the only 
period of my past life during which I have 
found myself at all sceptical as to the soundness 
of that Liberal creed of politics, in the profes- 
sion and advocacy of which I may be almost 
literally said to have begun life, and shall most 
probably end it. 

lery, has been introduced in the vignette prefixed to thia 
volume. 
3 See Epistle to Mr. W. R. Spencer, p. 153 of this edition 



128 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



Reaching, for the second time, New York, I 
set out from thence on the now familiar and 
easy enterprise of visiting the Falls of Niagara. 
It is but too true, of all grand objects, whether 
in nature or art, that facility of access to them 
much diminishes the feeling of reverence they 
ought to inspire. Of this fault, however, the 
route to Niagara, at that period — at least the 
portion of it which led through the Genesee 
country — could not justly be accused. The 
latter part of the journey, which lay chiefly 
through yet but half-cleared wood, we were 
obliged to perform on foot ; and a slight accident 
I met with, in the course of our rugged walk, 
laid me up for some days at Buffalo. To the 
rapid growth, in that wonderful region, of, at 
least, the materials of civiUzation, — however 
ultimately they may be turned to account, — 
this flourishing town, which stands on Lake 
Erie, bears most ample testimony. Though little 
better, at the time when I visited it, than a mere 
village, consisting chiefly of huts and wigwams, 
it is now, by aU accounts, a populous and splen- 
did city, with five or six churches, town haU, 
theatre, and other such appurtenances of a 
capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude state 
of Bufl'alo at that period, I should be ungrate- 
ful were I to omit mentioning, that, even then, 
on the shores of those far lakes, the title of 
•' PoQ,t," — however unworthily in that instance 
bestowed, — bespoke a kind and distinguishing 
welcome for its wearer ; and that the Captain 
who commanded the packet in which I crossed 
Lake Ontario,' in addition to other marks of 
courtesy, begged, on parting with me, to be 
allowed to decline payment for my passage. 

When we arrived, at length, at the inn, in the 
neighborhood of the Falls, it was too late to 
think of visiting them that evening ; and I lay 
awake almost the whole night with the sound 
of the cataract in my ears. The day following 
1 Consider as a sort of era in my life ; and the 
first glimpse I caught of that wonderful cataract 
gave me a feeling which nothing in this world 
can ever awaken again.* It was through an 
ojiening among the trees, as we approached the 
spot where the full view of the Falls was to 
burst upon us, that I caught this glimpse of the 
mighty mass of waters folding smoothly over the 
edge of the precipice ; and so overwhelming 

1 Tne Commodore of the Lakes, as he is styled. 

2 The two first sentences of the above paragraph, as well 
as a passage that occurs in a subsequent paragraph, stood 
originally as part of the Notes on one of the American Poems. 



was the notion it gave me of the awful specta- 
cle I was approaching, that, during the short 
interval that followed, imagination had far out- 
run the reality ; and, vast and wonderful as 
was the scene that then opened upon me, my 
first feeling was that of disappointment. It 
would have been impossible, indeed, for any 
thing real to come up to the vision I had, in 
these few seconds, formed of it ; and those 
awful scriptural words, " The fountains of the 
great deep were broken up," can alone give 
any notion of the vague wonders for which I 
was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by imagina- 
tion, the triumph of reality was, in the end, but 
the greater ; for the gradual glory of the scene 
that opened upon me soon took possession of 
my whole mind ; presenting, from day to day, 
some new beauty or wonder, and, like all that is 
most sublime in nature or art, awakening sad as 
well as elevating thoughts. I retaiia in my 
memory but one other dream — for such do 
events so long past appear — which can in any 
respect be associated with the grand vision I 
have just been describing ; and, however difier- 
ent the nature of their appeals to the imagina- 
tion, I should find it difficult to say on which 
occasion I felt most deeply affected, when look- 
ing on the Falls of Niagara, or when standing 
by moonlight among the ruins of the Coliseum. 

Some changes, I understand, injurious to the 
beauty of the scene, have taken place in the 
shape of the Falls since the time of my visit to 
them ; and among these is the total disappear- 
ance, b}' the gradual crumbling away of tht 
rock, of the small leafy island which then stood 
near the edge of the Great Fall, and whose 
tranquillity and unapproachableness, in the 
midst of 80 much turmoil, lent it an interest 
which I thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song 
of the Spirit of that region : ' — 

There, amid the island sedge, 
Just above the cataract's edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began. 
Lone I sit at close of day, &c. &c 

Another characteristic feature of the vicinity 
of the Falls, which, I understand, no longer 
exists, was the interesting settlement of the 
Tuscarora Indians. With the gallant Brock,* 

3 Introduced in the Epistle to Lady Charlotte Rawdoii. 
p. 155 of this edition. 

* This brave and amiable officer was killed at Cliieenstown, 
in Upper Canada, soon after the commencement of the wat 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



129 



who then commanded at Fort George, I passed 
the greater part of my time during the few 
weeks I remained at Niagara ; and a visit I paid 
to these Indians, in company with him and his 
brother ofRcors, on his going to distribute among 
them the customary presents and prizes, was 
not the least curious of the many new scenes I 
witnessed. These people received us in all their 
ancieiit costume. The young men exhibited for 
our amusement in the race, the bat game, and 
other sports, while the old and the women sat in 
groups under the surrounding trees ; and the 
whole scene was as picturesque and beautiful as 
it was new to me. It is said that West, the 
American painter, when he first saw the Apollo, 
at Rome, exclaimed instantly, " A young Indian 
warrior ! " — and, however startling the associa- 
tion may appear, some of the graceful and agile 
forms which I saw that day among the Tusca- 
roras were such as would account for its arising 
in the young painter's mind. 

After crossing •• the fresh-Avater ocean " of 
Ontario, I passed down the St. Lawrence to 
Montreal and Quebec, staying for a short time 
at each of these places ; and this part of my 
journey, as well as my voyage on from Quebec 
to Halifax, is sufficiently traceable through the 
few pieces of poetry that were suggested to me 
by scenes and events on the way. And here I 
must again venture to avail myself of the valua- 
ble testimony of Captain Hall to the truth of 
my descriptions of some of those scenes through 
which his more practised eye followed me ; — 
taking the liberty to omit in my extracts, as far 
as may be done without injury to the style or 
context, some of that generous surplusage of 
praise in which friendly criticism dehghts to 
indulge. 

In speaking of an excursion he had made up the 
River Ottawa, — "a stream," he adds, "which 
has a classical place in every one's imagination 
from Moore's Canadian Boat Song," Captain 
Hall proceeds as follows : — " While the poet 
above alluded to has retained all that is essen- 
tially characteristic and pleasing in these boat 
songs, and rejected all that is not so, he has 
contrived to borrow his inspiration from numer- 
ous surrounding circumstances, presenting noth- 



with America, in the year 1812. He was in the act of 
cheering on his men when he fell. The inscription on the 
monument raised to his memory, on Q,iieenstown Heights, 
does but due honor to his manly character. 

1 " It is singularly gratifying," the author adds, " to dis- 
cover that, to this hour, the Canadian voyageurs never omit 



ing remarkable to the dull senses of ordinary 
travellers. Yet these highly poetical images, 
drawn in this way, as it were carelessly and 
from every hand, he has combined with such 
graphic — I had almost said geographical — 
truth, that the effect is great even upon those 
who have never, with their o-mi eyes, seen the 
' Utawa's tide,' nor ' flown down the Rapids,' 
nor heard the ' boll of St. Anne's toll its even- 
ing chime ; ' while the same lines give to dis- 
tant regions, previously consecrated in our 
imagination, a vividness of interest, when 
viewed on the spot, of which it is difficult to 
say how much is due to the magic of the poe- 
try, and how much to the beauty of the real 
scene." ' 

While on the subject of the Canadian Boat 
Song, an anecdote connected with that once 
popular ballad may, for my musical readers at 
least, possess some interest. A few years since, 
while staying in Dublin, I was presented, at his 
own request, to a gentleman who told me that 
his family had in their possession a curious relfc 
of my youthful days, — being the first notation 
I had made, in pencilling, of the air and words 
of the Canadian Boat Song, while on my way 
down the St. LawTence, — and that it was their 
wish I should add my signature to attest the 
authenticity of the autograph. I assured him 
with truth that I had wholly forgotten even the 
existence of such a memorandum ; that it would 
be as much a curiosity to myself as it could bo 
to any one else, and that I should feel thankful 
to be allowed to see it. In a day or two after, 
my request was complied with, and the follow- 
ing is the history of this musical «' relic." 

In my passage down the St. Lawrence, I had 
with me two travelling companions, one of 
whom, named Harkness, the son of a wealthy 
Dublin merchant, has been some years dead. 
To this young friend, on parting with him, at 
Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a volume I had 
been reading on the way, — Priestley's Lectures 
on History ; and it was upon a flyleaf of this 
volume I found I had taken down, in pen- 
cilling, both the notes and a few of the words 
of the original song by which my own boat 
glee had been suggested. The following is the 



their offerings to the shrine of St Anne, before engaging in 
any enterprise ; and that, during its performance, they omil 
no opportunity of keeping up so propitious an intercourse. 
The flourishing village which surrounds the church on the 
' Green Isle ' in question owes its existence and support 
entirely to these pious contribution*" 



17 



130 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



form of my memorandum of the original 
air : — 



fS^0t^ i ^^^ 



^jjt^^a^^gg^ 



Then follows, as pencilled down at the same 
moment, the first verse of my Canadian Boat 
Song, with air and words as they are at present. 
From all this it will be perceived, that, in my 
own setting of the air, I departed in almost 
every respect but the time from the strain our 
voijageiirs had sung to us, leaving the music of 
the glee nearly as much my own as the words. 
Yet, how strongly impressed I had become with 
the notion that this was the identical air sung 
by the boatmen, — how closely it linked itself 
in my imagination with the scenes and sounds 
amidst which it had occurred to me, — may be 
seen by reference to a note appended to the 
glee as first published, which mil be found in 
the foUomng pages.' 

To the few desultory and, perhaps, valueless 
recollections I have thus called up, respecting 
the contents of our second volume, I have only 
to add, that the heavy storm of censure and 
criticism, — some of it, I fear, but too well de- 
served, — which, both in America and in Eng- 
land, the publication of my " Odes and Epistles " 
drew down upon me, was followed by results 
which have far more than compensated for any 
pain such attacks at the time may have inflicted. 
In the most formidable of aU my censors, at 
that period, — the great master of the art of 
criticism, in our day, — I have found ever since 
one of the most cordial and highly valued of 
all my friends ; while the good will I have ex- 
perienced from more than one distinguished 
American sufficiently assures me that any in- 
justice I may have done to that land of freemen, 
if not long since wholly forgotten, is now re- 
membered only to be forgiven. 

As some consolation to me for the onsets of 
criticism, I received, shortly after the appear- 
ance of my volume, a letter from Stockholm, 
addressed to " the author of Epistles, Odes, 
and (ither Poems," and informing me that 
•'the Princes, Nobles, .ind Geatlemen, who 
, •« 

1 Page 155 of tius edition. 



composed the General Chapter of the most 
Illustrious, Equestrian, Secular, and Chapteral 
Order of St. Joachim," had elected me as a 
Knight of this Order. Notwithstanding the 
grave and official style of the letter, I regarded 
it, I own, at first, as a mere ponderous piece of 
pleasantry ; and even suspected that in the 
name of St. '< Joachim " I could detect the low 
and in-everent pun of St. Jokehim. 

On a little inquiry, however, I learned that 
there actually existed such an order of knight- 
hood; that the title, insignia, &c. conferred by 
it had, in the instances of Lord Nelson, the 
Duke of Bouillon, and Colonel ImhofT, who 
were all Knights of St. Joachim, been author- 
ized by the British court ; but that since then, 
this sanction of the order had been withdrawn. 
Of course, to the reduction thus caused in the 
value of the honor was owing its descent in the 
scale of distinction to " such small deer " of 
Parnassus as myself. I wrote a letter, however, 
full of grateful acknowledgment, to Monsieur 
Hansson, the Vice Chancellor of the Order, 
saying that I was unconscious of having entitled 
myself, by any public service, to a reward due 
only to the benefactors of mankind ; and there- 
fore begged leave most respectfully to decline it. 



FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA 

GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTEK 
GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF 
THE TOWER, ETC. 

My Lord : — It is impossible to think of ad- 
dressing a Dedication to your Lordship without 
calling to mind the well-known reply of the 
Spartan to a rhetorician, who proposed to pro- 
nounce a eulogium on Hercules. " On Her- 
cules ! " said the honest Spartan, " who ever 
thought of blaming Hercules?" In a similar 
manner the concurrence of public opinion has 
left to the panegyrist of your Lordship a very 
superfluous task. I shall, therefore, be silent 
on the subject, and merely entreat your indul- 
gence to the very humble tribute of gratitude 
which I have here the honor to present 
I am, my Lord, 

With every feeling of attachment 
and respect. 
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 
THOMAS MOORE. 



27, Bunj Street, St. James'i 
Jlpril 10, 1806. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



131 



PREFACE.' 

The principal poems in the following collec- 
tion were written during an absence of fourteen 
months from Europe. Though curiosity was 
certainly not the motive of my voyage to Amer- 
ica, yet it happened that the gratification of 
curiosity was the only advantage which I de- 
rived from it. Finding myself in the country 
of a new people, whose infancy had promised 
so much, and whose progress to maturity has 
been an object of such interesting speculation, 
I determined to employ the short period of time, 
which my plan of return to Europe afforded me, 
in travelling through a few of the States, and 
accjuiring some knowledge of the inhabitants. 

The impression which my mind received from 
the character and manners of these republicans, 
suggested the Epistles which are written from 
the city of Washington and Lake Erie.^ How 
far I was right, in thus assuming the tone of a 
satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a 
stranger and a visitor, is a doubt which my feel- 
ings did not allow me time to investigate. All 
I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the 
picture which I have given ; and thoiigh pru- 
dence might have dictated gentler language, 
truth, I think, would have justified severer. 

1 went to America with prepossessions by no 
means unfavorable, and indeed rather indulged 
in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to 
the purity of the government and the primitive 
happiness of the people, which I had earlj' im- 
bibed in my native country, where, unfortunate- 
ly, discontent at home enhances every distant 
temptation, and the western world has long been 
looked to as a retreat from real or imaginary 
oppression ; as, in short, the elysian Atlantis, 
where persecuted patriots might find their 
yisions realized, and be welcomed by kindred 
spirits to liberty and repose. In all these flat- 
tering expectations I found myself completely 
disappointed, and felt inclined to say to Amer- 
ica, as Horace says to his mistress, " intentata 
nites." Brissot, in the preface to his travels, 
observes, that "freedom in that country is car- 
ried to so high a degree as to border upon a 
state of nature ; " and there certainly is a close 
approximation to savage life, not only in the 

• This Preface, as well as the Dedication which precedes 
it, were prefixed originally to the miscellaneous volume 
entitled " Odes and Epistles," of which, liitherto, the poems 
relating to ray American tour have formed a part. 

2 Epistles VI. VII. and VIII. 



liberty which they enjoy, but in the violence of 
party spirit and of private animosity which re- 
sults from it. This illiberal zeal imbitters all 
social intercourse ; and, though I scarcely could 
hesitate in selecting the party, whose views ap- 
peared to me the more pure and rational, yet I 
was sorry to observe that, in asserting their 
opinions, they both assume an equal share of 
intolerance ; the Democrats, consistently with 
their principles, exhibiting a vulgarity of rancor, 
which the Federalists too often are so forgetful 
of their cause as to imitate. 

The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and 
indeed the unpolished state of society in gen- 
eral, would neither surprise nor disgust if they 
seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, 
that honest ignorance of the gloss of refinement 
which may be looked for in a new and inexpe- 
rienced people. But, when we find them ar- 
rived at maturity in most of the vices, and all 
the pride of civilization, while they are still so 
far removed from its higher and better charac- 
teristics, it is impossible not to feel that this 
youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the 
natural period of corruption, must repress every 
sanguine hope of the future energy and great- 
ness of America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing these few 
remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and 
by no means sufficient to convince ; for the lim- 
its of a preface prevent me from entering into a 
justification of my opinions, and I am committed 
on the subject as effectually as if I had written 
volumes in their defence. My reader, however, 
is apprised of the very cursory observation upon 
which these opinions are founded, and can easily 
decide for himself upon the degree of attention 
or confidence which they merit. 

With respect to the poems in general, which 
occupy the following pages, I know not in what 
manner to apologize to the public for intruding 
upon their notice such a mass of unconnected 
trifles, such a world of epicurean atoms as I 
have here brought in conflict together.'' To say 
that I have been tempted by the liberal offers 
of my bookseller, is an excuse which can hope 
for but little indulgence from the critic ; yet I 
own that, without this seasonable inducement, 
these poems very possibly would never have 
been submitted to the world. The glare of 
publication is too strong for such imperfect pro- 
ductions : they should be shown but to the eye 
of friendship, in that dim light of privacy which 

8 See the foregoing Note 1. 



132 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA 



IS as favorable to poetical as to female beauty, 
and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances 
every charm which it displays. Besides, this is 
not a period for the idle occupations of poetrj', 
and times like the present require talents more 
active and more useful. Few have now the 
leisure to read such trifles, and I most sincerely 
regret that I have had the leisure to write them. 



LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD. 



Sweet Moon ! if, Hke Crotona's sage,' 

By any spell my hand could dare 
To make thy disk its ample page. 

And write my thoughts, my wishes there ; 
How many a friend, whose careless eye 
Now wanders o'er that starry sky. 
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet 
The recollection, kind and sweet. 
The reveries of fond regret. 
The promise, never to forget. 
And all my heart and soul would send 
To many a dear-lov'd, distant friend. 

How little, when we parted last, 
I thought those pleasant times were past, 
Forever past, when brilliant joy 
Was all my vacant heart's employ : 
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again, 

We thought the rapid hours too few ; 
Our only use for knowledge then 

To gather bliss from all we knew. 
Delicious days of whim and soul ! 

When, mingling lore and laugh together, 
We lean'd the book on Pleasure's bowl. 

And turn'd the leaf with FoUy's feather. 
Little I thought that all were fled. 
That, ere that summer's bloom was shed, 
My eye should see the sail unfurl'd 
That wafts me to the western world. 



1 Pythagoras ; who was supposed to have a power of 
writing upon the Moon by the means of a magic mirror. — 
See Bayle, art. Pythag. 

2 Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th Carmen 
of Catullus : — 

Jam mens praetrepidans avet vagari, 
Jam Isti studio pedes vigescunt ! 



And yet, 'twas time ; — in youth's sweet days, 
To cool that season's glowing rays. 
The heart a while, with wanton wing, 
May dip and dive in Pleasure's spring ; 
But, if it wait for winter's breeze. 
The spring will chill, the heart will freeze. 
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope, — 

O, she awak'd such happy dreams. 
And gave my soul such tempting scope 

For aU its dearest, fondest schemes, 
That not Verona's child of song. 

When flying from the Phrygian shore, 
With lighter heart could bound along, 

Or pant to be a wanderer more ! " 

Even now delusive hope will steal 
Amid the dark regrets I feel. 
Soothing, as yonder placid beam 

Pursues the murmurers of the deep, 
And lights them with consoling gleam. 

And smiles them into tranquil sleep. 
O, such a blessed night as this, 

I often think, if friends were near. 
How we should feel, and gaze with bliss 

Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! 

The sea is like a silvery lake, 

And, o'er its calm the vessel glides 
Gently, as if it fear'd to wake 

The slumber of the silent tides. 
The only envious cloud that lowers 

Hath hung its shade on Pico's height,* 
Where dimly, 'mid the dusk, he towers, 

And scowling at this heav'n of light. 
Exults to see the infant storm 
Cling darkly round his giant form ! 

Now, could I range those verdant isles. 

Invisible, at this soft hour. 
And see the looks, the beaming smiles, 

That brighten many an orange bower ; 
And could I lift each pious veil. 

And see the blushing cheek it shades, — 
O, I should have full many a tale. 

To teU of young Azorian maids.'* 

Yes, Strangford, at this hour, perhaps. 
Some lover (not too idly blest. 



8 A very high mountain on one of the Azores, from wliicb 
the island derives its name. It is said by some to be as high 
as the Peak of Teneriffe. 

4 I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabitants of 
the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. This is an as- 
sertion in which even Guthrie may be credited. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



133 



Like those, who in their ladies' laps 

May cradle every -wish to rest,) 
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul, 

Those madrigals, of breath divine, 
Which Oamoens' harp from Rapture stole 

And gnve, all glowing warm, to thine.' 
0, could the lover learn from thee. 

And breathe them with thy graceful tone, 
Such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy 

"Would make the coldest nymph his own. 

But hark ! ■ -the boatswain's pipings tell 
'Tis time to bid my dream farewell : 
Eight bells : — the middle watch is set ; 
Good night, my Strangford ! — ne'er forget 
That, far beyond the western sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 



STANZAS. 



i'//o? Cc -HOT' cnoi ■ 



fie Trpoa(puv€i raSc. 

TtfioaKC TavdptoTTCia itr/ atSciv ayav. 

^scHYL. Fragment. 

A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the west, 
The storms of the morning pursued us no 
more ; 
And the wave, while it welcom'd the moment 
of rest. 
Still heav'd, as remembering ills that "were 
o'er. 

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour. 
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the 
dead; 
And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their 
power, 
As the billow the force of the gale that was 
fled. 

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone 
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 

When the saddest emotion my bosom had 
known. 
Was pity for those who were wiser than I. 

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire 
The pearl of the soul may be melted away ; 



1 These islands belong to the Portuguese. 

2 It is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, and I be 
leve of nearly all the Fathers, that birds, like fish, were 

originally produced from the waters; in defence of which 
idea they have collected every fanciful circumstance which 



How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire 
We inherit from heav'n, may be quench'd in 
the clay ; 

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame. 
That Pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 

So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, 
I might give back the boon I had borrow' d 
from Him. 

How blest was the thought ! it appear'd as if 
Heaven 

Had already an opening to Paradise shown ; 
As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven. 

My heart then began to be purely its own. 

I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky 
Which morning had clouded, was clouded no 
more : 
«< O, thus," I exclaimed, " may a heavenly eye 
•' Shed light on the soul that was darken' d 
before." 



THE FLYING FISH.* 

When I have seen thy snow-white wing 
From the blue wave at evening spring. 
And show those scales of silvery white, 
So gayly to the eye of light. 
As if thy frame were form'd to rise. 
And live amid the glorious skies ; 
O, it has made me proudly feel. 
How like thy wing's impatient zeal 
Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 
Within this world's gross element. 
But takes the wing that God has given, 
And rises into light and heaven ! 

But, when I see that wing, so bright. 
Grow languid with a moment's flight, 
Attempt the paths of air in vain, 
And sink into the waves again ; 
Alas ! the flattering pride is o'er ; 
Like thee, a while, the soul may soar. 
But erring man must blush to think, 
Like thee, again the soul may sink. 

O Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
Let not my spirit's flight be weak : 

can tend to prove a kindred similitude between them ; aw 
yevtiav toi; rrernjievtits npn; ra vriKxa. With this thought 
in our minds, when we first see the Flying Fish, we could 
almost fancy, that we are present at the moment of crea- 
tion, and witness tlie birth of the first hird from the waves 



134 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Let me not, like this feeble thing, 
With brine still dropping from its wing, 
Just sparkle in the solar glow 
And plunge again to depths below ; 
But, when I leave the grosser throng 
With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, 
Let me, in that aspiring day. 
Cast every lingering stain away, 
And, panting for thy purer air, 
Fly up at once and fix me there. 



MISS MOORE. 

FRCM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 18u3. 

In days, my Kate, when life was new. 
When, luU'd with innocence and you, 
I heard, in home's beloved shade, 
The din the world at distance made ; 
When, every night my weary head 
Sunk on its own unthorned bed. 
And, mild as evening's matron hour. 
Looks on the faintly shutting flower, 
A mother saw our eyelids close. 
And bless'd them into pure rci^ose ; 
Then, haply if a week, a day, 
I linger'd from that home away. 
How long the little absence scem'd ! 
How bright the look of welcome beam'd, 
As mute you heard, with eager smile. 
My tales of all that pass'd the while ! 

Yet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea 
Rolls wide between that home and me ; 
The moon may thrice be born and die. 
Ere ev'n that seal can reach mine eye. 
Which used so oft, so quick to come, 
Still breathing all the breath of home, — 
As if, still fresh, the cordial air 
From lips belov'd were lingering there. 
But now, alas, — far different fate ! 
It comes o'er ocean, slow and late, 
When the dear hand that till'd its fold 
With words of sweetness may lie cold. 

But hence that gloomy thought ! at last, 
Beloved Kate, the waves are past : 
I tread on earth securely now. 
And the green cedar's living bough 

1 Siicli romantic works as " The American Farmer's 
Letters," and the acciuint of Kentucky hy Imlay, would 
feduce us into a belief, that innocence, peace, and freedom 
/lad deserted the rest of the world for Martha's Vineyard 
and the banks of the C Uio. The French travellers, too, al- 



Breathes more refreshment to my eyes 

Than could a Claude's divinest dyes. 

At length I touch the happy sphere 

To liberty and virtue dear. 

Where man looks up, and, proud to claim 

His rank within the social frame. 

Sees a grand system round him roll, 

Himself its centre, sun, and soul ! 

Far from the shocks of Europe — far 

From every wild, elliptic star 

That, shooting with a devious fire, 

Kindled hy heaven's avenging ire, 

So oft hath into chaos huii'd 

The systems of the ancient world. 

The warrior here, in arms no more, 
Thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, 
And glorying in the freedom won 
For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, 
Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 
His sleeping sword's remember'd pride. 
While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil. 
Walks o'er the free, unlorded soil, 
Effacing with her splendid share 
The drops that war had sprinkled there. 
Thrice happy land ! where he who flies 
From the dark ills of other skies, 
From scorn, or want's unnerving woes, 
May shelter him in proud repose : 
Hope sings along the yellow sand 
His welcome to a patriot land ; 
The mighty wood, with pomp, receives 
The stranger in its world of leaves, 
Which soon their barren glory yield 
To the warm shed and cultur'd field; 
And he, who came, of all bereft, 
To whom malignant fate had left 
Nor home nor friends nor country dear, 
Finds home and friends and country here. 

Such is the picture, warmly such, 
That Fancy long, with florid touch, 
Had painted to my sanguine eye 
Of man's new world of liberty. 
O, ask me not, if Truth have yet 
Her seal on Fancy's promise set ; 
If ev'n a glimpse my eyes behold 
Of that imagin'd age of gold ; — 
Alas, not yet one gleaming trace ! ' 
Never did youth, who lov'd a face 

most all from revolutionary motives, have contributed theii 
share to the diffusion of this flattering misconception. A 
visit to the country is, however, quite sufficient to correct 
even the most entliusiastic prepossession. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



As slsetch'd by some fond pencil's skill 
And made by fancy lovelier still, 
Shrink back with more of sad surprise, 
When the live model met his eyes. 
Than I have felt, in sorrow felt. 
To find a dream on which I've dwelt 
From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee 
At touch of stern reality ! 

But, courage, yet, my wavering heart ! 
Blame not the temple's meanest part,' 
Till thou hast traced the fabric o'er : — 
As yet, we have beheld no more 
Than just the porch to Freedom's fane ; 
And, though a sable spot may stain 
The vestibule, 'tis wrong, 'tis sin 
To doubt the godhead reigns within ! 
So here I pause — and now, my Kate, 
To you, and those dear friends, whose fate 
Touches more near this homesick soul 
Than all the Powers from pole to pole, 
Ona word at parting, — in the tone 
Most sweet to you, and most my own. 
The simple strain I send you here,'^ 
"Wild though it be, would charm your ear, 
Did you but know the trance of thought 
In which my mind its numbers caught. 
'Twas one of those half- waking dreams, 
That haunt me oft, when music seems 
To bear my soul in sound along. 
And turn its feelings all to song. 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ; 
Freshly in each succeeding note 
I found some young remembrance float. 
Till following, as a clew, that strain, 
I wander'd back to home again. 

O, love the song, and let it oft 
Live on your lip, in accents soft. 
Say that it tells you, simply well, 
All I have bid its wild notes tell, — 
Of Memory's dream, of thoughts that yet 
Glow with the light of joy that's set, 
And all the fond heart keeps in store 
Of friends and scenes beheld no more. 
And now, adieu ! — this artless air. 
With a few rhymes, in transcript fair, 



1 Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavorable 
specimen of America. The characteristics of Virginia in 
general are not such as can delight either the politician or 
Ihe moralist, and at Norfolk they are exhibited in their least 
attractive form. At tlie time when we arrived the yellow 
fever had not yet disappeared, and every odor that assailed 
us 111 the streets very strongly accounted for its visitation. 



Are all the gifts I yet can boast 
To send you from Columbia's coast ; 
But when the sun, with warmer smile, 
Shall light me to my destin'd isle,' 
You shall have many a cowslip bell 
W'here Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
In which that gentle spirit drew 
From honey flowers the morning dew. 



A BALLAD. 



THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. 



AT NORFOLK, IN VISQINIA. 

" They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the 
death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing 
from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had 
frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, 
but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wan- 
dered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, 
or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses."-*- .4non. 

" La Poesie a ses monstres comme la nature." — D'Alem- 



' They made her a grave, too cold and damp 

" For a soul so warm and true ; 
'And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal 

Swamp,* 
' "Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, 

" She paddles her white canoe. 

' And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, 
" And her i^addle I soon shall hear ; 
' Long and loving our life shall be, 
' And I'U hide the maid in a cypress tree, 
" When the footstep of death is near." 



Away to the Dismal Swamp he 

His path was rugged and sore. 
Through tangled j uniper, beds of reeds. 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds. 

And man never trod before. 

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep. 

If slumber his eyelids knew. 
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew ! 



2 A trifling attempt at musical composition accompanied 
this Epistle. 

8 Bermuda. 

* The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve milesdistnnl 
from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it (about sevca 
miles long) is called Drunimond's Pond. 



133 



POEMS RELATING TO A3IERICA. 



And near him the she wolf stirr'd the brake, 

And the copper snake breath'd in his ear, 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
" O, when shall I see the dusky Lake, 
" And the white canoe of my dear ? " 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface play'd — 
«' Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light ! " 
A.nd the dim shore echoed, for many a night, 

The name of the death-cold maid. 

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark, 

Which carried him off from shore ; 
Ear, far he follow'd the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 
And the boat return'd no more. 

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lake by a firefly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe ! 



MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONE- 
GALL. 

FROM BERMUDA, JANDAEY, 1804. 

Lady ! where'er you roam, whatever land 
Wooes the bright touches of that artist hand ; 
Whether you sketch the valley's golden meads, 
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads ; ' 
Enamour'd catch the mellow hues that sleep. 
At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep ; 
Or musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline, 
Mark the last shadow on that holy shrine,* 
Where, many a night, the shade of Tell com- 
plains ■ 
Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains ; 
O, lay the pencil for a moment bj'. 
Turn from the canvas that creative eye. 
And let its splendor, like the morning ray 
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. 



1 Lady Donegal!, I had reason to suppose, was at tliis 
time still in Switzerland, where the well-known powers of 
her pencil must have been frequently awakened. 

* The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of Lucerne. 

» M. Gcbelin says, in his Monde Primilif, " Lorsque S?tra- 
bnn crut que les anciens theologians et poetes pla^oient les 
champs elysees dans les isles de I'Ocean Atlantique, il n'en- 
tendlt rien k leur doctrine." M. Gebelin's supposition, I 



Yet, Lady, no — for song so rude as mine. 
Chase not the wonders of your art divine ; 
Still, radiant eye, upon the canvas dwell ; 
Still, magic finger, weave your potent spell ; 
And, while I sing the animated smiles 
Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, 
O, might the song awake some bright design, 
Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy 'ine. 
Proud were my soul, to see its humble thought 
On painting's mirror so divinely ca'.ight ; 
While wondering Genius, as he lean'd to trace 
The faint conception kindling into grace. 
Might love my numbers for the spark they 

threw. 
And bless the lay that lent a charm to you. 

Say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, stray'd 
To those pure isles of ever-blooming shade. 
Which bards of old, with kindly fancy, plac'd 
For happy spirits in th' Atlantic waste ? ^ 
There listening, while, from earth, each breeze 

that came 
Brought echoes of their own undying fame, 
In eloquence of eye, and dreams of song. 
They charm' d their lapse of nightless houis 

along : — 
Nor yet in song, that mortal ear might suit. 
For every spirit was itself a lute, 
Where Virtue waken' d, with elysian breeze, 
Pure tones of thought and mental harmonies. 

Believe me. Lady, when the zephyrs bland 
Floated our bark to this enchanted land, — 
These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown. 
Like studs of emerald o'er a silver zone, — 
Not all the charm, that ethnic fancy gave 
To blessed arbors o'er the western wave. 
Could wake a dream, more soothing or su- 
blime. 
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. 

Bright rose the morning, every wave was 
still, 
When the first perfume of a cedar hill 
Sweetly awak'd us, and, with smiling charms, 
The fairy harbor woo'd us to its arms.^ 



have no doubt, is the more correct ; but that of Sirabo is, in 
the present instance, most to my purpose. 

< Nothing can be more romantic than tlie little harbor of 
St. George's. The number of beautiful islets, the singular 
clearness of the water, and the animated play of the grace- 
ful little boats, gliding forever between the islands, and 
seeming to sail from one cedar grove into another, iormed 
altogether as lovely a miniature of nature's beauties as can 
well be imagined. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA, 



137 



Gently we stole, before the whispering wind, 
Through plaintain shades, that round, like awn- 
ings, twin'd, 
And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails, 
Breathing our welcome to these vernal vales ; 
While, far reflected o'er the wave serene, 
Each wooded island shed so soft a green 
That the enamour'd keel, with whispering play, 
Through liquid herbage seem'd to steal its way. 

Never did weary bark more gladly glide, 
Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide ! 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, 
Brighten'd the wave ; — in every myrtle grove 
Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love. 
Some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade; 
And, while the foliage interposing play'd, 
Lending the scene an ever-changing grace, 
Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace 
The flowery capital, the shaft, the porch,' 
And dream of temples, tiU her kindling torch 
Lighted me back to all the glorious days 
Of Attic genius ; and I seem'd to gaze 
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, 
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. 

Then thought I, too, of thee, most sweet of all 
The spu-it race that come at poet's call. 
Delicate Ariel ! who, in brighter hours, 
Liv'd on the perfume of these honeyed bowers, 
In velvet buds, at evening, lov'd to lie, 
And win with music everj- rose's sigh. 
Though weak the magic of my humble strain 
To charm your spirit from its orb again, 
Yet, O, for her, beneath whose smile I sing. 
For her (whose pencil, Lf your rainbow wing 
Were dimm'd or ruffled bj' a wintry sky, 
Could smooth its feather and relume its dye,) 

1 This is an illusion which, to the few who are fanciful 
I enough to indulge in it, renders the scenery of Bermuda 

particularly interesting. In the short but beautiful twilight 
of their spring evenings, the white cottages, scattered over 
the islands, and but partially seen through the trees that 
surround theui, assume aften the appearance of little Gre- 
cian temples ; and a vivid fancy may embellish the poor 
fisherman's hut with columns such as the pencil of a Claude 
might imitate. I had one favorite object of this kind in my 
walks, which the hospitality of its owner robbed me of, by 
asking me to visit him. He was a plain good man, and re- 
ceived me well and warmly, but I could never turn his house 
into a Grecian temple again. 

2 This gentleman is attached to the British consulate at 
Norfolk. His talents are worthy of a much higher sphere ; 
but the excellent dispositions of the family with whom he 
resides, and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some of 
the kindest hearts in the world, should be almost enough to 
atone to him for the worst caprices of fortune. The consul 

i 18 



Descend a moment from your starry sphere. 
And, if the lime-tree grove that once was dear, 
The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill. 
The sparkling grotto can delight you still, 
O cuU their choicest tints, their softest light. 
Weave all these speUs into one dream of 

night, 
And, while the lovely artist slumbering lies, 
Shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes ; 
Take for the task her own creative spells. 
And brightly show what song but faintly tells 



GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ. 

OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.* 
FKOM BEEMUDA, JAHUABY, 1804. 

Kcivri ^' tiviiiotaaa xai arponos, oia 5' dAiirA;)J, 
Aidoir/s KOI liaXXov eiriSpoiJius rienep Imrois, 
TlovTO) cvcarnpiKTai. 

Callimach. Hymn, in Del. v. 11. 

O, WHAT a sea of storm we've pass'd ! — 

High mountain waves and foamy showers, 
And battling winds whose savage blast 
But ill agrees with one whose hours 
Have passed in old Anacreon's bowers. 
Yet think not poesy's bright charm 
Forsook me in this rude alarm : ^ — 
When close they reef'd the timid sail. 

When, every plank complaining loud. 
We labor' d in the midnight gale, 

And ev'n our haughty mainmast bow'd. 
Even then, in that unlovely hour, 
The Muse still brought her soothing power. 
And, 'midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song's Elysium lapp'd my mind. 

himself, Colonel Hamilton, is one among the very few in- 
stances of a man, ardently loyal to his king, and yet beloved 
by the Americans. His house is the very temple of hospi- 
tality, and I sincerely pity the heart of that stranger, who, 
warm from the welcome of such a board, could sit down to 
write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a modem ph>- 
Insophist. See the Travels of the Duke ue la Roucheloucaiul 
Liancourt, vol. ii. 

3 We were seven days on our pnssage from Norfolk to 
Bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in 
a gale of wind. The Driver sloop of war, in which I went, 
was built at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excel- 
lent sea boat. She was then commanded by my very regiet- 
ted friend Captain Compton, who in July last was killed 
aboard the Lilly in an action with a French privateer. 
Poor Compton ! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of 
allowing such a miserable thing as the Lilly to remain in 
the service ; so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well- 
manned merchantman was at any time a match for her 



POEMS llELATING TO AMERICA. 



Nay, when no numbers of my own 
Responded to her wakening tone, 
She ojien'd, with her golden key, 

The casket where my memory lays. 
Those gems of classic poesy, 

Which time has sav'd from ancient days. 

Take one of these, to Lais sung, — 
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 
As one might write a dissertation 
Upon " Suspended Animation ! " 

Sweet ' is your kiss, my Lais dear. 
But, with that kiss I feel a tear 
Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
When those who've dearly lov'd must part. 
Sadly you lean your head to mine, 
And mute those arms around me twine. 
Your hair adown my bosom spread, 
All glittering with the tears you shed. 
In vain I've kissed those lids of snow, 
For still, like ceaseless founts they flow. 
Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet. 
AVhy is it thus ? do, tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais ! are my bodings right ? 
Am I to lose you r is to-night 

Our last go, false to heaven and me ! 

Your very tears are treachery. 



Such, wliile in air I floating hung, 

Such was the strain, Morgante mio ' 
The muse and I together sung, 

With Boreas to make out the trio. 
But, bless the little fairy isle ! 

How sweetly after all our ills, 
We saw the sunny morning smile 

Serenely o'er its fragrant hills ; 

1 This epigram is by Paul tlie Silentiary, and may be 
found in the Analecta of Biunck, vol. iii. p. 72. As the 
reading tliere is somewhat different from what I liave fol- 
lowed in this translation, [ shall give it as I had it in my 
memory at the time, and as it is in I^einsius, who, I believe, 
first produced the epigram. See his Poemata. 

'HJii /icv £(JTI (piXrijxa TO Aiii(5oj- (jju is avrav 

Hn-iofiii'ijraiv (Saxpu X'^'S P^cipapuii', 
Kill jToXv Kix^'^ovaa O'lSsi; cvSouTpvxov aiy\riv, 

'HjxCTCpa KifaXriv iripov cpcitraiicvr), 
Mvpujxcvrjv 6' cipiXncra- ra 6' cof Spoaepr/s otto rrnyiSt 

Atixpva piyvviiev(ov Tnnrs Kara cropaTUiV 
EiiTE (5' avetpoptvt'i, Ttms obvlKa SaKpva Atififij; 

AziSta jiri pe Xnrni' r.rjrc yup bpKairiiTai. 

2 The water is so clear around the island, that the rocks 
are seen beneath to a very great depth ; and, as we entered 
the harbor, they appeared to us so near the surface that it 
seemed impossible we should not strike on them. There is 
no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead ; and tlie negro 
Dilot, looking down at tlie rocks from the bow of the sliip, 



And felt the pure, delicious flow 
Of airs, that round this Eden blow 
Freshly as ev'n the gales that come 
O'er our own healthy hills at home 

Could you but view the scenery fair, 

That now beneath my window lies. 
You'd think, that nature lavish'd there 

Her purest wave, her softest skies. 
To make a heaven for love to siah in, 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 
Close to my wooded bank below. 

In glassy calm the waters sleep, 
And to the sunbeam proudly show 

The coral rocks they love to steep.* 
The fainting breeze of morning fails; 

The drowsy boat moves slowly past. 
And I can almost touch its sails 

A.s loose they flap around the mast. 
The noontide sun a splendor pours 
That lights up all these leafy shores ; 
While his own heav'n, its clouds and 
beams, 

So pictured in the waters lie, 
That each small bark, in passing, seems 

To float along a burning sky. 

O for the pinnace lent to thee,' 

Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright. 
Didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea 

And touch at all its isles of light. 
Sweet Venus, what a clime he found 
Within thy orb's ambrosial round ! * — 
There spring the breezes, rich and warm, 

That sigh around thy vesper car ; 
And angels dwell, so pure of form 

That each appears a living star.^ 

takes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and 
confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors. 

3 In Kircher's "Ecstatic Journey to Heaven," Cosmiel, 
the genius of the world, gives 'J heodidaitus a boat of as- 
bestos, with which he embarks into tlie regions cf the sun. 
" Vides (says Cosmiel) banc ashestinam naviciilaui ccra- 
moditati tus pr<Eparatam." — Ilinerar. I. Dial, i, cap. a 
This work of Kircher aliounds with strange fancies. 

1 When the Genius of the world and bis fellow traveller 
arrive at the planet Venus, they find an island of loveliness, 
full of odors and intelligences, where angels preside, who 
shed the cosmetic influence of this planet over the earth ; 
such being, according to astrologers, the "vis intluxiva" 
of Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a 
casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks, 
" Whether baptism may be performed with the waters of 
Venus.'" — "An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui 
possit ? " to which the Genius answers, " Certaiiilv." 

6 This idea is Father Kircher's. " Tot an(ni;iti;3 soie« 
dixisses." — Itiiicrar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



139 



These are the sprites, celestial queen ! 

Thou sendest nightly to the bed 
Of her I love, with touch unseen 

Thy planet's brightening tints to shed ; 
To lend that eye a light still clearer, 

To give that cheek one rose blush more, 
And bid that blushing lip be dearer. 

Which had been all too dear before. 

But, whither means the muse to roam .' 

'Tis time to call the wanderer home. 

Who could have thought the nymph would 

perch her 
Up in the clouds with Father Kircher ? 
So, health and love to all your mansion ! 

Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in, 
The flow of heart, the soul's expansion, 

Mirth and song, your board illumine. 
At all your feasts, remember too, 

When cups are sparkling to the brim, 
That here is one who drinks to you, 
And, O, as warmly drink to him. 



LINES, 

WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. 

That sky of clouds is not the sky 
To light a lover to the pillow 

Of her he loves — 
The swell of yonder foaming billow 
Resembles not the happy sigh 

That rapture moves. 

Yet do I feel more tranquil far 
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean. 

In this dark hour, 
That when, in passion's young emotion, 
I've stolen, beneath the evening star, 

To Julia's bower. 

O, there's a holy calm profound 

In awe like this, that ne'er was given 

To pleasure's thrill ; 
'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 
And the soul, listening to the sound. 

Lies mute and still. 

'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, 

Of slumbering with the dead to-morrow 

In the cold deep. 
Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow 
No more shall wake the heart or eye. 

But all must sleep. 



Well ! — there are some, thou stormy bed, 
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure ; 

O, most to him, 
Whose lip hath drain'd life's cup of pleasure^ 
Nor left one honey drop to shed 

Round sorrow's brim. 

Yes — he can smile serene at death : 

Kind heaven, do thou but chase the M'eeping 

Of friends who love him ; 
Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping 
Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath 

No more shall move him. 



ODES TO NEA; 

WRITTEN AT BERMUDA. 
NEA rvfavvu. Euripid. Medea, v. 9C7. 

Nay, tempt me not to love again, 

There was a time when love was sweet ; 
Dear Nea ! had I known thee then. 

Our souls had not been slow to meet. 
But, O, this weary heart hath run. 

So many a time, the rounds of pain. 
Not ev'n for thee, thou lovely one, 

Would I endure such pangs again. 

If there be climes, where never yet 
The print of beauty's foot was set, 
Where man may pass his loveless nights, 
XJnfever'd by her false delights. 
Thither my wounded soul would fly, 
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye 
Should bring no more their bliss, or pain, 
Nor fetter me to earth again. 
Dear absent girl ! whose eyes of light, 

Though little priz'd when all my own. 
Now float before me, soft and bright 

As when they first enamouring shone, — 
What hours and days have I seen glide. 
While fix'd, enchanted, by thy side, 
Unmindful of the fleeting day, 
I've let life's dream dissolve away. 
bloom of youth profusely shed ! 
O moments ! simply, vainly sped. 
Yet sweetly too — for Love perfum'd 
The flame which thus my life consura'd ; 
And brilliant was the chain of flowers, 
In which he led my victim hours. 

Say, Nea, say, couldst thou, like her, 
When warm to feel and quick to err. 



HO 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Of loving fond, of roving fonder, 

This thoughtless soul might wish to wander,- 

Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim. 

Endearing still, reproaching never, 
Till ev'n this heart should burn with shame, 

And be thy own more fix'd than ever ? 
No, no — on earth there's only one 

Could bind such faithless folly fast ; 
And sure on earth but one alone 

Could make such virtue false at last ! 

Nea, the heart which she forsook, 

For thee were but a worthless shrine — 
Go, lovely girl, that angel look 

Must thrill a soul rtiore pure than mine. 
O, thou shalt be all else to me. 

That heart can tell or tongue can feign ; 
I'll praise, admire, and worship thee, 

But must not, dare not, love again. 



Tale iter oinne ciive. 

Propert. lib. iv. eleg. 8. 

I PRAY you, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore. 

Where late we thoughtless stray'd ; 
'Twas not for us, whom heaven intends 
To be no more than simple friends. 

Such lonely walks were made. 

That little Bay, where turning in 
From ocean's rude and angry din, 

As lovers steal to bliss. 
The billows kiss the shore, and then 
Flow back into the deep again. 

As though they did not kiss. 

Remember, o'er its circling flood 

In what a dangerous dream we stood — 

The silent sea before us. 
Around us, all the gloom of grove, 
That ever lent its shade to love. 

No eye but heaven's o'er us ! 

I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, 
In vain would formal art dissemble 

All we then look'd and thought ; 
'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 
'Twas cv'ry thing that young hearts feel, 

By Love and Nature taught. 

I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, 
A shell that, on the golden sand, 
Before us faintly gleam' d ; 



I trembling rais'd it, and when you 
Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too — 
How sweet, how wrong it seem'd ! 

O, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour. 
The worst that e'er the tempter's power 

Could tangle me or you in ; 
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore, 

Such walks may be our ruin. 



You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 
And there alone should love be read ; 

You hear me say it all in sighs. 

And thus alone should love be said. 

Then dread no more ; I will not speak ; 

Although my heart to anguish thrill, 
I'll spare the burning of your cheek, 

And look it all in silence still. 

Heard you the wish I dar'd to name, 
To murmur on that luckless night, 

When passion broke the bonds of shame, 
And love grew madness in your sight? 

Divinely through the graceful dance. 
You seem'd to float in silent song. 

Bending to earth that sunny glance, 
As if to light your steps along. 

0, how could others dare to touch 
That hallow'd form with hand so free, 

When but to look was bliss too much, 
Too rare for all but Love and me ! 

With smiling eyes, that little thought 
How fatal were the beams they threw. 

My trembling hands you lightly caught, 
And round me, like a spirit, flew. 

Heedless of all, but you alone, — 

And you, at least, should not condemn, 

If, when such eyes before me shone. 
My soul forgot all eyes but them, - 

I dar'd to whisper passion's vow, — 

For love had ev'n of thought bereft me, - 

Nay, half way bent to kiss that brow, 
But, with a bound, you blushing left mo. 

Forget, forget that night's offence. 
Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ; 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



H] 



'Twas love, 'twas passion — soul and sense — 
'Twas all that's best and worst in man. 

That moment, did th' assembled eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness view, 

I should have seen, through earth and skies, 
But you alone — but only you. 

Did not a frown from you reprove, 
Myriads of eyes to me were none ; 

Enough for me to win your love, 
And die upon the spot, when won. 



A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. 

I JUST had turn'd the classic page. 

And trac'd that happy period over, 
When blest alike were youth and age. 
And love inspired the wisest sage. 

And wisdom graced the tenderest 1gv«>t. 

Before I laid me down to sleep, 
A while I from the lattice gaz'd 

TJjJon that still and moonlight deep. 
With isles like floating gardens rais'd, 

For Ariel there his sports to keep ; 

While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores 

The lone night fisher plied his oars. 

I felt, — so strongly fancy's power 
Came o'er me in that witching hour, — 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian sky, 
And I then breath' d the blissful air 

That late had thrill'd to Sappho's sigh. 

Thtis, waking, dreamt I, — and when Sleep 
Came o'er my sense, the dream went on ; 
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep. 

Hath ever lovelier vision shone. 
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd 
Through that serene, luxurious shade,' 
Where Epicurus taught the Loves 
To polish virtue's native brightness, — 



1 Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias men- 
tions, in his first book, were those of Epicurus ; and Stuart 
says, in his Antiquities of Alliens, " Near this convent (the 
convent of Hagios Asoraatos) is the place called at present 
Kepoi, or the Gardens ; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vine- 
yard Garden : these were probably the gardens which Pau- 
sanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2. 

t This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them a while 



As pearls, we're told, that fondling doves 

Have play'd with, wear a smoother white- 
ness.* 
'Twas one of those delicious nights 

So common in the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half its lights, 

And all is moonshine, balm, and peace. 
And thou wert there, my own belov'd, 
And by thy side I fondly rov'd 
Through many a temple's reverend gloom. 
And many a bower's seductive bloom, 
Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, 
And sages sigh'd and lovers thought ; 
Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern, 

But all was form'd to soothe or move. 
To make the dullest love to learn. 

To make the coldest learn to love. 

And now the fairy pathway seem'd 

To lead us through enchanted ground. 
Where all that bard has ever dream'd 

Of love or luxury bloom'd around. 
O, 'twas a bright, bewildering scene — 
Along the alley's deepening green 
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, 
And scented and illum'd the bowers, 
Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves 
Amid the lone Hercynian groves. 
Appear those countless birds of light. 
That sparkle in the leaves at night, 
And from their wings diffuse a ray 
Along the traveller's weary way.^ 
'Twas light of that mysterious kind, 

Through which the soul perchance may 
roam. 
When it has left this world behind, 

And gone to seek its heavenly home. 
And, Nea, thou wert by my side. 
Through all this heav'nward path my guide. 

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we rang'd 
That upward path, the vision chang'd ; 
And now, methought, we stole along 

Through halls of more voluptuous glory 
Than ever liv'd in Teian song. 

Or wanton'd in Milesian story.* 



to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Car 
danus, de Rerum Varietat. lib. vii. cap. .34. 

3 In Hercynio . Germanise saltu inusitata genera alitura 
accepimus, quarum pluniiB, ignium mode, colluceant nocti 
bus. — Plin. lib. x. cap. 47. 

* The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin u 
Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia. Aristides was the mosi 
celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Pluiarck 
(in Crasso), who calls them ar.oXaara flt/iXia. 



142 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And nymphs were there, whose very eyes 
Seem'd soften'd o'er with breath of sighs ; 
Whose ev'ry ringlet, as it wreath'd, 
A mute appeal to passion breath' d. 
Some flew, with amber cups, around, 

Pouring the flowery wines of Crete ; ' 
And, as they pass'd with youthful bound, 

The onyx shone beneath their feet.* 
While others, Avaving arms of snow 

Intwin'd by snakes of burnish'd gold,^ 
And showing charms, as loath to show, 

Through many a thin Tarentian fold,* 
Glided among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, in languor breathing. 
And the young bee grape,* round them wreath- 
ing, 
Hung on their blushes warm and meek. 
Like curls upon a rosy cheek. 

O, Nea ! why did morning break 

The spell that thus divinely bound me ? 

Why did I wake ? how could I wake 

With thee my own and heaven around me ! 



Well — peace to thy heart, though another's 

it be, 
And health to that cheek, though it bloom not 

for me ! 
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,' 
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves. 
And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet 
Their allurements forgive and their splendor 

forget. 

Farewell to Bermuda,^ and long may the bloom 
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; 

1 " Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenaeus rails 
iii'Of avQutsfnai, from their fragrancy resembling that of the 
■Iriest flowers." — Bamj on Wines, chap. vii. 

2 It appears that in very splendid mansions, the floor or 
prtvenient was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial : " Calca- 
tiisque tuo sub pede lucet onyx." Epig. 50, lib. xii. 

8 Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among 
llie women of antiquity. Oi i-KiKapinQi oipci; xai al xp)"^"^' 
ir:Jai OaiSa; koi Apiarayopai xai Aaijoj (fiappaKti. — Phi- 
I'straU Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the fipaxtoiat 
J,ja«oi/r£j. See his Amores, where he describes the dress- 
ing room of a Grecian lady, and we find the " silver vase," 
tlie rouge, the tooth powder, and all the " mystic order" of 
a modern toilet 

* TapavTiviSiov, Sia(pavcs cvSvjja, wvopacptvov airo Tr)i 
'VjipavTiviiin xpriacwi khi Tpx^4>^i. — Pollui. 

5 Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and " now called 
the Muscatell (a muscarum telis)," says PanciroUus, book i. 
sect. 1, chap. 17. 



May spring to eternity hallow the shade. 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller* has 

stray'd. 
And thou — when, at dawn, thou shalt happen 

to roam 
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy 

home. 
Where oft, when the dance and the revel were 

done. 
And the stars were beginning to fade in the 

sun, 
I have led thee along, and have told by the 

•way 
What my heart all the night had been burning 

to say — 
O, think of the past — give a sigh to those times, 
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes. 



If I were yonder wave, my dear, 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 

I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bliss, my fairy ground. 

If I were yonder couch of gold. 

And thou the pearl within it plac'd, 

I would not let an eye behold 

The sacred gem my arms embrac'd. 

If I were yonder orange tree. 

And thou the blossom blooming there, 

I would not yield a breath of thee 
To scent the most imploring air. 

O, bend not o'er the water's brink. 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, 

Nor let its burning mirror drink 
The soft reflection of thine eye. 

6 I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the 
West Indies. 

V The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written 
Bermooda. See the commentators on the words " still-vex'd 
Bermoothes," in the Tempest. — I wonder it did not occur to 
some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the dis- 
coverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have 
been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez. 
who, about the same period (the beginning of tlie sixteenth 
century), was sent Patriarch of the Latin church to Ethio- 
pia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons 
and the Griffins which he encountered. — Travels of the 
Jesuits, vol. i. I am afraid, however, it would take the Pa- 
triarch rather too much out of liis way. 

8 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Ber- 
muda; but the" Account of the European settlements in 
America " affirms it confidently. (Vol. ii.) I mention this 
work, however, less for its authority than for the pleasure I 
feel in quoting an unacknowledged production of the great 
Edmund Burke 



POEMS RELATING TO A^IERICA. 



That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, 
So pictur'd in the waters seem, 

That I could gladly plunge to seek 
Thy image in the glassy stream. 



Blest fate ! at once my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that stream might be ; 

I'll wed thee in its mimic wave, 
And die upon the shade of thee. 

Behold the leafy mangrove, bending 
O'er the waters blue and bright, 

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes of light. 

O, my belov'd ! where'er I turn, 
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes ; 

In every star thy glances burn ; 
Thy blush on every flow'ret lies. 

Nor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare. 

Sweet to the sense, or pure to thought, 
But thou art found reflected there. 



THE SNOW SPIRIT. 

No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep 

An island of lovelier charms ; 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, 

Like Hebe in Hercules' arms. 
The blush of your bowers is light to the eye, 

And their melody balm to the ear ; 
But the fiery planet of day is too nigh. 

And the Snow Spirit never comes here. 

The down from his wing is as white as the pearl 

That shines through thy lips when they part. 
And it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl, 

As a murmur of thine on the heart. 
O, fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, 

As he cradles the birth of the year ; 
Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath. 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

How sweet to behold him, when borne on the 
gale. 

And brightening the bosom of morn, 
He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil 

O'er the brow of each virginal thorn. 

1 The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West 
indies. 
» The Agave. 1 his, I am aware, is an erroneous notion, 



Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts 

Is the veil of a vestal severe : 
No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it lasts, 

Should the Snow Spirit ever come here. 

But fly to his region — lay open thy /one, 

And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim. 
To think that a bosom, as white as his own, 

Shovild not molt in the daybeam like him. 
O, lovely the print of those delicate feet 

O'er his luminous path will appear — 
Fly, my beloved ! this island is sweet, 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 



Evravda Sc KadoifiitiaTai t]jxiv. kui b, ri /isv ovnfia rv 
priaio, oiiK oiSa- XP'""'! ^' "" "POi Y^ cnov ovOjia^OirO 
Philostrat. Icon. 17, lib. ii. 

I STOLE along the flowery bank. 
While many a bending scagrape ' drank 
The sprinkle of the feathery oar 
That wing'd me round this fairy shore. 

'Twas noon : and every orange bud 
Hung langirid o'er the crystal flood. 
Faint as the lids of maiden's eyes 
When love thoughts in her bosom rise. 
O, for a naiad's sparry bower. 
To shade me in that glowing hour ! 

A little dove, of milky hue. 
Before me from a plantain flew. 
And light along the water's brim, 
I steer' d my gentle bark by him ; 
For fancy told me, Love had sent 
This gentle bird with kind intent 
To lead my steps where I should meet — 
I knew not what, but something sweet. 

And — bless the little pilot dove ! 
He had indeed been sent by Love, 
To guide me to a scene so dear 
As fate allows but seldom here ; 
One of those rare and brilliant hours. 
That, like the aloe's^ lingering flowers, 
May blossom to the eye of man 
But once in all his weary span. 

Just where the margin's opening shade 
A vista from the waters made, 

but it is quite true enough for poetry. Plato, I think, allows 
Q poet to be " three removes from truth ; " r/jtraroj airo rtn 



U4 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



My bird repos'd his silver plume 

Upon a rich banana's bloom. 

O vision bright ! O spirit fair ! 

What spell, what magic rais'd her there ? 

'Twas Nea ! slumbering calm and mild, 

And bloomy as the dimpled child, 

V/hose spirit in elj-sium keeps 

Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. 

The broad banana's green embrace 
Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace ; 
One little beam alone could win 
The leaves to let it wander in, 
And, stealing over all her charms, 
From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, 
New lustre to each beauty lent, — 
Itself aU trembling as it went ! 

Dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe 
Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge 
Mix'd with its shade, like evening's light 
Just touching on the verge of night. 
Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, 
Soem'd glowing through the ivory lid. 
And, as I thought, a lustre threw 
Upon her lip's reflecting dew, — 
Such as a night lamp, left to shine 
Alone on some secluded shrine, 
May shed upon the votive AVTeath, 
Which pious hands have hung beneath. 

Was ever vision half so sweet ! 
Think, think how quick my heart pulse beat, 
As o'er the rustling bank I stole ; — 
O, ye, that know the lover's soul, 
It is for you alone to guess. 
That moment's trembling happiness. 



A STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE. 

Behold, my love, the curious gem 
Within this simple ring of gold ; 

'Tis hallow'd by the touch of them 
Who liv'd in classic hours of old. 

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps. 
Upon her hand this gem display'd. 

Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse 
Should see it grace a lovelier maid. 



1 Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and Psyche at 
Florence, in which the position of Psyche's hand is finely 
and delicately expressive of affection. See the Museum 



Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! 

The more we gaze, it charms the more • 
Come — closer bring that cheek to mine. 

And trace with me its beauties o'er. 

Thou seest, it is a simple youth 

By some enamour'd nymph embrac'd 

Look, as she leans, and say in sooth 
Is not that hand most fondly plac'dl 

Upon his curled head behind 

It seems in careless play to lie,* 
Yet presses gently, half inclin'd 

To bring the truant's lip more nigk 

O happy maid ! too happy boy ! 

The one so fond and little loath. 
The other yielding slow to joy — 

rare, indeed, but blissful both. 

Imagine, love, that I am he, 

And just as warm as he is chilling , 

Imagine, too, that thou art she, 
But quite as coy as she is willing : 

So may we try the graceful way 

In which their gentle arms are twin'd, 

And thus, like her, my hand I lay 
Upon thy wreathed locks behind : 

And thus I feel thee breathing sweet. 
As slow to mine thy head I move ; 

And thus our lips together meet, 

And thus, — and thus, — I kiss thee, love. 



\i6avuT0) ciKaaev, bri airoS^viievov £v(f>l>aivst. 

Abistot. Rhetor, lib. iii. cap. 4. 

There's not a look, a word of thine. 

My soul hath e'er forgot ; 
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, 
Nor giv'n thy locks one graceful twine 

Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 

From that beguiling tongue. 
Which did not, with a lingering spell. 
Upon my charmed senses dwell. 

Like songs from Eden sung. 



Florentiniim, torn. ii. tab. 43, 44. There are few subjects or. 
which poetry could be more interestingly employed than lit 
illustrating some of these ancient statues and gems. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Ah ! that I could, at once, forget 

All, all that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witching girl, — and yet, 
To die were sweeter than to let 
The lov'd remembrance go. 

No ; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
O let it die, remembering thee, 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consum'd in sweets away. 



JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 

FROM BERMUDA.' 

"The daylight is gone — but before we depart, 
" One cup shall go round to the friend of my 

heart, 
"The kindest, the dearest — O, judge by the 

tear 
" I now shed while I name him, how kind and 

how dear." 

'Twas thus in the shade of the Calabash Tree, 
With a few, who could feel and remember like 

me, 
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw 
Was a sigh to the past and a blessing on you. 



1 Pinkerton has said that " a good history and description 
of the Bermudas might afford a pleasing addition to the ge 
ographical library ;" but there certainly are not materials for 
such a work. The island, since the time of its discovery, 
has experienced so very few vicissitudes, the people have 
been so indolent, and their trade so limited, that there is but 
little which the historian could amplify into importance ; 
and, with respect to the natural productions of the country, 
the few which the inhabitants can be induced to cultivate 
are so common in the West Indies, that they have been de- 
scribed by every naturalist who has written any account of 
those islands. 

It is often asserted by the transatlantic politicians that this 
little colony deserves more attention from the mother coun- 
try than it receives, and it certainly possesses advantages of 
situation, to which we sliould not be long insensible, if it 
were once in the hands of an enemy. I was told by a cele- 
brated friend of Washington, at New York, tliat they had 
formed a plan for its capture towards the conclusion of the 
American War ; " with the intention (as he expressed him- 
self) of making it a nest of hornets for the annoyance of 
British trade in that part of the world." And there is no 
doubt it lies so conveniently in the track to the West Indies, 
that an enemy might with ease convert it into a very harass- 
ing impediment. 

The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at Bermuda, 

where American savages might be converted and educated, 

19 



0, say is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, 
When friends are assembled, when wit, in full 

flower, 
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bacchus's dew. 
In blossoms of thought, ever springing and 

new — 
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the 

brim 
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him 
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair. 
And woxild pine in elysium, if friends were not 

there ! 

Last night, when we came from the Calabash 

Tree, 
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was 

free. 
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day 
Set the magical springs of mj- fancy in play, 
And O, — such a vision as hatmted me then 
I would slumber for ages to witness again. 
The many I like, and the few I adore, 
The friends who were dear and beloved before, 
But never till now so beloved and dear. 
At the call of my Fancy, surrounded me here ; 
And soon, — O, at once, did the light of their 

smiles 
To a paradise brighten this region of isles ; 
More lucid the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd, 
And brighter the rose, as they gather' d it, 
» glow'd. 



though concurred in by the government of the day, was a 
wild and useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was gov- 
ernor of the island some years since, proposed, if I mistake 
not, the establishment of a marine academy for the instruc- 
tion of those children of West Indians, who might be intend- 
ed for any nautical employment. This was a more rational 
idea, and for something of this nature the island is admira- 
bly calculated. But the plan should be much more exten- 
sive, and embrace a general system of education ; whicli 
would relieve the colonists from the alternative to which 
they are reduced at present, of either sending their sons to 
England for instruction, or intrusting them to colleges in tlie 
states of America, where ideas, by no means favorable to 
Great Britain, are very sedulously inculcated. 

The women of Bermuda, though not generally handsome, 
have an affectionate languor in their look and manner, 
which is always interesting. What the French imply by 
their epithet aimante seems very much the character of the 
young Bermudian girls — that predisposition to loving, which, 
without being awakened by any particular object, diffuses 
itself through the general manner in a tone of tenderness 
that never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, I con- 
fess, are not very civilized ; and the old philosopher, who 
imagined that, after this life, men would be changed into 
mules, and women into turtle doves, would find tiio meta- 
morphosis in some degree anticipated at Bermuda. 



'A'3 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA, 



N'ot the valleys Hersean (though water' d by- 
rills 

Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,' 

Where the Song of the Shepherd, primeval and 
wild, 

Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical 
child,) 

Could boast such a lustre o'er land and o'er 
wave 

.\s the magic of love to this paradise gave. 

O -.nagic of love ! unembellish'd by you. 
Hath the garden a blush or the landscape a hue ? 
Or shines there a vista in nature or art, 
T ilce that which Love opes through the eye to 
the heart ? 

Alas, that a vision so happy should fade ! 
That, when morning around me in brilliancy 

play'd. 
The rose and the stream I had thought of at 

night 
Should still be before me, unfadingly bright ; 
While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over 

the stream, 
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream. 

But look, where, all ready, in sailing array, 
The bark that's to carry these pages away,* 
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind. 
And will soon leave these islets of Ariel behin'd. 
"What billows, what gales is she fated to prove. 
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I 

love ! 
Yet pleasant the swell of the billows would be. 
And the roar of those gales would be music to 

me. 
Not the tranquiUest air that the winds ever 

blew, 
Not the sunniest tears of the summer eve dew, 
^yere as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the 

foam 
Of the surge, that would hurry your wanderer 

home. 



1 Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, the first in- 
ventor of bucolic poetrj', was nursed by tlie nymphs. See 
the lively description of these mountains in Diudorus Sicu- 
lus, lib. iv. 'H^oia yap opu Kara rriv Y,iKi\iav eariv, a 
[baci K(i\\ct, K> r. ^. 

2 A ship, ready to sail for England. 

3 I left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of April, 
in company with the Cambrian and Leander, aboard the 
latter of which was the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who 
divides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, and is the 
very soul of society and good fellowship to both. We sep- 



THE STEERSMAN'S SONG, 

WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 
28tk APRIL.^ 

"When freshly blows the northern gale. 

And under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when light breezes swell the sail. 

And royals proudly sweep the sky ; 
'Longside the wheel, unwearied still 

I stand, and, as my watchful eye 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I think of her I love, and cry. 

Port, my boy ! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 

Right from the point we wish to steer ; 
When by the wind close haul'd we go, 

And strive in vain the port to near ; 
I think 'tis thus the fates defer 

My bliss with one that's far away. 
And while remembrance springs to her, 

I watch the sails and sighing say. 

Thus, my boy! thus. 

But see the wind draws kindly aft, 

AU hands are up the yards to square, 
And now the floating stu'n sails waft 

Our stately ship through waves and air. 
O, then I think that yet for me 

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee — 

And in that hope I smiling sing. 

Steady, boy ! so. 



TO 

THE FIREFLY.* 

At morning, when the earth and sky 
Are glowing with the light of spring, 

We see thee not, thou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing. 



arated in a few days, and the Boston after a short cruise 
proceeded to New York. 

* The lively and varj'ing illumination, with which thesp 
fireflies light up the woods at night, gives qviite an idea of 
enchantment. " Puis ces mouches se develloppant de I'ob- 
scurite de ces arbres et s'approchant de nous, nous les voy- 
ious sur les orangers voisins, qu'ils mettoient tout en feu, 
nous rendant la vue de leurs beaux fruits dores que la nuit 
avoit ravie," &c. &c — See L'Histoire des Antillrs, art. 2, 
chap. 4, liv. i. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



147 



But when the skies have lost their hue, 
And sunny lights no longer play, 

O then we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o'er the dreary way. 

Thus let me hope, when lost to me 
The lights that new my life illume. 

Some milder joys may come, like thee. 
To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom ! 



THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

If former times had never left a trace 
Of human frailty in their onward race, 
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran. 
One dark memorial of the crimes of man ; 
If every age, in new unconscious prime. 
Rose, like a phoenix, from the fires of time. 
To wing its way unguided and alone. 
The future smiling and the past unknown ; 
Then ardent man would to himself be new. 
Earth at his foot and heaven within his view : 
Well might the novice hope, the sanguine 

scheme 
Of full perfection prompt his daring dream. 
Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore, 
Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much be- 
fore. 
But, tracing as we do, through age and clime. 
The plans of virtue 'midst the deeds of crime. 
The thinking follies and the reasoning rage 
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage ; 
When still we see, through every varying frame 
Of arts and polity, his .jourse the same. 
And know that ancient fools but died, to make 
A space on earth for modern fools to take ; 
'Tis strange, how quickly we the past forget ; 
That Wisdom's self should not be tutor'd yet, 
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth 
Of pure perfection 'midst the sons of earth ! 

O, nothing but that soul which God has 
given, 
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven ; 
O'er dross without to shed the light within. 
And dream of virtue while we see but sin. 

1 Thus Morse. " Here the sciences and the arts of civ- 
ilized life are to receive their highest improvements: here 
civil and religious liberty are to flourish, unchecked by the 
cruel hand of civil or ecclesiastical tyranny : here genius, 



beside the proud Potowmac'3 



Even here, 

stream, 
Might sages still pursue the flattering theme 
Of days to come, when man shall conquer fate, 
Rise o'er the level of his mortal state, 
Belie the monuments of frailt)' past, 
And plant perfection in this world at last ! 
" Here," might they say, " shall power's divided 

reign 
" Evince that patriots have not bled in vain. 
" Here godlike liberty's herculean youth, 
*' Cradled in peace, and nurtur'd up by truth 
" To full maturity of nerve and mind, 
" Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind.' 
" Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught 
" In form no more from cups of state be quafF'd, 
" But flow for all, through, nation, rank, and sect, 
" Free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflect. 
" Around the columns of the public shrine 
" Shall growing arts their gradual wreath in- 

twine, 
" Nor breathe corruption from the flowering 

braid, 
"Nor mine that fabric which they bloom to 

shade. 
•' No longer here shall Justice bound her vic.vc, 
" Or wrong the many, while she rights the few ; 
"But take her range through all the social 

frame, 
" Pure and pervading as that vital flame 
" Which warms at once our best and meanest 

part, 
" And thrills a hair while it expands a heart ! " 

golden dream ! what soul tiiat loves to 

scan 
The bright disk rather than the dark of man. 
That owns the good, while smarting with the ill, 
And loves the world with all its frailty still, — 
What ardent bosom does not spring to meet 
The generous hope, with aU that heavenly 

heat. 
Which makes the soul unwilling to resign 
The thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine ! 
Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow to think 
The chain of ages yet may boast a link 
Of purer texture than the world has known. 
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throne. 

But, is it thus ? doth even the glorious dieam 
Borrow from truth that dim, uncertain gleam, 

aided by all the improvements of former ages, is to be ex- 
erted in humanizing mankind. In expanding and enriching 
their nirnds with religious and philosophical knowledge." 
&.C. &c. — P. 569. 



148 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Which tempts us stiU to give such fancies 

scope, 
As shock not reason, while they nourish hope ? 
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so — ev'n now, 
\Vhile yet upon Columbia's rising brow 
The showy smile of young presumption plays, 
Her bloom is poison' d and her heart decays. 
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath 
Burns with the taint of empires near their 

death ; 
And, like the njTnphs of her own withering 

clime, 
She's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime.^ 

Already has the child of Gallia's school 
The foul Philosophy that sins bj' rule. 
With all her train of reasoning, damning arts. 
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless hearts. 
Like things that quicken after Nilus' flood, 
The venom' d birth of sunshme and of mud, — 
Already has she pour'd her poison here 
O'er every charm that makes existence dear ; 
Already blighted, with, her blackening trace, 
The opening bloom of every social grace, 
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot 
Round virtue's stem, the flow'rets of her fruit. 

And, were these errors but the wanton tide 
Of young luxuriance or unchasten'd pride ; 
The fervid follies and the faults of such 
As wrongly feel, because they feel too much ; 
Then might experience make the fever less. 
Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess. 
But no ; 'tis heartless, speculative ill. 
All youth's transgression with all age's chill ; 
The apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 

Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, 
And latest foUy of man's sinking age, 

1 " What will be the old age of this government, if it is 
thus early decrepit ! " Such was the remark of Fauchet, 
the French minister at Philadelphia, in that famous de- 
Bpatch to his government, which was mtercepted by one of 
tur cruisers in the year 1794. This curious memorial may 
be found in Porcupine's Works, vol. i. p. 279. It remains a 
sinkmg monument of republican intrigue on one side and 
republican profligacy on the other; and 1 would recommend 
the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labor 
under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity of 
American patriotism. 

2 " Nous voyons que, dans lea pays oil I'on n'est affect^ 
que de I'esprit de commerce, on trafique de toutes les ac- 
tions humaines et de toutes les vertus morales." — Mon- 
tesqmeu, de I'Esprit des Lois, liv. xx. chap. 9. 

8 I trust 1 shall not be suspected of a wish to justify those 
arbitrary f'«p3 of the English government which the colo- 



Which, rarely venturing in the van of life, 
"While nobler passions wage their heated strifei 
Comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear. 
And dies, collecting lumber in the rear, — 
Long has it palsied every grasping hand 
And greedy spirit through this bartering land ; 
Tum'd life to traffic, set the demon gold 
So loose abroad that virtue's self is sold. 
And conscience, truth, and honesty are made 
To rise and fall, like other wares of trade." 

Already in this free, this virtuous state. 
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain' d by 

fate, 
To show the world, what high perfection springs 
From rabble senators, and merchant kings, — 
Even here already patriots learn to steal 
Their private perquisites from public weal. 
And, guardians of the country's sacred fire. 
Like Afric's priests, let out the flame for hire. 
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose 
From England's debtors to be England's foes,' 
W^ho could their monarch in their purse forget, 
And break allegiance, but to cancel debt,* 
Have prov'd at length, the mineral's tempting 

hue, 
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him too.* 
O, Freedom, Freedom, how I hate thy cant ! 
Not Eastern bombast, not the savage rant 
Of purpled madmen, were they number'd all. 
From Roman Nero down to Russian Paul, 
Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, 
As the rank jargon of that factious race. 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal of words, 
Form'd to be slaves, yet struggling to be lords, 
Strut forth, as patriots, from their negro marts, 
And shout for rights, with rapine in their hearts. 

Who can, with patience, for a moment see 
The medley mass of pride and misery. 



nies found it so necessary to resist ; my only object here to 
to expose the selfish motives of some of the leading Ameri- 
can demagogues. 

< The most persevering enemy to the interests of this 
country, amongst the politicians of the western world, has 
been a Virginian merchant, who, finding it easier to settle 
his conscience than his debts, was one of the first to raise 
the standard against Great Britain, and has ever since en- 
deavored to revenge upon the whole country the obligations 
which he lies under to a few of its merchants. 

6 See Porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania Insurrec- 
tion in 1794. In short, see Porcupine's works throughout, 
for ample corroboration of every sentiment which I have 
ventured to express. In saying this, I refer less, to tlie com 
ments of that writer than to the occurrences wl:ich he h.x* 
related and the documents which he has pie.=erved. Opir 
Ion may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for themselveM 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



149 



Of whips and charters, manacles and rights, 

Of slaving blacks and democratic whites,' 

And all the piebald polity that reigns 

In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains? 

To think that man, thou just and gentle God ! 

Should stand before thee with a tyrant's rod 

O'er creatures like himself, with souls from thee, 

Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty ; 

Away, away — I'd rather hold my neck 

By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck, 

In climes, where liberty has scarce been nam'd, 

Nor any right but that of ruling claim'd. 

Than thus to live, where bastard Freedom waves 

Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves ; 

Where — motley laws admitting no degree 

Betwixt the vilely slav'd and madly free — 

Alike the bondage and the license suit 

The brute made ruler and the man made brute. 

But, while I thus, my friend, in flowerless song, 
So feebly paint, what yet I feel so strong. 
The ills, the vices of the land, where first 
Those rebel fiends, that rack the world, were 

nurs'd, 
Where treason's arm by royalty was nervd, 
And Frenchmen learn'd to crush the throne 

thcj' serv'd — 
Thou, calmly lull'd in dreams of classic thought, 
By bards illumin'd and by sages taught, 
Pant'st to be all, upon this mortal scene, 
That bard hath fancied or that sage hath been. 
Why should I wake thee ? why severely chase 
The lovely forms of virtue and of grace. 
That dwell before thee, like the pictures spread 
By Spartan matrons round the genial bed, 
Moulding thy fancy, and with gradual art 
Brightening the young conceptions of thy heart. 

Forgive me, Forbes — and should the song 
destroy 
One generous hope, one throb of social joy, 

1 fn Virginia the effects of this system begin to bo felt 
rather seriously. VVliile the master raves of liberty, the 
Bliive cannot but catch the contagion, and accordingly tliere 
Beldoin elapses a month without some alarm of insurrection 
amongst the negroes. The accession of Louisiana, it is 
feared, will increase this embarrassment ; as the numerous 
emigrations, which are expected to take place, from the 
Eouthern states to this newly-acquired territory, will con- 
fiderably diminish the white population, and thus strength- 
en the proportion of negroes, to a degree which must ultl- 
ni.itely lie ruinous. 

2 The "black Aspasia" of the present ********* 
of the United States, inter Avernales hand ignotissima nym- 
pha«, has given rise to much pleasantry among the anti- 
democrat wits in Ami^rica. 

* " On tlie original location of the ground now allotted 



One high pulsation of the zeal for man. 
Which few can feel, and bless that few who 

can, — 
O, turn to him, beneath whose kindred eyes 
Thy talents open and thy virtues rise. 
Forget where nature has been dark or dim. 
And proudly study all her lights in him. 
Yes, yes, in him the erring world forget. 
And feel that man may reach perfection yet. 



THOMAS HUME, ESQ. M. D. 

FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 

Atvyriaoiiai ^inynitara tauti aviara. Konuva uiv nt-rtovQa 
OIK txw. — Xenophont. Epkes. Ephesiac. lib. v. 

'Tis evening now ; beneath the western star 
Soft sighs the lover through his sweet cigar. 
And fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy. 
The patriot, fresh from Freedom's councils come. 
Now pleas'd retires to lash his slaves at home ; 
Or woo, perhaps, some black Aspasia's charms, 
And dream of freedom in his bondmaid's arms.' 

In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom, 
Come, let me lead thee o'er this "second 

Rome ! " ^ 
Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow. 
And what was Goose Creek once is Tiber now : ■• — 
This embryo capital, where Fancy sees 
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ; 
Which second-sighted seers, ev'n now, adorn 
With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn. 
Though nought but woods* and J n they 

see, 
Where streets should run and sages ou(;7it to be. 

for the seat of the Federal City (says Mr. Weld) the identi- 
cal spot on which the capitol now stands was called Rome. 
This anecdote is related by many as a certain prognostic of 
the futiife magnificence of the city, which is to be, as it 
were, a second Rome." — fVeld'.i Travels, letter iv. 

* A little stream runs through the city, which, with in- 
tolerable affectation, they have styled the Tiber. It wan 
originally called Goose Creek. 

6 " To be under the necessity of going througli a deep 
wood for one or two miles, perhaps, in order to see a next 
door neighbor, and in the same city, is a curious and, I 
believe, a novel circumstance." — Wi-Id, letter iv. 

The Federal City (if it must be called a city) has not been 
much increased since Mr. Weld visited =t. Most of the pub- 
lic buildings, which were then in some degree of forward- 
ness, have been since utterly suspended. The hotel is al 



150 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And look, how calmly in yon radiant wave, 
The dying sun prepares his golden grave. 
miglity river ! O ye banks of shade ! 
Ye matchless scenes, in nature's morning made, 
While still, in all th' exuberance of prime, 
She pour'd her wonders, lavishly sublime, 
Kor yet had learn'd to stoop, with humbler care. 
From grand to soft, from wonderful to fair ; — 
Say. were your towering hills, your boundless 

floods. 
Your rich savannas and majestic woods. 
Where bards should meditate and heroes rove. 
And woman charm, and man deserve her love, — 
O say, was world so bright, but born to grace 
Its own half-organized, half-minded race ' 
Of weak barbarians, swarming o'er its breast, 
Like vermin gender'd on the lion's crest ? 
Were none but brutes to call that soil their home, 
Where none but demigods should dare to roam ? 
Or, worse, thou wondrous world ! O, doubly 

worse. 
Did heaven design thy lordly land to nurse 
The motley dregs of every distant clime. 
Each blast of anarchy and taint of crime 
Which Europe shakes from her perturbed sphere. 
In full malignity to rankle here ? 

But hold, — observe j'on little mount of pines. 
Where the breeze murmurs and the firefly shiires. 
There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief. 
The sculptur'd image of that veteran chief* 
Who lost the rebel's in the hero's name, 
And climb'd o'er prostrate loyalty to fame ; 
Beneath whose sword Columbia's patriot train 
Cast oft' their monarch, that their mob might 



How shall we rank thee upon glory's page ? 
Thou more than soldier and just less than sage ! 
Of peace too fond to act the conqueror's part. 
Too long in camps to learn a statesman's art, 

ready a ruin ; a great part of its rciof has fallen in, and the 
rooms are left to he ocnipied j;ratiiit()ii>ly hy the iniserahle 
Scolrh and Irish enii^rants. The President's house, a very 
nohle stnicture. Is hy no means suited to the philosophical 
Ininiilily of its present possessor, who inhahits hut a corner 
of the mansion himself, anil abandons the rest to a state of 
uncleanly desolation, wlich those who are not philosophers 
cannot look at without regret. This lirand edifice is encir- 
cled hy a very rude paling, through which a common rustic 
gtile introduces the visitors of the first man in America. 
With rtspect to all that is within the house, I shall imitate 
the prudent forhearance of Herodotus, and say, ra (?■: sv 
inriippnroi. 

The private buildings exh bit the same characteristic dis- 
play of arrosant speculation »nd premature ruin ; and the 
I'ew ranges of houses which weie begun some years ago 



Nature design'd thee for a hero's mould. 
But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow cold. 

While loftier souls command, nay, make theli 

fate, 
Thy fate made thee and forc'd thee to be great 
Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds 
Her brightest halo round the weakest heads, 
Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before, 
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more , 
Less mov'd by glory's than by duty's claim. 
Renown the meed, but self-applause the aim ; 
All that thou wert reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less, than all thou didst forbear to be. 
Nor yet the patriot of one land alone, — 
For, thine's a name all nations claim their ovni ; 
And every shore, where breath'd the good and 

brave, 
Echo'd the plaudits thy own country gave. 

Now look, my friend, where faint the moon- 
light falls 
On yonder dome, and, in those princelj' halls, — 
If thou canst hate, as sure that soul must hate, 
Which loves the virtuous, and reveres the 

great, — 
If thou canst loathe and execrate with me 
The poisonous drug of French philosophy. 
That nauseous slaver of these frantic times, 
With which false liberty dilutes her crimes, — 
If thou hast got, withiii thy free-born breast. 
One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest, 
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul. 
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's con- 

trol. 
Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god, 
There, in those walls — but, burning tongue, 

forbear ! 
Rank must be reverenc'd, even the rank that's 
there : 

have remained so long waste ami unfinished that they are 
now for the most part dilapidated. 

1 The picture which Butfon and De Pauw have drawn ot 
the American Indian, though very humiliating, is, as far as 
I can judge, much more correct than the flattering repre- 
sentations which Mr. Jefferson has given us. See the Notes 
on Virginia, where this gentleman endeavors to disprove in 
general the opinion maintained so strongly by some philo- 
so[)hers tliat nature (as Mr. Ji-fTerson expresses it) bdilihs 
her productions in the western world. M. de Paiiw attrib- 
utes the imperfection of animal life in America to the rava 
ges of a very recent deluge, from whose effects upon its soil 
and atmosphere it has not yet sutliciently recovered. — iJe- 
cherches sur lex Ameri ains, part i. torn. i. p. )02. 

2 On a small hill near the capitol there is to be an eqiie* 
triun statue of General Washington. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



So here I pause — and now, dear Hume, we 

part : 
But oft again, in frank exchange of heart. 
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear, 
By Thames at home, or by Potowmac here. 
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through 

fogs, 
'Midst bears and yankees, democrats and frogs. 
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes 
With me shall wonder, and with me despise.' 
While I, as oft, in fancy's dream shall rove, 
With thee conversing, through that land I 

love. 
Where, like the air that fans her fields of green. 
Her freedom spreads, unfever'd and serene ; 
And sovereign man can condescend to see 
The throne and laws more sovereign still than he. 



LINES 

WKITTEN ON LEAVING PH:LA.DELPHIA.. 

TnfSe Trjv KoXiv ^iXwj 

Einojv CTTa^ia yap. 

SopHocL. CEdip. Colon, v. 758. 

Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd. 
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye ; 

But far, very far were the friends that he lov'd. 
And he gaz'd on its flowery banks with a sigh. 

O Nature, though blessed and bright are thy 
rays. 

O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown. 
Yet faint are they all to the luistre that plays 

In a smile from the heart that is fondly our 



Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain 
Un blest by the smile he had languish' d to 
meet ; 
Though scarce did he hope it would soothe him 
again, 
Till the threshold of home had been press'd 
by his feet. 

1 In the ferment which the French revohition excited 
among the democrats of America, and tlie licentious sym- 
pathy with which they shared in the wildest excesses of 
jacobinism, we may find one source of tliat vulgarity of 
vice, that hostility to all the graces o( life, which distin- 
guishes the present demagogues of tlie United States, and 
has liecome uideed tao generally the characteristic of their 
countrymen. Bn< there is another cause of the corruption 
«f private morals, which, encouraged as it is by the govern- 
ment, and identified with the inleresCs of the community, 
Beeins to threaten tlie decay of aJl honest priiici(le in Amer- 



But the lays of his boyhood had stol'n to their 
ear. 
And they lov'd what they knew of so humble 
a name ; 
And they told liim, with flattery welcome and 
dear, 
That they found in his heart something better 
than fame. 

Nor did woman — O woman ! whose form and 
whose soul 
Are the spell and the light of each path we 
pursue ; 
Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the 
pole, 
If woman be there, there is happiness too : — 

Nor did she her enamouring magic deny, — 
That magic his heart had relinquish' d so 
long, — 

Like eyes he had lov'd was her eloquent eye, 
Like them did it soften and weep at his song. 

O, blest be the tear, and in memory oft 

May its sparkle be shed o'er the wanderer's 
dream ; 

Thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam ! 

The stranger is gone — but he will not forget, 
When at home he shall talk of the toils he 
has known. 
To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, 
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill 
alone. 



LINES 

WRITTEN AT THE C0H08, OU FALLS OF THE 
MOHAWK KIVER.'' 

Gia era in loco ove s' udia '1 rimbombo 

Dell' acqua . D imte 

From rise of morn till set of sun 
I've seen the mighty Mohawk run ; 

ica. I allude to those fraudulent violations of nentraljly to 
which they are indebted for the most lucrative part of their 
commerce, and by which they have so long infringed and 
counteracted the maritime rights and advantages of this 
country. This unwarrantable trade is necessarily abetted 
by such a system of collusion, imposture, and peijury, an 
cannot fail to spread rapid contamination around it. 

2 There is a dreary and savage character in the country 
mmediately about these Falls, which is much more in hap 
inony with the wildness of such a scene than tlie cultivatet' 
lands in the neighborhood of Niagara. See tlie drawing of 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And as I mark'd the woods of pine 
Along his mirror darkly shine, 
Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 
Before the wizard's midnight glass ; 
And as I view'd the hurrying pace 
With which he ran his turbid race, 
Rushing, alike untir'd and wild, 
Through shades that frown'd and flowers 

that smil'd, 
Flying bj' every green recess 
That woo'd him to its calm caress, 
Yet sometimes turning with the wind 
As if to leave one look behind, — 
Oft have I thought, and thinking sigh'd, 
Ho'v like to thee, thou restless tide. 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roamf! along thy water's brim ; 
Through what alternate wastes of woe 
And flowers of joy my path may go ; 
How many a shelter'd, calm retreat 
MiXY woo the while my weary feet. 
While still pursuing, still unblest, 
I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 
But, urgent as the doom that calls 
Thy water to its destin'd falls, 
I feel the world's bewildering force 
Hurry my heart's devoted course 
From lapse to lapse, tiU life be done. 
And the spent current cease to run. 

One only prayer I dare to make. 
As onward thus my course I take ; — 
O, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow shine 
Upon the mist that circles me. 
As soft as now it hangs o'er thee ! 



them in Mr. Weld's book. According to him, the perpen- 
dicular height of the Cohos Fall is fifty feet ; but the Mar- 
quis de Chastellux makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is continually forming and dis- 
solvin;;, ^s tlie spray rises into the light of the sun, is per- 
naps the most interesting beauty which these wonderful 
cataracts exhibit. 

1 The idea of this poem occurred to me in passing through 
the very dreary wilderness between Batavia, a new settle- 
.nent in the midst of tlie woods, and the little village of 
Buffalo upon Lake Erie. This is the most fatiguing part 
of the route, in travelling through the Genesee country to 
Niagara. 

2 " The Five Confederated Nations (of Indians) wt>re set- 
tled along the banks of the Susquehannah ana the adjacent 
country, until the year 1779, when General Sullivan, with 



SONG OF THE E\^L SPIRIT OF THE 
WOODS.' 

Q.ua via dilScilis, quaque est via nulla. 

Otid. Metam. lib. iiL v. 227 

Now the vapor, hot and damp. 
Shed by day's expiring lamp. 
Through the misty ether spreads 
Every iU the white man dreads ; 
Fiery fever's thirsty thrill. 
Fitful ague's shivering chUl 1 

Hark ! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the woods along ; — 
Christian, 'tis the song of fear ; 
Wolves are round thee, night is near, 
And the wild thou dar'st to roam — 
Think, 'twas once the Indian's home ! * 

Hither, sprites, who love to harm, 
Wheresoe'er you work your charm, 
By the creeks, or by the brakes. 
Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, 
And the cayman ^ loves to creep, 
Torpid, to his wintry sleep : 
Where the bird of carrion flits. 
And the shuddering murderer sits,* 
Lone beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poison' d food. 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 

Hither bend ye, turn ye hither. 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither ! 
Cross the wandering Christian's way. 
Lead him, ere the glimpse of day, 
Many a mUe of madd'ning error 
Through the maze of night and terrox; 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 



an army of 4000 men, drove them from their country to Ni- 
agara, where, being obliged to live on sailed provisions, to 
which they were unaccustomed, great niiuiliers of them 
died. Two hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one 
grave, where they had encamped." — JMunc^n American 
Oeograpky. 

3 The alligator, who is supposed to lie in a torpid state all 
the winter, in the bank of some creek or pond, having pre- 
viously swallowed a large number of pine knots, which are 
his only sustenance during the time. 

< This was the mode of punishment for murder (as Char- 
levoix tells us) among the Hurons. " They laid the dead 
body upon poles at the top of a cabin, and the murderer was 
obliged to remain several days together, and to receive all 
that dropped from the carcass, not only on himself but on 
his food." 




[£^¥E?3]li^l<^ •D}3aS^!£'a. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



153 



Mock him, -when his eager sight 
Seeks the cordial cottage light ; 
Gleam then, like the lightning bug. 
Tempt him to the den that's dug 
For the foul and famish'd brood 
Of the she wolf, gaunt for blood ; 
Or, unto the dangerous jjass 
O'er the deep and dark morass, 
"Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
Tributes to be hung in air. 
To the Fiend presiding there ! ' 

Then, when night's long labor past, 
"Wikler'd faint, he falls at last, 
Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the slimy sedge. 
There let every noxious thing 
Trail its filth and fix its sting ; 
Let the bull toad taint him over, 
Round him let musquitoes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
"With his blood their poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires. 
Rankling all, the wretch expires ! 



THE HONORABLE W. R. SPENCER. 

FROM BUFFALO, UPON LAKE EllIE. 

Nec venit ad duros niusa vocata Getas. 

Ovid. ex. Ponto, lib. 1, ep. 5. 

Tiiou oft hast told me of the happy hours 
Enjoy'd by thee in fair Italia's bowers. 
Where, lingering yet, the ghost of ancient wit 
'Midst modern monks profanely dares to flit, 
And pagan spirits, by the Pope unlaid. 
Haunt every stream and sing through every 

shade ; 
There still the bard who (if his numbers be 
His tongue's light echo) must have talk'd like 

thee, — 

I " We find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, ears of 
maize, skins, &c. by tlie side of difficult and dangerous 
ways, on rocks, or by the side of the falls ; and these are 
so many offerings made to the spirits which preside in these 
places." — See Cliarlevo x^s Letter on the Traditions and the 
Religion of tlic Savages of Canadii. 

Father Hennepin too mentions this ceremony ; he also 
says, " We took notice of one barbarian, who made a kind 
of sacrifice npon an oak at the Cascade of St. Antony of 
Padua, upon the river Mississippi." — See Hennepin's Voyage 
into JVor;A America. 

20 



The courtly bard, from whom thy mind has 

caught 
Those playful, sunshine holy days of thought, 
In which the spirit baskingiy reclines. 
Bright without effort, resting while it shines, — 
There still he roves, and laughing loves to see 
How modern priests with ancient rakes agree ; 
How, 'neath the cowl, the festal garland shines, 
And Love still finds a niche in Christian shrines. 

There still, too, roam those other souls of 

song, 
"With whom thy spirit hath commun'd so long, 
That, quick as light, their rarest gems of thought, 
By Memory's magic to thy lip are brought. 
But here, alas ! by Erie's stormy lake. 
As, far from such bright haunts my coui-se I 

take, 
No proud remembrance o'er the fancy plays, 
No classic dream, no star of other days 
Hath left that visionary light behind. 
That lingering radiance of immortal mind, 
Which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene. 
The humblest shed, Avhere Genius once has 

been! 

All that creation's varying mass assumes 
Of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms ; 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow. 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering'' rivers 

flow ; 
But mind, immortal mind, without whose ray. 
This world's a wilderness and man but clay. 
Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, 
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows. 
Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats, and all 
From the rude wigwam to the congress hall. 
From man the savage, whether slav'd or free, 
To man the civiliz'd, less tame than he, — 
'Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife 
Betwixt half-polish'd and half-barbarous life ; 
Where every ill the ancient world could brew 
Is mix'd with every grossness of the new ; 
Where all corrupts, though little can entice. 
And nought is known of luxury, but its vice ! 

- This epithet was suggested by Charlevoix's striking de- 
scription of tiie confluence of the Missouri with the Missis- 
sippi. " I believe this is the finest confluence in the world. 
The two rivers are much of the same breadth, each about 
half a league; but the Missouri is by far the most rapid, and 
seems to enter the Mississippi like a conqueror, tlirough 
which it carries its white waves to the opposite shore, with- 
out mixing them: afterwards it gives its color to the Missis- 
sippi, which it never loses again, but carries iiuite down te 
Uie sea." — Letter xxvii. 



154 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



Is this the region then, is this the clime 
For soaring fancies ? for those dreams sublime, 
Which all their miracles of light reveal 
To heads that meditate and hearts that feel ? 
Alas ! not so — the Muse of Nature lights 
Her glories round; she scales the mountain 

heights, 
And roams the forests ; every wondrous spot 
Burns with her step, yet man regards it not. 
She whispers round, her words are in the air. 
But lost, unheard, they linger freezing there,' 
Without one breath of soul, divinely strong, 
One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Yet, yet forgive me, ye sacred few. 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks I knew ; 
Whom, known and lov'd through many a social 

eve, 
'Twas bliss to live with, and 'twas pain to leave." 
Not with more joy the lonely exile scann'd 
The writing trac'd upon the desert's sand. 
Where his lone heart but little hop'd to find 
One trace of life, one stamp of humankind. 
Than did I hail the pure, th' enlighten' d zeal, 
The strength to reason and the warmth to feel. 
The manly polish and the illumin'd taste. 
Which, — 'mid the melancholy, heartless waste 
My foot has travers'd, — O you sacred few ! 
I found by Delaware's green banks M'ith you. 

Long may you loathe the Gallic dross that 

runs 
Through your fair country and corrupts its sons ; 
Long love the arts, the glories which adorn 
Those fields of freedom, where your sires were 

born. , 

O, if America can yet be great, 
If neither chain' d by choice, nor doom'd by 

fate 
To the mob mania which imbrutes her now, 
She yet can raise the crown'd, yet civic brow 
Of single majesty, — can add the grace 
Of Rank's rich capital to Freedom's base. 
Nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler prove 
For the fair ornament that flowers above ; — 
If yet releas'd from all that pedant throng. 
So vain of error and so pledg'd to wrong. 



1 Alluding to the fanciful notion of " words congealed in 
northern air." 

- In the society of Mr. Dennie and his friends, at Phila- 
delphia, I passed tlie few agreeable moments which my tour 
through the states afforded me. Mr. Dennie has succeeded 
n diffusing through this cultivated littie circle tJiat love for 
^ood literature and sound politics, which he feels so zeal- 
ou.'ly luniself, and which is so very rarely the characteristic 



Who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide 
Weakness in vaunt, and barrenness in pride. 
She yet can rise, can wreathe the Attic charms 
Of soft refinement round the pomp of arms. 
And see her poets flash the fires of song, 
To light her warriors' thunderbolts along — 
It is to you, to souls that favoring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task is given ; 
O, but for such, Columbia's days were done ; 
Rank without ripeness, quicken'd without sun, 
Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
Her fruits would fall, before her spring were 
o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wing'd the hours 
Where Schuylkill winds his way through banks 

of flowers, 
Though few the days, the happy evenings few. 
So warm with heart, so rich with mind they fiew, 
That my charm'd soul forgot its wish to roam 
And rested there, as in a dream of home. 
And looks I met, like looks I'd lov'd before, 
And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er 
The chord of memorj', found full many a tone 
Of kindness there in concord with their own. 
Yes, — we had nights of that communion free. 
That flow of heart, which I have known with 

thee 
So oft, so warmly ; nights of mirth and mind, 
Of whims that taught, and follies that refin'd. 
When shall we both renew them ? when, restor'd 
To the gay feast and intellectual board. 
Shall I once more enjoy with thee and thine 
Those whims that teach, those follies that re- 
fine ? 
Even now, as, wandering upon Erie's shore, 
I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar, 
I sigh for home, — alas ! these weary feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet. 

a nATPis, 'ill. sor kapta nyn mneian EXii. 

Euripides. 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'u 
Above the green elms, that a cottage Mas near, 



of his countrymen. They will not, I trust, accuse me of 
illiberality for the picture which I have given of tlie igno- 
rance and corruption that surround them. If 1 did not hate, 
as I ought, the rabhle to which they are '-"tiosed, 1 could not 
value, as I do, the spirit with which they defy it ; and in 
learning from them what Americans cari be, 1 but see Willi 
the more indignation what Americans at-e. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And I said, " If there's peace to be found in the 
world, 
•♦ A heart that was humble might hope for 
it here ! " 

It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd 
around 
In silence repos'd the voluptuous bee ; 
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound 
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech 
tree. 

And, " Here in this lone little wood," I ex- 
claim' d, 
" With a maid who was lovely to soul and to 
eye, 
" ^Vho would blush when I prais'd her, and 
weep If I blam'd, 
" How blest could I live, and how calm could 
I die! 

" By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry 

dips 

" In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to 

recline, 

" And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, 

" Which had never been sigh'd on by any but 



A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 

WKITTEN ON THE KIVEE ST. LAWRENCE.' 
Et reniigem canms hortatur. 

CiuiNTILIAW. 

Faintly as tolls the evening chime 

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. 

1 I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung 
to us fre<|ueiitly. The wind was so unfavorable that they 
were obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in 
descending the river from Kingston to Montreal, exposed to 
an intense sun during the day, and at night forced to take 
shelter from the dews in any miserable hut upon the banks 
tJiat would receive us. But the magnificent scenery of the 
St. Lawrence repays all such difiiculties. 

Our voyageura had good voices, and sung perfectly in tune 
together. The original words of the air, to whicii I adapted 
these stanzas, appeared to be a long, incoherent story, of 
which I could understand but little, from the barbarous pro- 
nunciation of tlie Canadians. It begins 

Dans men chemin j'ai rencontre 
Deux cavaliers tres-bien montes ; 

fcjid the refrain to every verse was, 

A I'ombre d'nn boisje m'en vais jouer, 
A I'ombre d'un boisje m'en vais danser. 

I ventured to harmonize this air, and liave published it. 
Without that charm which association gives to every little 



Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.* 
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 

Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. 
But, when the wind blows off the shore, 
O, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 

Utawas' tide ! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle ! hear our praj'crs, 
O, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. 



TO THE 

LADY CHARLOTTE RAWDON. 

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 

Not many months have now been dream' d 

away 
Since yonder sun, beneath whose evening ray 
Our boat glides swiftly past these wooded 

shores. 
Saw me where Trent his mazy current pours, 
And Donington's old oaks, to every breeze, 
Whisper the tale of by-gone centuries ; — 
Those oaks, to me as sacred as the groves. 
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves, 



memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may, 
perhaps, be thought common and trifling; hut 1 remember 
when we have entered, at sunset, upon one of those beauti- 
ful lakes, into which tlie St. Lawrence so grandly and unex- 
pectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure 
which the finest compositions of the first masters have never 
given me ; and now there is not a note of it which does not 
recall to my memory the dip of our oars in the St. Law- 
rence, the tliglit of our boat down the Rapids, and all those 
new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was aiive 
during the whole of this very interesting voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those voy- 
ageurs who go to the Grand Portage by the Utawas River. 
For an account of this wonderful undertaking, see Sir Alex- 
ander Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, pre- 
fixed to his Journal. 

2 " At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out 
part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot 
the Canadians consider they take tlieir departure, as it (>os 
sesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated tc 
the tutelar saint of voyagers." — Mackenzie, Genral Histori 
of the Far Trade 



I. if) 



rOEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



And hears the spirit voice of sire, or chief, 

Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf.' 

There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath sung 

^.ly own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung 

On every tuneful accent ! proud to feel 

That notes like mine should have the fate to 

steal, 
As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along. 
Such breath of passion and such soul of song. 
Yes, — I have wondered, like some peasant boy 
Who sings, on Sabbath eve, his strains of joy. 
And when he hears the v*'ild, untutor'd note 
Back to his ear on softening echoes float. 
Believes it still some answering spirit's tone, 
And tliinks it all too sweet to be his own ! 

I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year 
Had fiU'd its circle, I should wander here 
In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous 

world, 
See all its store of inland waters hurl'd 
In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, 
Or calm behold them, in transpai'ent sleep, 
"Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed 
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed ; 
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide 
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide 
Through massy woods, 'mid islets flowering fail-, 
And blooming glades, where the first sinful pair 
For consolation might have weei^ing trod. 
When banish'd from the garden of their God. 
O, Lady ! these are miracles, which man, 
Cag'd in the bounds of Europe's pygmy span. 
Can scarcely dream of, — which his eye must 

see 
To know how wonderful this world can be ! 

But lo, — the last tints of the west decline. 
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine. 



1 " Avendo essi per costume di avere in venerazione gli 
albeii graiidi et antichi, quasi die siano spesso ricettaccoli 
di aniiiie tieate." — Pietro delta Valle, part, second., letlera 16 
da giardliii di Sciraz. 

2 Aiihurey, in ills Travels, has noticed this shooting il- 
lutnlnatiun wliich porpoises diffuse at night tlirough the 
r'vcr St. Lawrence. — Vol. i. p. 29. 

8 The glass snake is brittle and transparent. 

< " The departed spirit goes into tlie Country of Souls, 
where, according to some, it is transformed into a dove." — 
Cliarlevdix, upon the Traditions and the Riliirion of the Sav- 
"iT" «/ Canada. See the curious fable of tlie American 
Orpheus in Lafitau, torn. i. p. 402. 

6 " The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white 
stones, wliich glistened in the sun, and were called by the 
Indians nianetoe aseniah, or spirit stones." — Muckemie's 
Journal. 

« These lines were suggested by Carver's description of 



Among the reeds, in which our idle boat 
Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note 
Dies like a half-broath'd whispering of flutes ; 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, 
And I can trace him, like a watery star,* 
Down the steep current, till he fades afar 
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light. 
Whore yon rough rapids sparkle through the 

night. 
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray, 
And the smooth glass snake,' gliding o'er my 

way, 
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly 

form. 
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm, 
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze 
Some Indian Spirit Avarble words like these : - • 

From the land beyond the sea, 
Whither happy spirits flee ; 
Where, transform'd to sacred doves,* 
Many a blessed Indian roves 
Through the air on wing, as white 
As those wondrous stones of light,* 
Which the eye of morning counts 
On the Apallachian mounts, — 
Hither oft my flight I take 
Over Huron's lucid lake, 
Where the wave, as clear as dew, 
Sleeps beneath the light canoe, 
Which, reflected, floating there, 
Looks as if it hung in air.® 

Then, when I have stray'd a while 
Through the ManatauUn isle,^ 
Breathing all its holy bloom, 
Swift I mount me on the plume 
Of my Wakon Bird,* and fly 
Where, beneath a burning sky, 

one of the American lakes. " When it was calm," he 
says, " and the sun shone bright, I could sit in my canoe, 
where the depth was upwards of si\ fathoms, and plainly 
see huge piles of stone at the bottom, of different shapes, 
some of which appeared as if they liad been hewn ; the 
water was at this time as pure and transparent as air, and 
my canoe seemed as if it hung suspended in that element. 
It was impossible to look attentively through this limpid 
medium, at the rocks below, wilhout finding, before many 
minutes were elapsed, your head swim and your eyes no 
longer able to behold the dazzling scene." 

1 Apris avoir traverse plusieurs isles peu considerables, 
nous en trouvames le quatrieme jour une fameuse nomniee 
risle de Manitoualln.— Voyages da Baron de Lahontun, 
torn. I. let. 15. ManatauUn signifies a Place of Spirits, and 
this island in Lake Huron Is held sacred by the Indians. 

8 "The Wakon Bird, which probably is of the same spe- 
cies with tlie bird of Paradise, receives it3 name from tho 



POEMS RELATINQ TO AMERICA. 



157 



O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a water snake, 
Wrapp'd within the web of leaves, 
Which the water lily weaves.* 
Nest I chas'd tlie flow'ret king 
Through his rosy realm of spring ; 
See him now, while diamond hues 
Soft his neck and wings suffuse. 
In the leafy chalice sink, 
Thirsting for his balmy drink ; 
Now behold him all on fire. 
Lovely in his looks of ire. 
Breaking every infant stem. 
Scattering every velvet gem. 
Where his little ty-rant lip 
Had not found enough to sip. 

Then my playful hand I steep 
Where the gold thread - loves to creep, 
Cull from thence a tangled wreath. 
Words of magic round it breathe. 
And the sunny chaplet spread 
O'er the sleeping flybird's head,^ 
Till, with dreams of honey blest. 
Haunted, in his downy nest, 
By the garden's fairest speUs, 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, 
Fancy all his soul embowers 
In the flybird's heaven of flowers. 

Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes 
Melt along the rufiled lakes, 
When the gray moose shed his horns, 
When the track, at evening, warns 
Weary hunters of the way 
To the wigwam's cheering ray, 
Then, aloft, through freezing air. 
With the snow bird"* soft and fair 
As the fleece that heaven flings 
O'er his little pearly wings. 
Light above the rocks I play. 
Where Niagara's starry spray, 

ideas the Indians have of its superior excellence ; the Wa- 
kon Bird being, in their language, the Bird of tlie Great 
Rpirit." — Morse. 

1 The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a consider- 
able distance by the large pond lily, whose leaves spread 
thickly over the surface of the lake, and form a kind of bed 
for the water snakes in summer. 

2 "The gold thread is of the vine kind, and grows in 
swamps. The roots spread themselves just under the sur- 
face of the morasses, and are easily drawn out by handfuls. 
They resemble a large entangled skein of silk, and are of 
a briglit yellow." — Morse. 

3 "L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est de 
toutes coulf.urs, vives et changeantes : il tire sa subsistence 
lies fleurs comraes les abeilles ; son nid est fait d'un cotton 



Frozen on the cliff, appears 
Like a giant's starting tears. 
There, amid the island sedge, 
Just upon the cataract's edge,. 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began. 
Lone I sit, at close of day. 
While, beneath the golden ray. 
Icy columns gleam below. 
Feather' d round with falling snow, 
And an arch of glory springs. 
Sparkling as the chain of rings 
Round the neck of virgins hung, — 
Yirgins,^ who have wander'd young 
O'er the waters of the west 
To the land where spirits rest ! 

Thus have I charm' d, with visionary lay, 
The lonely moments of the night away ; 
And now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams ! 
Once more, embark'd upon the glittering 

streams. 
Our boat flies light along the leafy shore, 
Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar 
Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark 
The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark. 
Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood,^ 
While on its deck a pilot angel stood, 
And, with his wings of living light unfurl'd. 
Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 

Yet, O, believe me, 'mid this mingled maze 
Of nature's beauties, where the fancy strays 
From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's 

hue 
Hath something strange, and every leaf is new, — 
I never feel a joy so pure and still. 
So inly felt, as when some brook or hill. 
Or veteran oak, like those remember' d well, 
Some mountain echo or some wild-flower's sme]l, 
(For, who can say by what small fairy ties 
The mem'ry clings to pleasure as it flies ?) 

trfes-fin suspendu i une branche d'arbre." — Voyages aux 
Indes Occidentales, par M. Sossn, seconde part, leit. xx. 

* Emberiza hyemalis. — See Imlaifs Kentucky, p. 280. 

6 Lafltau supposes that there was an order of vestals estab- 
lished among the Iroquois Indians. — Mceura des Sauvages 
Amcricains, S{c. torn. 1. p 173. 

« Vedi che sdegna gli argomenti umani ; 
Si che remo non vuol, ne altro velo, 
Che r ale sue tra liti si lontani. 

Vedi come 1' ha dritte verso '1 cielo 
Trattando 1' aere con 1' eteme penne j 
Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo. 

Dante. Pur^atoi: cant, ii 



158 



POEMS IlELATING TO AMERICA. 



Reminds my heart of many a sy van dream 
I once indulg'd by Trent's inspiring stream ; 
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 
On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights. 

Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er 
When I have seen thee cull the fruits of lore, 
With him, the polish'd warrior, bj' thy side, 
A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
When thou hast read of heroes, trophied high 
In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye 
Turn to the living hero, while it read, 
For pure and brightening comments on the 

dead ; — 
Or whether memory to my mind recalls 
The festal grandeur of those lordly halls. 
When guests have met around the sparkling 

board. 
And welcome warm'd the cup that luxurj' 

pour'd ; 
AVhen the bright future Star of England's throne, 
With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone, 
Winning respect, nor claiming what he won, 
But tempering greatness, like an evening sun 
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire. 
Radiant, but mild, all softness, yet all fire ; — 
Whatever hue my recollections take, 
Even the regret, the very pain they wake 
Is mix'd M'ith happiness ; — but, ah ! no more — 
Lady ! adieu — my heart has linger'd o'er 
Those vanish'd times, till all that round me lies, 
•Stream, banks, and bowers have faded on my 

eyes! 



IMPROMPTU 

AFTER A VISIT TO MRS. , OF MONTREAL. 

'TwAS but for a moment — and yet in that 
time 
She crowded th' impressions of many an 
hour : 
Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime. 
Which wak'd every feeling at once into flower. 

O, could we have borrow' d from Time but a day, 
To renew such impressions again and again, 

1 This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singularly 
enougti, is the property of Sir Isaac Coffin. The above lines 
were suggested by a superstition very common among sail- 
ors, who call this ghost ship, I think, " the flying Dutch- 
man." 

We were thirteen days on our passage from Q,uebec to 
Halifax, and I had been so spoiled by the truly splendid hos- 



The things we should look and imagine and say 
Would be worth all the life we had wasted 
till then. 

What we had not the leisure or language to speak, 

We should find some more spiritual mode of 

revealing. 

And, between us, should feel just as much in % 

week 

As others would take a milleimium in feeling. 



WRITTEN 

ON PASSING DEADMAN'S ISLAND. 



GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, 
LATE IK THB ETENIKO, SEPTEMBER, 180*. 

See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 

Fast gliding along a gloomy bark? 

Her sails are full, — though the ^vind is still. 

And there blows not a breath her sails to fill ! 

Say, what doth that vessel of darkness bear i 
The silent calm of the grave is there. 
Save now and again a death l^ell rung, 
And the flap of the sails with night fog hung. 

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 

Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 

Where, under the moon, ujion mounts of frost 

Full many a mariner's bones are toss'd. 

Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck. 
And the dim blue fire, that lights her deck, 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Deadman's Isle, iA the eye of the blast, 
To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast ; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd, 
And the hand that steers is not of this world ! 

0, hurry thee on — 0, hurry thee on. 
Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, 
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight 
As would blanch forever her rosy light ! 



pitality of my friends of the Phaeton and Boston, that I was 
but ill prepared for the miseries of a Canadian vessel. Ths 
weather, however, was pleasant, and the scenery along the 
river delightful. Our passage through the Gut of Canso, 
with a bright sky and a fair wir'., was particularly striking 
and romantic. 



POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 



TO THE BOSTON FRIGATE,' 

ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, 

OCTOBER, 1804. 

NoffTou rrpoipaiji{ y'KvKcpov. 

Pindar. Pyth. 4. 

With triumph this morning, O Boston ! I hail 
The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, 
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, 
To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free. 
And that chill Nova Scotia's unpromising strand "•' 
Is the last I shall tread of American land. 
Well — peace to the land ! may her sons know, 

at length. 
That in high-minded honor lies liberty's strength. 
That though man be as free as the fetterless wind. 
As the wantonest air that the north can unbind. 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the 

blast. 
If no harvest of mind ever sprujig where it 

pass'd. 
Then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its 

might, — 
Free only to ruin, and strong but to blight ! 

Farewell to the few I have left with regret ; 
May they sometimes recall, what I cannot forget. 
The delight of those evenings, — too brief a de- 
light ! 
Wiicn in converse and song we have stol'n on 

the night ; 
Wlien they've asked me the manners, the mind, 

or the mien 
Of some bard I had known or some chief I had 

seen, 
Whose glory, though distant, they long had 

ador'd, 
Whose name had oft hallow'd the wine cup they 

pour'd. 
And still as, \^ith sympathy humble but true, 
I have told of each bright son of fame all I knew, 
They have listen' d, and sigh'd that the powerful 

stream 
Of America's empire, should pass, like a dream, 



1 Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I 
returned to England, and to whom I am indebted for many, 
many kindnesses. In truth, I should but oflend the deli- 
cacy (if my friend Douglas, and, at the same time, do injus- 
tice to my own feelings of gratitude, did I attempt to say 
hiiw much I owe to him. 

- Sir John Wentworth, the Governor of Nova Scotia, very 
Vindly alluvved me to accompany him on his visit to the 
College, which they have lately established at Windsor, 



Without leaving one relic of genius, to say 
How sublime was the tide which had vanish'd 

away ! 
Farewell to the few — though we never may meet 
On this planet again, it is soothing and sweet 
To think that, whenever my song or my name 
Shall recur to their ear, they'll recall me the 

same 
I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful, 

and blest, 
Ere hope had deceived me or sorrow depress'd. 

But, Douglas ! while thus I recall to my mind 
The elect of the land we shall soon leave behind 
I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye. 
As it follows the rack flitting over the sky, 
That the faint coming breeze will be fair for our 

flight. 
And shall steal us away, ere the falling of night. 
Dear Douglas ! thou knowest, with thee by my 

side. 
With thy friendship to soothe me, thy courage 

to guide. 
There is not a bleak isle in those summerless seas, 
Where the day comes in darkness, or shines but 

to freeze, 
Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore. 
That I could not with patience, with pleasure 

explore ! 
O think then how gladly I follow thee now. 
When Hope smooths the billowy path of our 

prow. 
And each prosperous sigh of the west-springing 

wind 
Takes me nearer the home where my heart ia 

enshrin'd ; 
Where the smile of a father shall meet me again, 
And the tears of a mother turn bliss into pain ; 
Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to 

ray heart, 
And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part ? — 

But see ! — the bent topsails are ready to 
swell — 
To the boat — I am with thee — Columbia, 
farewell ! 



about forty miles from Halifax, and I was indeed most pleas- 
antly surprised by the beauty and fertility of the country 
which opened upon us after the bleak and rocky wilderness 
by which Halifax is surrounded. — I was told that, in trav- 
elling onwards, we should (ind the soil and the scenery 
improve, and it gave me much pleasure to know that the 
worthy Governor has by no means such an " inamabile 
regnuni " as I was, at first sight, inclined to believe. 



! 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 

TWO POEMS. 

ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BY AN IRISHMAN. 



PREFACE 

TO THE THIRD VOLUME. 

The three satirical Poems witli whicli this 
Volume commences, were published originally 
without the author's name ; " Corruption " 
and " Intolerance " in the year 1808, and •' The 
Sceptic " in the year following. The political 
opinions adopted in the first of these Satires — 
the poem on Corruption — was chiefly caught 
up, as is intimated in the original Preface, from 
the writings of Bolingbroke, Sir William 
Wyndham, and other statesmen of that factious 
period, when the same sort of alliance took 
place between Toryism and what is now called 
Radicalism, which is always likely to ensue on 
the ejection of the Tory party from power.' 
In this somewhat rash effusion, it will be seen 
that neither of the two great English parties is 
handled with much respect ; and I remember 
being taken to task, by one of the few of my 
Whig acquaintances that ever looked into the 
poem, for the following allusion to the silencing 
effects of official station on certain orators : — 

As bees, on flowers aligliting, cease their hum, 
So, settling upon places, Wliigs grow dumb. 

But these attempts of mine in the stately Ju- 
vcnalian style of satire, met -with but little suc- 
cess, — never having attained, I believe, even 
the honors of a second edition ; and I found 
that lighter form of weapon, to which I after- 
wards betook myself, not only more easy to 
wield, but, from its very lightness, perhaps, 
more sure to reach its mark. 

It would almost seem, too, as if the same un- 
imbittered spirit, the same freedom from all 
real malice with which, in most instances, this 
sort of squib warfare has been waged by me, 
vips felt, in some degree, even by those who 
wers themselves the objects of it ; — so gener- 
ously forgiving have I, in most instances, found 



1 Btilingbroke himself acknowledges that "both parties 
lire hpr.dine factiouK, in the strict sense of the word." 



' them. Even the high Personage against whom 
the earliest and perhaps most successful of my 
lighter missiles were launched, could refer to 
and quote them, as I learn from an incident 
mentioned in the Life of Sir Walter Scott,'-' with 
a degree of good humor and playfulness which 
was creditable alike to his temper and good 
sense. At a memorable dinner given by the 
Regent to Sir Walter in the year 181.5, Scott, 
among other stories with which his royal host 
was much amused, told of a sentence passed by 
an old fit-iend of his, the Lord Justice Clerk 
Braxfield, attended by circumstances in which 
the cruelty of this waggish judge was even 
more conspicuous than his humor. " The Re- 
gent laughed heartily," says the biographer, 
" at this specimen of Braxfield's brutal humor ; 
and ' I' faith, Walter,' said he, ' this old big 
wig seems to have taken things as coolly as my 
tyrannical self. Don't you remember Tom 
Moore's description of me at breakfast ? — 

' The table spread with tea and toast, 
Death warrants, and the Morning Post.' " 

In reference to this, and other less exalted in- 
stances, of the good-humored spirit in which 
my " innocui sales " have in general been taken, 
I shall venture to cite here a few flattering sen- 
tences which, coming as they did from a politi 
cal adversary and a stranger, touched me fai 
more by their generosity than even by their 
praise. In speaking of the pension which had 
just then been conferred upon me, and expressing, 
in warm terms, his approval of the grant, the 
editor of a leading Tory journal ' thus liberally 
expresses himself: — " We know that some will 
blame us for our prejudice — if it be prejudice, 
in favor of Mr. Moore ; but we cannot help it. 
As he tells us himself, 

' Wit a diamond brings 
That cuts its bright way through ' 

the most obdurate political antipathies. * * * 
We do not believe that any one was ever hurt 

s Vol. iii. p. 342. 

3 The Standard, August 24, 1835. 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 



161 



by libels so witty as those of Mr. Maors : — 
great privilege of Avit, which renders it impossi- 
ble even for those whose enemies Avits are, to 
hate them ! " 

To return to the period of the Regency : — 
In the numerous attacks from the government 
press, which my volleys of small shot against the 
Court used to draw down upon me, it was con- 
stantly alleged, as an aggravation of mj' mis- 
deeds, that I had been indebted to the Royal 
personage thus assailed by me for many kind 
and substantial ser\aces. Luckily, the list of 
the benefits showered \ipon me from that high 
quarter may be desjiatched in a few sentences. 
At the request of Lord Moira, one of my earli- 
est and best friends, his Royal Highness gra- 
ciously permitted me to dedicate to him my 
Translation of the Odes of Anacreon. I was 
twice, I think, admitted to the honor of dining 
at Carlton House ; and when the Prince, on 
his being made Regent in 1811, gave his mem- 
orable fete, I was one of the crowd — about 
loOO, I believe, in number — who enjoyed the 
privilege of being his guests on the occasion. 

There occur some allusions, indeed, in the 
Twopenny Post Bag, to the absurd taste displayed 
in the ornaments of the Royal supper table at 
that fete ; * and this violation — for such, to a 
certain extent, I allow it to have been — of the 
reverence due to the rites of the Hospitable 
Jove," which, whether administered by prince 
or peasant, ought to be sacred from such ex- 
posure, I am by no means disposed to defend. 
But, whatever maj' be thought of the taste or 
prudence of some of these satires, there exists 
no longer, I apprehend, much difference of 
opinion respecting the character of the Royal 
personage against whom they were aimed. Al- 
ready, indeed, has the stern verdict which the 
voice of History cannot but pronounce upon 

1 The same fmiteuils and girandoles — 
The same gold asses, pretty souls, 
That, in this rich and classic dome. 
Appear so perfectly at home ; 
The same bright river, 'mong the dishes. 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes. 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones ; — 
So, stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It heing rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie nowadays) 
Some sprats have been, by Y — rm — h's wish, 
Promoted into silver fish, 
And gudgeons (so V — ns— tt — t told 
The Reg — t) are as good as gold. 

Twopenny Post Bag, p. 137. 



8 Ante fores stabat Jovis Hospitis : 
21 



Ovin. 



him, beer) in some degree anticipated,^ in a 
sketch of the domestic events of his reign, sup- 
posed to have proceeded from the pen of one who 
was himself an actor in some of its most painful 
scenes, and who, from his professional position, 
commanded a near insight into the character of 
that exalted individual, both as husband and 
father. To the same high authority I must re- 
fer for an account of the mysterious " Book," * 
to which allusion is more than once made in 
the following pages. 

One of the first and most successful of the 
numerous trifles I wrote at that period, was the 
Parody on the Regent's celebrated Letter, an- 
nouncing to the world that he " had no predi- 
lections," &c. This very opportune squib was, 
at first, circulated privately; my friend, Mr. 
Perry, having for some time hesitated to publish 
it. He got some copies of it, however, printed 
off for me, which I sent round to several mem- 
bers of the AVhig party ; and, having to meet a 
number of them at dinner immediately after, 
found it no easy matter to keep my counte- 
nance while they were discussing among them 
the merits of the Parody. One of the party, I 
recollect, having quoted to me the following 
description of the state of both King and Re- 
gent, at that moment, — 

"A straight waistcoat on him, and restrictions on me, 
A more limited monarchy could not well be," 

grew rather provoked with me for not enjoying 
the fun of the parody as much as himself. 

While thus the excitement of party feeling 
lent to the political trifles contained in this vol- 
ume a relish and pungency not their own, an 
effect has been attributed to two squibs, wholly 
unconnected with politics ^ — the Letters from 
the Dowager Countess of Cork, and from Messrs. 
Lackington and Co.* — of which I mj-self had 

3 Edinburgh Eeview, No. cxxxv., Oenrg-e the Fourth and 
Queen Caroline. — "When the Prince entered upon public 
life he was found to have exhausted the resources of a ca- 
reer of pleasure ; to have gained followers without making 
friends ; to have acquired much envy and some admiration 
among the unthinking multitude of polished society ; but 
not to command in any quarter either respect or esteem. 
* * * The portrait which we have painted of him is 
undoubtedly one of the darkest shade, and most repulsive 
form." 

* " There is no doubt whatever that The Book, written \ 
by Mr. Perceval, and privately printed at his house, under 
Lord Eldon's superintendence and his own, was prepared 
in concert with the King, and was intended to soiiiid the 
alarm against Carlton House and the Whigs." — Ed. Re- 
view, ib. 

6 Twopenny Post Bag, p. 128. I avail myselJ of the men- 



152 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 



not the slightest notion till I found it thus al- 
luded to in Mr. Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter 
Scott. In speaking of the causes which were 
supposed to have contributed to the comparative 
failure of the Poem of " Rokeby," the biogra- 
pher says, " It is fair to add that, among the 
London circles, at least, some sarcastic flings, in 
Mr. Moore's Twopenny Post Bag, must have had 
an unfavorable influence on this occasion." ' 

Among the translations that have appeared on 
the Continent, of the greater part of my poeti- 
cal works, there has been no attempt, as far as I 
can learn, to give a version of any of my satiri- 
cal writings, — with the single exception of a 
squib contained in this volume, entitled " Little 
Man and Little Soul," ^ of which there is a 
translation into German verse, by the late dis- 
tinguished oriental scholar. Professor von Boh- 
len.^ Though unskilled, myself, in German, I 
can yet perceive — sufliciently to marvel at it — 
the dexterity and ease with which the Old Bal- 
lad metre of the original is adopted and managed 
in the translation. As this trifle may be con- 
sidered curious, not only in itself, but still more 
as connected with so learned a name, I shall 
here present it to my readers, premising that the 
same eminent Professor has left a version also 
of one of my very early facetia, •' The Rabbinical 
'^i-in-in of Woman." 

"THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN." 
C Translated by Professor von Bohlen.) 

Gs war ein kleiner Mann 

Und der halt 'n kleinen Geist 
Hiul er sprach : kleiner Geist sehn wir zu, zu, zu, 

Ob uns mbglich wohl wird seyn 

So ein kleines Redelein 
Dnt! wir lialten, kleiner ich und kleiner dii, du, du, 

Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du. 

Und der kleine Geist, der brach 

Aus dem Loche nun und sprach : 
Ich behaupte, kleiner Mann, du bist keck, keck, keck. 



tion here of this latter squib, to recant a correction which I 
li o hastily made in the two following lines of it : — 

And, though statesmen may glory in being unbought, 
In an author, we think, sir, that's rather a fault. 
Forgetting that Pope's ear was satisfied with the sort of 
rhyme here used, I foolishly altered (and spoiled; the whole 
vouplet to get rid of it. 

1 " See, for instance," says Mr. Lockhart, " the Epistle 
of Lady Cork ; or that of Messrs. Lackington, booksellers, 
to one of their dandy authors : — 

' Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a scheme to suggest : — Mr. Sc— tt, you must know, 
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Roto,*) 

* FatemoBter Row. 



Nimm nicht iibel meine Zweifel, 

Aber sage niir, sum Truftl, 
Hat die kleine kleine Red' einen zweck, zweck, zweck. 

Hat die kleine hleine lied' einen zweck .' 

Der kleine Mann darauf 

Bliess die Backen mlchtig auf, 
Und er sprach : klener Geist sey gescheut, scheut, scheut ; 

Kleiner ich und kleiner du 

Sind berufen ja dazu 
Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut', Leut', Lent', 

Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut'. 

Und sie fingen beide an 

Der kleine Geist und kleine Mann, 
Paukten ab ihre Rede so klein, klein, klein : 

Und die ganze Welt f Ur wahr 

Meint, das aufgeblas'ne Paar 
Musst ein winziges PfatTelein nur seyn, seyn, seyn, 

Musst ein winziges PfatTelein, nur seyn. 

Having thus brought together, as well from 
the records of other, as from my own recollec- 
tion, whatever incidental lights could be throwu 
from those sources, on some of the satirical ef- 
fusions contaiiaed in these pages, I shall now 
reserve all such reminiscences and notices as re- 
late to the Irish Melodies for our next volume. 

It is right my readers should here be apprised, 
that the plan of classing my poetical works ac- 
cording to the order of their first publication, is 
pursued no further than the Second Volume of 
this Collection ; and that, therefore, the ar- 
rangement of the contents of the succeeding 
Volumes, though not, in a general way, depart- 
ing much from tlus rule, is not to be depended 
upon as observing it. 



PREFACE. 

The practice which has been lately introduced 
into literature, of writing verj' long notes upon 
very indifferent verses, appears to me rather a 
happy invention ; as it supplies us with a mode 



Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown. 

Is coming, by long duarto stages, to Town ; 

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay) 

Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. 

Now, the scheme is (though none of our hackneys can heat 

him) 
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long coaches — 
May do a few villas, before Sc — tt approaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby. 
He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn Abbey.' " 

2 Alluding to a speech delivered in the year 1813 by the 
Right Hon. Charles Abbot (then Speaker) against Mr. Grat- 
tan's motion for a Committee on the claims of the Catholics. 

* Author of " The Ancient IndiaiL" 



CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE. 



163 



of turning dull poetry to account ; and as horses 
too heavy for the saddle may yet serve well 
enough to draw lumber, so Poems of this kind 
make excellent beasts of burden, and will bear 
notes, though they may not bear reading. Re- 
sides, the comments in such cases are so little 
under the necessity of paying any servile defer- 
ence to the text, that they may even adopt that 
Socratic dogma, " Quod supra nos nihil ad nos." 
In the first of the two following Poems, I 
have ventured to speak of the Revolution of 
1GS8. in language which has sometimes been 
employed by Tory writers, and which is there- 
fore neither very new nor popular. But how- 
ever an Englishman might be reproached with 
ingratitude, for depreciating the merits and 
results of a measure, which he is taught to re- 
gard as the source of his liberties — however 
ungrateful it might appear in Alderman B — rch 
to question for a moment the purity of that 
glorious era, to which he is indebted for the 
seasoning of so many orations — yet an Irish- 
man, who has none of these obligations to ac- 
knowledge ; to whose country the Revolution 
brought nothing but injury and insult, and who 
recollects that the book of Molyneux was burned, 
by order of William's Whig Parliament, for 
daiing to extend to unfortunate Ireland those 
principles on which the Revolution was profess- 
CiJJy founded — an Irishman may be allowed 
to criticize freely the measures of that period, 
without exposing himself either to the imputa- 
tion of ingratitude, or to the suspicion of being 
influenced by any Popish remains of Jacobitism. 
No nation, it is true, was ever blessed Avith a 
more golden opportunity of establishing and 
securing its liberties forever than the conjunc- 
ture of Eighty-eight presented to the people of 
Great Britain. But the disgraceful reigns of 
Charles and James had weakened and degraded 
the national character. The bold notions of 
popular right, which had arisen out of the strug- 
gles between Charles the First and his Parlia- 
ment, were gradually supplanted by those slav- 
ish doctrines for which Lord H — kesb — ry 
eulogizes the churchmen of that period ; and 
as the Reformation had happened too soon for 
the purity of religion, so the Revolution came 
too late for the s]urit of liberty. Its advan- 
tages accordmgly were for the most part specious 
and transitory, while the evils which it entailed 
are still felt and still increasing. By rendering 
unnecessary the frequent exercise of Preroga- 
tive, — that unwieldy power which cannot 
move a step without alarm, — it diminished the 



only interference of the Crown, which is singly 
and independently exposed before the people, 
and whose abuses therefore are obvious to their 
senses and capacities. Like the myrtle over a 
celebrated statue in Minerva's temple at Athens, 
it skilfully veiled from the public eye the only 
obtrusive feature of royalty. At the same time, 
however, that the Revolution abridged this un- 
popular attribute, it amply compensated by the i 
substitution of a new power, as much more 
potent in its effect as it is more secret in its 
operations. In the disposal of an immense 
revenue and the extensive patronage annexed 
to it, the first foundations of this power of the 
Crown were laid ; the innovation of a standing 
army at once increased and strengthened it, and 
the few slight barriers which the Act of Settle- 
ment opposed to its progress have all been grad- 
ually removed during the whiggish reigns that 
succeeded ; till at length this spirit of iioflucnce 
has become the vital principle of the state, — 
an agency, subtle and unseen, which pervades 
every part of the Constitution, lurks under all 
its forms and regulates all its movements, and, 
like the invisible sylph or grace which presides 
over the motions of beauty, 

" Illam, quicquid agit, quoqiio vestigia flectit,. 
Compoiiit fiii-tim subseqwiturque." 
The cause of Liberty and the Revolution are so 
habitually associated in the minds of English- 
men, that probably in objecting to the latter I 
may be thought hostile or indifferent to the 
former. But assuredly nothing could be more 
unjust than such a suspicion. The very object, 
indeed, which my humble animadversions would 
attain is, that in the crisis to which I think 
England is now hastening, and between which 
and foreign subjugation she may soon be com- 
pelled to choose, the errors and omissions of 
1688 should be remedied; and, as it was then 
her fate to experience a Revolution without 
Reform, so she may now endeavor to accomplish 
a Reform without Revolution. 

In speaking of the parties which have so long 
agitated England, it will be observed that I lean 
as little to the Whigs as to their adversaries. 
Both factions have been equally cruel to Ire- 
land, and perhaps equally insincere in their 
efforts for the liberties of England. There is 
one name, indeed, connected with whiggism, 
of which I can never think but with veneration 
and tenderness. As justly, however, might the 
light of the sun be claimed by any particular 
nation, as the sanction of that name be monop- 
olized by any party whatsoever. Mr. Fox be« 



1G4 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



longed to mankind, and they have lost in hira 
their ablest friend. 

With respect to the few lines upon Intoler- 
ance, which I have subjoined, they are but the 
imperfect beginning of a long series of Essays, 
with which I here menace my readers, upon 
the same important subject. I shall look to no 
higher merit in the task, than that of giving 
a new form to claims and remonstrances, 
which have often been much more eloquently 
urged, and which would long ere now have 
produced their effect, but that the minds of 
some of our statesmen, like the pupil of the 
human eye, contract themselves the more, the 
stronger light there is shed upon them. 



CORRUPTION, 



AN EPISTLE. 



Nvv 6' awavS^ utaTrep tf ayopa; eKTreirpaTai ravra' avrei- 
tr]Krai Se avTt rovruiv, v(j>^ i>v airo'ScoXe Kai vcvoaqKCV fi 
EXXof. Ta'ira 6' earl ti; ^riXoi, £i riy eiXritpe rf ycXo); 
av biioXoyrf cvyyvoyitri rot; eXcyxoi'tvois' piiaos, an rouroij 
rtf tmniia- raXXa jraira, bira ck tow iiopoSoKCtv r^prriTai, 
D£H03TH. Pkilipp. iii. 

Boast on, my friend — though stripp'd of all 

beside, 
Thy struggling nation still retains her pride : ' 
That pride, which once in genuine glory woke 
When Marlborough fought, and brilliant St. 

John spoke ; 
That pride which still, by time and shame un- 

stung. 
Outlives even Wh — tel — cke's sword and H — 

wk — sb'ry's tongue ! 

1 Angli suos acsua omnia impense mirantur; cseteras na- 
tiones despectui habent. — Barclaij (as quoted in one of Dry- 
den's prefaces). 

2 England began very early to feel the effects of cnielty 
towards her dependencies. " The severity of her govern- 
ment (says iMaepherson) contributed more to deprive her of 
the continental dominions of the family of Plantagenet than 
-he arms of France." — See his History, vol. i. 

3 " By the total reduction of the kingdom of Ireland in 
1691 (says Burke), the ruin of the native Irish, and in a 
great measure, too, of the first races of the English, was 
completely accomplished. The new English interest was 
settled with as solid a stability as any thing in human af- 
fairs can look for. All the penal laws of that unparalleled 
rode of oppression, which were made after the last event, 
were manifestly the effects of national hatred and scorn 
towards a conquered people, whom the victors delighted to 
trample upon, and were not at all afraid to provoke." Yet 
this is the era to which the mse Common Council of Dublin 
refer us for " invaluable blessings," &c. 

♦ It never seems to occur to those orators and addressers 



Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled isle ' 
Where Honor mourns and Freedom fears to 

smile. 
Where the bright light of England's fame is 

known 
But by the shadow o'er our fortunes thrown ; 
Where doom'd ourselves to nougnt but wrongs 

and slights,^ 
We hear you boast of Britain's glorious rights, 
As wretched slaves, that under hatches lie, 
Hear those on deck extol the sun ana sky ! 
Boast on, while wandering through my native 

haunts, 
I coldly listen to thy patriot Vdunts ; 
And feel, though close our wedded countries 

twine. 
More sorrow for my own than pride from thine. 

Yet pause a moment — and if truths severe 
Can find an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W — rd's gazetted lies, 
And loves no politics in rhyme but Pye's, — 
If aught can please thee but the good old saws 
Of " Church and State," and " William's 

matchless laws," 
And " Acts and Rights of glorious Eighty- 
eight," — 
Things, which though now a century out of date, 
Still serve to ballast, with convenient words, 
A few crank arguments for speeching lords,"* — 
Turn, while I tell how England's freedom found, 
Where most she look'd for life, her deadliest 

wound ; 
How brave she struggled, while her foe was seen. 
How faint since Influence lent that foe a screen ; 
How strong o'er James and Popery she prevail'd. 
How weakly fell, when Whigs and gold assail' d.' 

who round off so many sentences and paragraphs witli tlic 
Bill of Rights, the Act of Settlement, &c., that most of the 
provisions which these Acts contained for the preservation 
of parliamentary independence have been long laid aside 
as romantic and troublesome. I never meet, I confess, 
with a politician who quotes seriously the Declaration of 
Eights, &c., to prove the actual existence of English liber- 
ty, that I do not think of that marquis, whom Montesquieu 
mentions,* who set about looking for mines in the Pyre- 
nees, on the strength of authorities which he had read in 
some ancient authors. The poor marquis toiled and searched 
in vain. He quoted his authorities to the last, but found no 
mines after all. 

6 The chief, perhaps the only advantage which has re- 
sulted from the system of influence, is that tranquil course 
of uninterrupted action which it has given to the adminis 
tration of government. If kings must be paramount in thp 
state (and their ministers for the time being always tliink 
so), the country is indebted to the Revolution for enabling 

* Liv. Titi. chap. 2. 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



165 



While kings were poor, and all those schemes 
unknown 
Which drain the people, to enrich the throne ; 
Ere yet a yielding Commons had supplied 
Those chains of gold by which themselves are 

tied; 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to creep 
With bribery's silent foot on Freedom's sleep, 
Frankly avow'd his bold enslaving plan, 
And claim'd a right from God to trample man ! 
But Luther's schism had too much rous'd man- 
kind 
For Hampden's truths to linger long behind ; 
Nor then, when king-like popes had fallen so low, 
Could pope-like kings ' escape the levelling 

blow, 
That ponderous sceptre (in whose place we bow 
To the light talisman of influence now). 
Too gross, too visible, to work the spell 
Which modern power performs, in fragments fell ; 
In fragments lay, till, patch'd and painted o'er 
With fleurs-de-lis, it shone and scourged once 



'Twas then, my friend, thy kneeling nation 
quafTd 
Long, long and deep, the churchman's opiate 
draught 



them to become so quietly, and for removing skilfully the 
danger of tliose shocks and collisions which tlie alarming 
eflurts of prerogative never failed to produce. 

Instead of vain and disturbing efforts to establish that 
speciikuive balance of the constitution, which, perliaps, has 
never existed but in the pages of Mcmtesquieu and De 
Lolnie, a preponderance is now silently yielded to one of 
tlie three estates, which carries the otlier two almost insen- 
silily, but still effectually, along with it ; and even though 
the patli may lead eventually to destruction, yet its specious 
and gilded smoothness almost atones for the danger; and, 
li.ke Milton's bridge over Chaos, it may be said to lead, 

" Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to ." 

1 The drivelling correspondence between James 1. and 
his " dog Steenie " (the Duke of Buckingham), which we 
find among the Hardwicke Papers, sufficiently shows, if 
we wanted any such illustration, into what doting, idiotic 
brains the plan of arbitrary power may enter. 

2 Tacitus has expressed his opinion, in a passage very 
frequently quoted, that such a distribution of power as the 
theory of the British constitution exhibits is merely a sub- 
ject of bright speculation, " a system more easily praised 
tlian practised, and which, even could it happen to exist, 
wi.uld certainly not prove permanent;" and, in truth, a 
review of England's annals would dispose us to agree with 
the great historian's remark. For we find that at no period 
ivlmtever has this balance of the three estates existed ; that 
the nobles predominated till the policy of Henry VII. and 
his successor reduced their weight by breaking up the feudal 
ejstem of property ; tliat the power of the Crown became 



Of passive, prone obedience — then took fligh* 
All sense of man's true dignity and right ; 
And Britons slept so sluggish in their chain. 
That Freedom's watch voice call'd almost ir 

vain. 
O England ! England ! what a chance was 

thine. 
When the last tyrant of that ill-starr'd lino 
Fled from his sullied crown, and left thee free 
To found thy own eternal liberty ! 
How nobly high, in that propitious hour. 
Might patriot hands have rais'd the triple 

tower "^ 
Of British freedom, on a rock divine 
Which neither force could storm nor treachery 

mine ! 
But no — the luminous, the lofty plan, 
Like mighty Babel, seem'd too bold for man ; 
The curse of jarring tongues again was given 
To thwart a work which raised men nearer 

heaven. 
While Tories marr'd what Whigs had scarce 

begun. 
While Whigs undid what Whigs themselves 

had done,^ 
The hour was lost, and William, with a smile. 
Saw Freedom weeping o'er the unfinish'd 

pile ! 



then supreme and absolute, till the bold encroachments of 
the Commons subverted the fabric altogether ; that the al- 
ternate ascendency of prerogative and privilege distracted 
the period which followed the Restoration ; and that, lastly, 
the Acts of 1G88, by laying the foundation of an unbounded 
court influence, have secured a preponderance to the Throne, 
which every succeeding year increases. So that the vaunted 
British constitution has never perhaps existed but in mere 
theory. 

3 The monarchs of Great Britain can never be sufficiently 
grateful for that accommodating spirit which led the Revo- 
lutionary Whigs to give away the crown, without imposing 
any of those restraints or stipulations which other men might 
have taken advantage of so favorable a moment to enforce, 
and in the framing of wliich they had so good a model to 
follow as tlie limitations proposed by the Lords Essex and 
Halifax, in the debate upon the Exclusion Bill. They not 
only condescended, however, to accept of places, but took 
care that these dignities shimld be no impediment to their 
" voice potential " in affairs of legislation ; and although an 
Act was after many years suffered to pass, which by one o( 
its articles disqualified placemen from serving as members 
of the House of Commons, it was yet not allowed to inter 
fere with the influence of the reigning monarch, nor with 
that of his successor Anne. The purifying clause, indeed, 
was not to take effect till after the decease of the latter sov 
ereign, and she very considerately repealed it altogether. 
So that, as representation has continued ever since, if the 
king were simple enough to send to foreign courts ambassa- 
dors who were most of them in the pay of those courts, he 
would be just as hone.stly and faithfully represented as aro 



166 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



Hence all the ills you suffer, — hence remain 
Such galling fragments of that feudal chain,' 
"Whose links around you by the Norman flung, 
Though loosed and broke so often, stiU have 

clung. 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old. 
Has turn'd his thunder into showers of gold. 



•lis people. It would be endless to enumerate all the favors 
which were conferred upjn William by those " apostate 
Whigs." They complinientcd him with tlie first suspension 
of the Habeas Corpus Act wliich had been hazarded since 
the confirmation of that privilege ; and this example of our 
Dehverer's reign has not been lost upon any of his successors. 
They prouuited the establishment of a standing army, and 
circulated in its defence the celehnited " Balancing Letter," 
in which it is insinuated that England, even then, in her 
boasted hour of regeneration, was arrived at such a pitch of 
faction and corruption, that nothing could keep her in order 
but a Whig ministry and a standing army. They refused, 
as long as they could, to shorten the duration of parliaments ; 
and though, in the Decoration of Rights, the necessity of 
such a reform was acknowledged, they were able, by arts 
iioti nknown tomodert) ministers, to brand those as traitors 
and republicans who urged it.* But the grand and distin- 
guishing trait of their measures was the power they be- 
stowed on the Crown of almost annihilating the freedom of 
elections, —of turning from its course, and forever defiling 
that great stream of Representation, whicii had, even in the 
most agitated periods, reflected some features of the people, 
but wljitli, from thenceforth, become the Pactolus, the "• au- 
rifer amnis," of the court, and served as a mirror of the na- 
tional will and popular feeling no longer. We need but 
consult the writings of that time, to understand the aston- 
vhuient then excited by measures, which the practice of a 
eentury has rendered not only familiar but necessary. See 
a pamphlet called " The Danger of mercenary Parliaments," 
lt98 ; State Tracts, Will. III. vol. ii. : see also " Some Para- 
doxes presenrtd as a New Year's Gift." (State Poems, vol. 
iii.) 

1 The last great wound given to the feudal system was 
the Act of the 19th of Charles II., which abolished the ten- 
ure of knight's service in capite, and which Blackstone com- 
pares, for its salutary infiuence upon property, to the boasted 
provisions of Magna Charta itself. Yet even in this Act we 
see tlie effects of tiiat counteracting spirit which has con- 
trived to weaken every effort of the English nation towards 
liberty. The exclusion of copyholders from their share of 
elective rights was permitted to remain as a brand of feudal 
servitude, and as an obstacle to the rise of that strong coun- 
terbalance which an equal representation of property would 
opprse to tlie weight of the Crown. If the managers of the 
R< volution had been sincere in their wishes for reform, they 
would mt only have taken this fetter ofT the rights of elec- 
tion but would have renewed the mode adopted in Crom- 
well's time of increasing the number of knights of the shire, 
to the exclusion of those rotten insignificant boroughs, which 
have tainted the whole mass of the constitution. Lord Clar- 
endon calls this measure of Cromwell's "an alteration fit 

• See a pamphlet published in 1833. upon the King's refusing to 
sign tin- Triennial Bill, called " A Discourse between a Yeoman of 
Kent and a Knigbt of a Sliire." — " Hereupon (says the Yeoman) 
the gi'iitleniun grew angry, and said that talked like a "^ase com- 
iions-wcall b man." 



Whose silent courtship wins securer joys,* 
Taints by degrees, and ruins without noise. 
While parliaments, no more those sacred things 
Which make and rule the destiny of kings, 
Like loaded dice by ministers are thrown. 
And each new set of sharpers cog thcii 
own. 



to be more warrantable made, and in a better time." It 
formed part of Mr. Pitt's plan in 1783 ; but Pitt's plan of re- 
form was a kind of announced dramatic piece, about as like- 
ly to be ever acted as Mr. Sheridan's " Foresters." 

fore enim tutum iter et patens 

Converse in pretium Deo. 
Aurum per medios ire satellites, &c. 

Ilorat. 

It would be a task not uninstructive to trace the history 
of Prerogative from the date of its strength under the Tiidot 
princes, when Henry VII. and his successors " taught the 
people (as Nathaniel Bacon says) * to dance to the tune of 
Allegiance," to the period of the Revolution, when the 
Throne, in its attacks upon liberty, began to exchange the 
noisy explosions of Prerogative for the silent and etTectual 
air gun of Influence. In following its cour.=e, too, since that 
memorable era, we shall find that, while the royal power 
has been abridged in branches where it might be made 
conducive to the interests of the people, it has been left in 
full and unshackled vigor against almost every point where 
the integrity of the constitution is vulnerable. For instance, 
the power of chartering boroughs, to whose capricious abuse 
in the hands of the Stuarts we are indebted for most of the 
present anomalies of represent.ttion, might, if suffered to 
remain, have in some degree atoned for its mischief, by 
restoring the old unchartered boroughs to their rights, and 
widening more equally the basis of the legislature. But, 
by the Act of Union with Scotland, this part of the preroga 
tive was removed, lest Freedom should have a chance of 
being healed, even by the rust of the spear which had for- 
merly wounded her. The dangerous power, however, of 
creating peers, which has been so often exercised fur the 
gnvernment against the constitution, is still left in free and 
unqualified activity ; notwilhstanding the example of tliat 
celebrated Bill for the limitation of this ever-budding branrh 
of prerofiative, which was proposed in the reign of George I. 
under the peculiar sanction and recommendation of the 
Crown, but which the Whigs thought right to reject, with 
all that characteristic delicacy, which, in general, prevents 
them when enjoying the sweets of office themselves, from 
taking any uncourtly advantage of the Throne. It will be 
recollected, however, that the creation of the twelve peers 
by the Tories in Anne's reign (a measure which Swift, Iik-» 
a true party man, defends) gave these uptight Whi^'S all 
possible alarm for their liberties. 

With regard to the generous fit about his prerogative which 
seized so unroyally the good king George I., historians ha\e 
hinted that the paroxysm originated far more in hatred to his 
son than in love to the consiitution.f This of course, how- 
ever, is a calumny : no loyal person, acquainted with the 
annals of the three Georges, could possibly suspect any one 
of those gracious monarchs either of ill will to his heir, oi 
indifference for the constitution. 

• Historic, and Politic. Discourse, &c. part ii. p. IH. 

t Coxe says that this Bill was projected by Sunderland. 



CORRUPTION, A P.OETIC EPISTLE. 



167 



Hence the rich oil, that from the Treasurj' steals. 
Drips smooth o'er all the Constitution's wheels, 
Giving the old machine such pliant play,' 
That Court and Commons jog one joltless way, 
While Wisdom trembles for the crazy car, 
^ "^ gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far ; 
Ai '^e duped people, hourly doom'd to pay 
The sum* "^at bribe their liberties away, ^ — 
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume 
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his 

doom, — 
'^ce their own feathers pluck'd to wing the dart 
Which rank corruption destines for their heart ! 
But soft ! methinks I hear thee proudly say, 
" What ! shall I listen to the impious lay, 
" That dares, with Tory licentie, to profane 
" The bright bequests of William's glorious 

reign ? 
*' Shall the great wisdom of our patriot sires, 
" Whom H — wks — b — y quotes and savory 

B — rch admires, 



1 " Tliey drove so fast (says Welwood of tlie ministers 
of Charles I.), that it was no wonder that the wheels and 
chariot broke." (Memoirs, p. 35.) — But this fatal accident, 
if we may judge from experience, is to be imputed far less 
to the folly and impetuosity of the drivers, than to tlie want 
of that suppling oil from the Treasury which has been 
found so necessary to make a government like that of 
England run smoothly. Had Charles been as well provided 
with this article as his successors have been since the happy 
Revolution, his Commons would never have merited from 
Iiim the harsh appellation of " seditious vipers," but would 
have been (as they now are, and I trust always will be) 
" dutiful Commons," " loyal Commons," &c. &c., and 
would have given him ship money, or any other sort of 
money he might have fancied. 

- Among those auxiliaries which the Revolution of 1688 
marshalled on the side of the Throne, tlie bugbear of Popeiy 
has not been the least convenient and serviceable. Those 
unskilful tyrants, Charles and James, instead of profiting 
by that useful subserviency which has always distinguished 
the ministers of our religious establishment, were so infatua- 
ted as to plan the ruin of this best bulwark of their power, 
and, moreover, connected their designs upon the Church so 
undisguisedly with their attacks upon the Constitution, that 
they identified in the minds of the people the interests of 
their religii'ii and their liberties. During those times, there- 
fore, " No Popery " was the watchword of freedom, and 
served to keep the public spirit awake against the invasions 
of bigotry and prerogative. The Revolution, however, by 
rjmoving this object of jealousy, has produced a reliance on 
he orthodoxy of the Throne, of which the Throne has not 
failed to take advantage ; and the cry of " No Popery " 
having thus lost its power of alarming the people against the 
jnroadi of the Crown, has served ever since the very differ- 
ent purpose of strengthening the Crown against the preten- 
sions and struggles of the people. Thedangerof the Church 
from Papists and Pretenders was the chief pretext for the 
repeal of the Trieimial Bill, for the ad(pption of a standing 
army, for the numerous suspensions of the Habeas Corpus 
Act, and in shor* fur all those spirited infractions nf the 



" Be slander'd thus ? shall honest St — le agree 
" With virtuous R — se to call us pure and free, 
" Yet fail to prove it ? Shall our patent pair 
" Of wise state poets waste their words in air, 
" And P — e unheeded breathe his prosperous 

strain, 
" And C — nn — ng take the people's sense in 

vain ? " ' 

The people ! — ah, that Freedom's forn. 

should stay 
Where Freedom's spirit long hath pass'd away ' 
That a false smile should play around the dead. 
And flush the features when the soul hath fled ! * 
When Rome had lost her virtue with her rights. 
When her foul tyrant sat on Caprese's heights * 
Amid his ruffian spies, and doom'd to death 
Each noble name they blasted with their 

breath, — 
Even then, (in mockery of that golden time. 
When the Republic rose revered, sublime, 



constitution by which the reigns of the last century were so 
eminently distinguished. We have seen very lately, too, 
how the Throne has been enabled, by the same scarecrow smt 
of alarm, to select its ministers from among men, whose s-^^r- 
vility is their only claim to elevation, and who are pledued 
(if such an alternative could arise) to take part with tlie 
scruples of the King against the salvation of the empire. 

3 Somebody has said, " Quand tous les poetes seraient 
noyes, ce ne serait pas grand dommago ; " but I am aware 
that this is not fit language to be held at a time when our 
birlh-day odes and state papers are written by such pretty 
poets as Mr. P — e and Mr. C — nn — ng. All I wish is, that 
the latter gentleman would change places with his brother 
P — e, by which means we should have somewhat less prose 
in our odes, and certainly less poetry in our politics. 

* " It is a scandal (said Sir Charles Sedley in William's 
reign) that a government so sick at heart as ours is shduld 
look so well in the face ; " and Edmund Burke has said, in 
the present rtign, " When the people conceive that laws and 
tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are perverted from 
the ends of their institution, they find in these names of 
degenerated establishments only new motives to discontent. 
Those bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay in 
their arms and were their joy and comfort, when dead aM<l 
putrid become more loathsome from remembrance of former 
endearments." — Thoughts on the present Discontents, 177U. 

Tutor haberi 

Principis, Augusta Caprearum in rupe sedentis 
Cum grege Chaldaeo. Javenal. Sat. x. v. 99. 

The senate still continued, during the reign of Tiberis, 
to manage all the business of the public ; the money was 
then and long after coined by their authority, and every other 
public affair received their sanction. 

VVe are told by Tacitus of a certain race of men, who 
made themselves particularly useful to the Roman emperors, 
and were therefore called " instrumenta regni," or " ccurl 

tools." F'^im this, it appears that my Lords M , C ■ 

&c. &c. ai, V no means things of modem invention 



168 



CORRUPTION, A POETIC EPISTLE. 



And her proud sons, diffused from zone to 

zone. 
Gave kings to every nation but their own,) 
Even then the senate and the tribunes stood. 
Insulting marks, to show how high the flood 
Of Freedom flow'd, in glory's by-gone day. 
And how it ebb'd — forever ebb'd away ! ' 

Look but around — though yet a tyrant's 

sword 
Nor haunts our sleep nor glitters o'er our board. 
Though blood be better drawn, by modem 

quacks, 
With Treasury leeches than with sword or 

axe; 
Yet say, could even a prostrate tribune's power, 
Or a mock senate, in Rome's servile hour, 
Insult so much the claims, the rights of man, 
As doth that fetter'd mob, that free divan, 
Of noble tools and honorable knaves. 
Of pension'd patriot* and privileged slaves ; — 
That party-colored mass, wliich nought can 

warm 
But rank corruption's heat — whose quicken'd 

swarm 
Spread their light wings in Bribery's golden 

sky. 
Buzz for a period, lay their eggs, and die ; — 
That greedy vampire, which from Freedom's 

tomb 
Comes forth, with all the mimicry of bloom 
Upon its lifeless cheek, and sucks and drains 
A. people's blood to feed its putrid veins ! 

Thou start'st, my friend, at picture drawn so 
dark — 
"Is there no light?" thou ask'st — "no lin- 
gering spark 
"Of ancient fire to warm us ? Lives there none, 
" To act a Marvell's part ? " '^ — alas ! not one. 

1 There is something very touching in what Tacitus tells 
us of the hopes that revived in a few patriot bosoms, when 
the death of Augustus was near approaching, and the fond 
expectation witti which tliey already began " bona libertatis 
incassum disserere." 

According to Ferguson, Caesar's interference with the 
rights of election " made the subversion of the republic 
more felt than any of the former acts of his power." — iJo- 
man Republic, book v. chap. i. 

3 Andrew Maivcll, the honest opposer of the court during 
the reign of Charles the Second, and the last member of 
parliament who, according to the ancient mode, took wages 
from his constituents. The Commons have, smce then, 
much changed their paymasters. — See the State Poems hi 
some rude but spirited effusions of Andrew Marvell. 

3 The following artless speech of Sir Francis Wilmington, 
\n the reign of Charles the Second, will amuse those who 



To place and power all public spirit tends. 
In place and power all public spirit ends ; ^ 
Like hardy plants, that love the air and sky, 
When out, 'twill thrive — but taken in, 'twill die 

Not bolder truths of sacred Freedom hung 
From Sidney's pen or burn'd on Fox's tongue 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market night, 
While yet their conscience, as their purse, is 

light ; 
While debts at home excite their care for those 
Which, dire to tell, thek much-lov'd country 

owes, 
And loud and upright, till their prize be known. 
They thwart the King's supplies to raise their 

own. 
But bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum — 
So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 
And, though most base is he, who, 'neath the 

shade 
Of Freedom's ensign plies corruption's trade, 
And makes the sacred flag he dares to show 
His passport to the market of her foe, 
Yet, yet, I omu so venerably dear 
Are Freedom's grave old anthems to my ear, 
That I enjoy them, though by traitors sung. 
And reverence Scripture even from Satan's 

tongue. 
Nay, when the constitution has expired, 
I'U have such men, like Irish wakers, hired 
To chant old "Habeas Corpus" by its side, 
And ask, in purchas'd ditties, why it died ? 

See yon smooth lord, whom nature's plastic 

pains 
Would seem to've fashioned for those Eastern 

reigns 
When eunuchs flourish' d, and such nerveless 

things 
As men rejected were the chosen of kings ; ■* — 

»re fully aware of the perfection we have since attained in 
that system of government whose humble beginnings so 
much astonished the worthy baronet " I did observe 'saya 
he) that all those who had pensions, and most of those who 
had offices, voted all of a side, as they were directed by 
some great officer, exactly as if their business In this House 
had been to preserve their pensions and nftices, and not to 
make laws for the good of them who sent them here." — 
He alludes to that parliament which was called, par excel- 
lence, the Pensionary Parliament. 

* According to Xenophon, the chief circumstance which 
recommended these creatures to the service of Eastern 
princes was the ignominious station thev held in society, 
and the probability of their being, upon this account, more 
devoted to the will and caprice of a master, from whose no- 
tice alone they derived consideration, and in whose favoi 
they might seek refuge from tlie general contemi)t of man- 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



169 



Eyen he, forsooth, (O fraud, of aU the worst !) 
Dared to assume the patriot's name at first — 
Thus Pitt began, and thus begin his apes ; 
Thus devils, when first raised, take pleasiiig 

shapes. 
But O, poor Ireland ! if revenge be sweet 
For centuries of wrong, for dark deceit 
And withering insult — for the Union thrown 
Into thy bitter cup,' when that alone 
Of slavery's draught was wanting '-' — Lf for 

this 
Revenge be sweet, thou hast that demon's bliss ; 
For sure, 'tis more than hell's revenge to see 
That England trusts the men who've ruin'd 

thee ; — 
That, in these awful days, when every hour 
Creates some new or blasts some ancient power, 
When proud Napoleon, like th' enchanted 

shield ' 
Whose light compell'd each wondering foe to 

yield. 
With baleful lustre blinds the brave and free, 
And dazzles Europe into slaver)', — 
That, in this hour, when patriot zeal should 

guide, 
"SV'hen Mind should rule, and — Fox should not 

have died, 
X\\ that devoted England can oppose 
To enemies made fiends and friends made foes, 



kind. — AAoJot oircj oi tvvovxoi. irapa rnts aWot; avOooi- 
nui; Kai iia tovto ic(rrroTOV tniKOvpov Trij'xjScovTai. — But 
I doubt whether even an Eastern prince would have chosen 
an entire administration upon this principle. 

1 " And in the cup a Union shall be tlirown." 

Hamlet. 

2 Among the many measures, which, since the Revolu- 
tion, have contributed to increase the infiueiice of the 
Throne, and to feed up this " Aaron's serpent" of the con- 
stitution to its present healthy and respectable magnitude, 
there have been few more nutritive than the Scotch and 
Irish Unions. Sir John Packer said, in a debate upon the 
former question, that " he would submit it to the House, 
whether men who had basely betrayed their trust, by giving 
up their indt[)endent constitution, were fit to be admitted 
into the English House ol Commons." But Sir John would 
have known, if he had not been out of place at the time, 
tliat the pliancy of svich materials was nut among the least 
of their recommendations. Indeed, the promoters of the 
Scotch Union were by no means disappointed in the lead- 
ing object of their measure, for the triumphant majorities 
of the court party in parliament may be dated from the ad- 
mission of t'lp 45 and the 16. Once or twice, upon the al- 
teration of their law of treason and the imposition of the 
malt tax (measures which were in direct violation of the 
Act of Union), these worthy North Britons arrayed them- 
Belves in opposition to the court ; but finding this effort for 
tlieir country unavailing, they prudently determined to 
Ihiiik thenceforward of themselves, and few men have ever 
kept to a laudable resolution more firmly. The effect of 



Is the rank refuse, the despised remains 

Of that unpitying power, whose whips and 

chains 
Drove Ireland first to turn, with harlot glance, 
Towards other shores, and woo th' embrace of 

France ; — 
Those hack'd and tainted tools, so foully fit 
For the grand artisan of mischief, P — tt. 
So useless ever but in vile employ. 
So weak to save, so vigorous to destroy — 
Such are the men that guard thy threaten'd 

shore, 
O England ! sinking England ! ■• boast no more 



INTOLERANCE, 



A SATIRE. 

" This clamor, which pretends to be raised for the safety 
of religion, has almost worn out the very appearance of it, 
and rendered us not only the most divided but the most im- 
moral people upon the face of the earth." 

Addison, Freeholder, No. 37. 

Start not, my friend, nor think the Muse Avill 

stain 
Her classic fingers with the dust profane 

Irish representation on the liberties of England will be no 
less perceptible and permanent. 

OiifJ' oj£ Tavpov 

AeiTTirai avTeWovro^.* 
The infusion of such cheap and useful ingredients as my 
Lord L., Mr. D. B., &c. &c. into the legislature, cannot but 
act as a powerful alterative on the constitution, and cle;u- it 
by degress of all troublesome humors of honesty. 

3 The magician's shield in Ariosto : — 

E tolto per vertii dello splendore 

La libertate a loro. Cant. 2. 

We are told that Casar's code of morality was contained 
in the following lines of Euripides, which that great man 
frequently repeated : — 

EiTtp yap ui5()f£(i' xpn TVpaiivtSog Ttcpt 
KaAAiCTTOf aiiKtLV r' aWa J' cvae6i.iv xpei^^v. 
This is also, as it appears, the moral code of Napoleon. 

4 The following prophetic remarks occur in a letter written 
by Sir Robert Talbot, who attended the Duke of Bedford to 
Paris in 1762. Talking of states which have grown pow- 
erful in commerce, he says, "According to the nature and 
common course of things, there is a confederacy against 
them, and consequently in the same proportion as they in- 
crease in riches, they approach to destruction. The address 

• From Aratus (v. 715) a poet who wrote upon astronomy 
though, as Cicero assures us, he knew nothing whatever about the 
subject : just as the great Harvey wrote, " De Gencratione," though 
he had as little to do with the matter as my Lord V iscouut C. 



170 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



Of Bulls, Decrees, and all those thundering 

scrolls, 
Which took such freedom once -with royal 

souls,' 
When heaven was yetthe pope's exclusive trade. 
And kings were damn'd as fast as now they're 

made. 
No, no — let D — gen — n search the papal chair * 
Tor fragrant treasures long forgotten there ; 
And as the witch of sunless Lapland thinks 
That little swarthy gnomes delight in stinks, 
Let sallow P — re — v — 1 snufF up the gale 
Which wizard D — gen — n's gather'd sweets ex- 
hale. 
Enough for nie, whose heart has learn'd to scorn 
Bigots alike in Rome or England born, 
Who loathe the venom, whencesoe'er it springs. 
From popes or lawyers,' pastry cooks or kings, 
Enough for me to laugh and weep by turns, 
As mirth provokes, or indignation burns, 



of our King William, in making all Europe take the alarm 
at France, has brought that country before us near that inev- 
itable period. We must necessarily have our turn, and 
Great Britain will attain it as soon as France shall have a 
declainier with organs as proper for that political purpose as 

were those of our William the Third 

Without doubt, my Lord, Great Britain must lower her flight. 
Europe will remind us of the balance of commerce, as she 
has reminded France of the balance of power. The address 
of our statesmen will immortalize them by contriving for us 
a descent which .shall not be a fall, by making us rather 
resemble Holland than Carthage and Venice " — Letters on 
the French J^ation. 

1 The king-deposing doctrine, notwithstanding its many 
mischievous absurdities, was of no little service to the cause 
of political liberty, by inculcating the right of resistance to 
tyrants, and asserting the will of the people to be the only 
true fountain of power. Bellarmine, the most violent of 
the advocates for papal authority, was one of the first to 
maintain (De Puntif. lib. i. cap. 7), "that kings have not 
their authority or office immediately from God nor his law, 
but only from the law of nations ; " and in King James's 
" Defence of the Rights of Kings against Cardinal Perron," 
we find his Majesty expressing strong indignation against 
the Cardinal for having asserted " that to the deposing of a 
king the consent of the people must be obtained " — " for 
by these words (says James) the people are exalted above 
the king, and made the judges of the king's deposing," p. 
42 1. — Even in Mariana's celebrated book, where the non- 
sense of bigotry does not interfere, there may be found many 
liberal and enlightened views of the principles of govern- 
ment, of the restraints which should be imposed upon royal 
power, of the subordination of the Throne to the interests 
of the people, &c. &c. (De Rege et Rr.^is JiistUutlone. See 
oarticularly lib. 1. cap. 6, 8, and 9.) — It is rather remarkable, 
too, that England should be indebted to another Jesuit for 
the earliest defence of that principle upon which the Revo- 
lution was founded, namely, the right of the people to change 
the succession. — (See Doleman's " Conferences," written in 
support of the title of the Infanta of Spain against that of 
James I.) — When Englishmen, therefore, say that Popery 



As C — nn — ng vapors, or as France succeeds. 
As H — wk — sb'ry proses, or as Ireland bleeds ! 

And thou, my friend, if in these headlong 

days. 
When bigot Zeal her drunken antics plays 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shudder while they 

smile — 
If, in such fearful days, thou'lt dare to look 
To hapless Ireland, to this rankling nook 
Which Heaven hath freed from poisonous things 

in vain. 
While G — ff — rd's tongue and M — sgr — ve's per. 

remain — 
If thou hast yet no golden blinkers got 
To shade thine eyes from this devoted spot. 
Whose wrongs, though blazon'd o'er the world 

they be. 
Placemen alone are privileged 7iot to see — 



is the religion of slavery, they should not only recollect that 
their own boasted constitution is the work and bequest of 
Popish ancestors ; they should not only remember the laws 
of Edward III., " under whom (says Bolingbroke) ilie con- 
stitution of our parliaments, and the whole form of our gov- 
ernment, became reduced into better form ; " but they should 
know that even the errors charged on Popery have leaned 
to the cause of liberty, and that Papist! were the first pro- 
mulgators of the doctrines which led to the Revolution. — 
In general, however, the political principles of the Roman 
Catholics have been described as happened to suit the tem- 
porary convenience of their oppressors, and have been rep- 
resented alternately as slavish or refractory, according as a 
prete.vt for tormenting them was wanting. The same incon- 
sistency has marked every other imputation again.st them. 
They are charged with laxity in the observance of oatlw, 
though an oath has been found sufficient to shut them out 
from all worldly advantages. If they reject certain decisions 
of their church, they are said to be sceptics and bad Chris- 
tians ; if they admit those very decisions, they are branded 
as bigots and bad subjects. We are told that confidence and 
kindness will make tiiem enen)ies to the government, though 
we know that exclusion and injuries have hardly prevented 
them from being its friends. In short, nothing can better 
illustrate the misery of those shifts and evasions by which 
a long course of cowardly injustice must be su])ported, thau 
the whole history of Great Britain's conduct towards the 
Catholic part of her empire. 

2 The " Sella Stercoraria " of the popes. — 'J'lic Riglit 
Honorable and learned Doctor will find an engraving of 
this chair in Spanheim's " Disquisitio Hislorica de PapA 
Foeminai " (p. 118) ; and I recommend it as a model for the 
fashion of that seat which the Doctor is about to take in the 
privy council of Ireland. 

3 When Innocent X. was entreated to decide llic contro- 
versy between the Jesuits and the Jansenists, he answered, 
that " he had been bred a lawyer, and had therefore nuthin;! 
to do with divinity." — It were to be wished that some of 
our English pettifoggers knew their own fit element as well 
as Pope Innocent X. 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



171 



0, turn a while, and, though the shamrock 

wreathes 
My homely harp, yet shall the song it breathes 
Of Ireland's slavery, and of Ireland's woes, 
Live, when the menxory of her tyrant foes 
Shall but exist, all future knaves to warn, 
Embalm'd in hate and canonized by scorn. 
"When C— stl— r— gh, in sleep still more pro- 
found 
Than his own opiate tongue now deals around. 
Shall wait th' impeachment of that awful day 
Which even his practised hand can't bribe away. 

Yes, my dear friend, wert thou but near me 

now, 
To see how Spring lights up on Erin's brow 
Smiles that shine out, unconquerably fair, 
Even through the blood marks left by C— m- 

d — n ' there, — 



1 Not the C— md — n who speaks thus of Ireland : — 

" To wind up all, whether we rei2;ard the fruitfuhiess of 
the soil, the advantage of the sea, with so many commodi- 
ous havens, or the natives themselves, who are warlike, in- 
genious, handsome, and well complexioned, soft skinned and 
very nimble, by reason of the pliantness of their muscles, 
this Island is in many respects so happy, that Giraldus might 
very well say, ' Nature had regarded with more favorable 
eyes than ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.' " 

2 The example of toleration, which Bonaparte has held 
forth, will, I fear, produce no other effect than that of deter- 
mining the British government to persist, from the very spirit 
of opposition, in their own old system of intolerance and in- 
justice ; just as the Siamese blacken their teeth, " because," 
as they say, " the devil has white ones." * 

3 One of the unhappy results of the controversy between 
Protestants and Catholics, is the mutual exposure which 
their criminations and recriminations have produced. In 
vain do the Protestants charge the Papists with closing the 
door of salvation upon others, while many of their own 
writings and articles breathe the same uncharitable spirit. 
No canon of Constance or Laleran ever damned heretics 
more effectually than the eiglith of the Thirty-nine Articles 
consigns to perdition every single member of the Greek 
church ; and I doubt whether a more sweeping clause of 
damnation was ever proposed in the most bigoted council, 
than that which the Calvinistic theory of predestination in 
the seventeenth of these Articles exhibits. It Is true that 
no liberal Protestant avows such exclusive opinions ; that 
every honest clergj-nian must feel a pang while he subscribes 
to them ; that some even assert the Athanasian Creed to be 
the forgery of one Vigilius Tapsensis, in the beginning of 
the sixth century, and that eminent divines, like Jortin, have 
not hesitated to say, " There are propositions contained in 
our Liturgy and Articles, which no man of common sense 
amongst us believes." f But while all this is freely con- 
ceded to Protestants ; while nobody doubts their sincerity, 
when they declare that their articles are not essentials of 
faith, but a collection of opinions which have been promul- 
gated by fallible men, and from many of which they feel 

• See I'Histoire Nnturelle et Polit. du Royaume de Siam, &e. 
t Strictures on the Articles, Subscriptions, &c. 



Couldst thou but see what verdure paints the 

sod 
Which none but tj-rants and their slaves have 

trod. 
And didst thou know the spirit, kind and brave. 
That warms the soul of each insulted slave. 
Who, tired with struggling, sinks beneath his 

lot. 
And seems by all but watchful France forgot " — 
Thy heart would burn — yes, even thy Pittite 

heart 
Would burn, to think that such a blooming part 
Of the world's garden, rich in nature's charms. 
And fiU'd with social souls and vigorous arms. 
Should be the victim of that canting crew. 
So smooth, so godly, — yet so devilish too ; 
Who, arm'd at once with Prayer books and with 

whips,^ 
Blood on their hands, and Scripture on their lips. 



themselves justified in dissenting, — while so much liberty 
of retractation is allowed to Protestants upon their own de- 
clared and subscribed Articles of religion, is it not strange 
that a similar indulgence should be so obstinately refused 
to the Catholics, upon tenets which their church has uni- 
formly resisted and condemned, in every country where it 
has independently flourished .' When the Catholics siy, 
" The Decree of the Council of Lateran, which you object 
to us, has no claim whatever upon either our faith or our 
reason ; it did not even profess to contain any doctrinal de- 
cision, but was merely a judicial proceeding of that assem- 
bly ; and it would be as fair for us to impute a wife-kilUng 
doctrine to the Protestants, because their first pope, Ilei.ry 
VIII., was sanctioned in an indulgence of that propensity, 
as for you to conclude that we have inherited a king-depos- 
ing taste from the acts of the Council of Lateran, or tiie 
secular pretensions of our popes. With respect, too, to the 
Decree of the Council of Constance, upon the strength ol 
which you accuse us of breaking faith with heretics, we do 
not hesitate to prcmounce tliat Decree a calumnious forgery, 
a forgerj', too, so obvious and ill fabricated, that none but 
our enemies have ever ventured to give it the slightest credit 
for authenticity." — When the Catholics make these declara- 
tions (and they are almost weary with making them), when 
they show, too, by their conduct, that these declarations are 
sincere, and that their faith and morals are no more regu- 
lated by the absurd decrees of old councils and popes, tlian 
their science is influenced by the papal anathema against 
that Irishman * wlio first found out the Antipodes, — is it 
not strange that so many still wilfully distrust what every 
good man is so much interested in believiug? That so many 
should prefer the dark lantern of the 13th century to the 
sunshine of intellect which has since overspread the world, 
and that every dabbler in theology, from Mr. Le Mesurier 
down to the Chancellor of the Excliequer, should dare to 
oppose the rubbish of Constance and Lateran to the bright 
and triumphant progress of justice, generosity, and truth ? 

* Virgilius, surnamed Solivagus, a native of Ireland, who muin- 
tained, in the 8th century, the doctrine of the Antipodes, and wM 
anathematized accordingly by the Pope. John Scotus Erigena. 
another Irisliman, was the first that eyer wrote against traurub- 
stantiation. 



172 



INTOLERANCE. A SATIRE. 



Tyrants by creed, and torturers by text, 
M;ike this iife hell, in honor of the next ! 
Your R — desd — les, P — re — v — Is, — great, glo- 
rious Heaven, 
If I'm presumptuous, be my tongue forgiven, 
When here I swear, by my soul's hope of rest, 
I'd rather have been born, ere man was blest 
With the pure dawn of Revelation's light. 
Yes, — rather plunge me back in Pagan night, 
And take my chance with Socrates for bliss,' 
Than be the Christian of a faith like this, 
Which builds on heavenly cant its earthly sway. 
And in a convert mourns to lose a prey ; 



1 In a sinsTiIar work, written by one Franciscus CoUius, 
" upon the Souls of the Pagans," the author discusses, with 
much coolness and erudition, all the probable chances of sal- 
vation upon wiiich a heathen philosopher might calculate. 
Consigning to perdition without much diMiculty Plato, Soc- 
rates, &c. the only sage at whose fate he seems to hesitate is 
Pythagoras, in consideration of his golden thigh, and the 
many miracles which he performed. But, having balanced 
a little Ills claims, and finding reason to father all these mira 
clcs on the devil, he at length, in the twenty-fifth chapter, 
decides upon damning him also. (De Ji iiiiitabas Pairaiiorum, 
lib. iv. cap. 20 and 25.) — The poet Dante compromises tlie 
matter with the Pagans, and gives them a neutral territory or 
limbo of their own, where their employment, it must be 
owned, is not very enviable. — " Senza speme vivemo in 
desio." — Cant. iv. — Among the numerous errors imputed 
to Origen, he is accused of having denied the eternity of fu- 
ture punishment ; and, if he never advanced a more irra- 
tional doctrine, we may venture, I think, to forgive him. 
He went so far, however, as to include the devil himself in 
the general hell-delivery which he suppo.sed would one day 
or other take place, and in this St. Aiigustin thinks him 
rather too merciful — " Miserecordiorprofecto fuit Origenes, 
qui et ipsum diabolum," &c. (De Ciuitat. Dei, lib. x.xi. cap. 
17.) — According to St. Jerome, it was Origen's opinion, 
that " the devil himself, after a certain time, will be as well 
off as the angel Gabriel " — " Id ipsum fore Gabrielem quod 
diabolum." (See his Rpistle to Pammacluus.) But Halloi.x, in 
his Defence of Origen, denies strongly that this learned fa- 
tlier had any such misplaced tenderness for tlie devil. 

2 .Mr. Fo.x, in his Speech on the Repeal of the Test Act 
(1790), thus condemns the intermixture of religion with the 
political constitution of a state : — " What purpose (he asks) 
can it serve, except the baleful purpose of communicating 
and receiving contamination ? Under such an alliance, cor- 
ruption must alight upon the one, and slavery overwhelm 
the other. 

Locke, too, says of the connection between church and 
Btato, " The boundaries on both sides are fixed and immova- 
ble. He jumbles heaven and earth together, the things 
nios: remote and opposite, who mixes these two societies, 
which are in their original, end, business, and in every 
thins, perfectly distinct and infinitely ditTerent from each 
vlhe.r." — First Letter on Toleration. 

The corruptions introduced into Christianity may be dated 
from the period of its establishment under Constanline, nor 
could all ihe splendor which it then acquired atone for the 
peace and purity which it lost 

3 There has been, after all, quite as much intolerance 



Which, grasping human hearts with double 

hold, — 
Like DanSe's lover mixing god and gold, ' — 
Corrupts both state and church, and makes an 

oath 
The knave and atheist's passport into both ; 
Which, while it dooms dissenting souls to know 
Nor bli s above nor liberty below. 
Adds the slave's suffering to the sinner's fear. 
And, lest he 'scape hereafter, racks him here ! * 
But no — far other faith, far milder beams 
Of heavenly justice warm the Christian's 

dreams ; 



among Protestants as among Papists. According to th9 
hackneyed quotation — 

Iliacos intra muros peccatur et extra. 

Even the great champion of the Reformation, Melancthon, 
whom Jortin calls " a divine of much mildness and good 
nature," thus expresses his approbation of the burning of 
Servetus : " Legi (he says to BuUinger) quae de Serveti blas- 
phemiis respondistis, et pietatem ac judicia vestra probo. 
Judico etiam senatum Genevensem rectfe fecisse, quod ho- 
minem pertinacem et non omissurum blasphemias sustulit; 
ac miratus sum esse qui severitatem illam improbent." — I 
have great pleasure in contrasting with these " mild and 
good-natured " sentiments the following words of the Papist 
Baluze, in addressing his friend Conringius : " Interim 
amemus, mi C(mringi, et tametsi diversas opiniones tuemur 
in caus3. religionis, moribus tamen diversi non simus, qui 
eadem literarum studia sectamur." — Herman. Conring, 
Epistol. par secund. p. 56. 

Hume tells us that the Commons, in the beginning of 
Charles the First's reign, " attacked Montague, one of the 
King's chaplains, on account of a moderate book which he 
had lately composed, and which, to their great disgust, saved 
virtuous Catholics, as well as other Christians, from eternal 
torments." — In the same manner a complaint was lodged 
before the Lords of the Council against that excellent writer 
Hooker, fur having, in a Sermon against Popery, attempted 
to save many of his Popish ancestors for ignorance. — To 
these examples of Protestant toleration I shall beg leave to 
oppose the following extract from a letter of old Roger As- 
cham (the tutor of Queen Elizabeth), which is preserved 
among the Harrington Papers, and was written in l.'>66, to 
the Earl of Leicester, complaining of the Archbishop 
Young, who had taken away his prebend in the church of 
York : " Master Bourne * did never grieve me half so moche 
in offering me wrong, as Mr. Dudley and the Byshopp of 
York due, in taking away my right. No byshopp in CI. 
Mary's time would have so dealt with me ; not Mr. Bourne 
hymself, when Winchester lived, durst have so dealt with 
me. For suche good estimation in those dayes even the 
learnedst and wysest men, as Gardener and Cardinal Poole, 
made of my poore service, that although they knewe per- 
fectly that in religion, both by open wrytinge and pryvie 
taike, I was contrarye unto them ; yea, when Sir Francis 
Englefield by name did note me speciallye at the councill 
board. Gardener would not suffer me to be called thither, 
nor touched ellswheare, saiinge suche words of me in a 
lettre, as though lettres cannot, I blushe to write them tc 

• Sir John Bourne, Principal Secretarj of State til Queen Mai/ 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



173 



His creed is .vrit on Mercy's page above, 
By the pur j hands of all-atoning Love ; 
He weeps to see abused Religion twine 
RouhvI Tyranny's coarse brow her Avreath di- 
vine ; 
And he, while round him sects and nations raise 
To the one God their varying notes of praise. 
Blesses each voice, whate'er its tone may be, 
That serves to swell the general harmony.' 

Such was the spirit, gently, grandly bright. 
That fill'd, O Fox ! thy peaceful soul with 

light ; 
While free and spacious as that ambient air 
Which folds our planet in its circling care. 
The mighty sphere of thy transparent mind 
Embraced the world, and breathed for all man- 
kind. 
Last of the great, farewell ! — yet not the last — 
Though Britain's sunshine liour with thee be 

past, 
lerne stUl one ray of glory gives. 
And feels but half thy loss whUe Grattan lives. 



APPENDIX. 

To the foregoing Poem, as first published, 
were subjoined, in the shape of a Note, or Ap- 
pendix, the following remarks on the History 
and Music of Ireland. This fragment was 
originally intended to form part of a Preface to 
the Irish Melodies ; but afterwards, for some 
reason which I do not now recollect, was thrown 
aside. 

***** 

Our history, for many centuries past, is cred- 
itable neither to our neighbors nor ourselves, 
and ought not to be read by any Irishman who 
wishes either to love England or to feel proud 



your lordshipp. Winchester's good will stoode not in speak- 
ing faire and wishing well, but he did in deede that for me,* 
wlieieby my wile and children shall live the better when I 
am gone." (See Nugae Antiquas, vol. i. pp. 98, 99.) — If 
men who acted thus were bigots, what shall we call Mr. 
P— re— V— 1 ; 

In Sutcliffe's " Survey of Popery" there occurs the fol- 
lowing assertion : — " Papists, that positively hold the he- 
retical and false doctrines of the modern church of Rome, 
cannot possibly be saved." — As a contrast to this and other 
specimeris of Protestant liberality, which it would be much 
more easy than pleasant to collect, I refer my reader to the 
Declaration of Le P4re Courayer;— doubting not that, 
while he reads the sentiments of this pious man upon toler- 

" By Gardener's favor Ascham long held his fellowship, though 
Lot resident. 



of Ireland. The loss of independence very 
early debased our character ; and our feuds and 
rebellions, though frequent and ferocious, but 
seldom displayed that generous spirit of enter- 
prise with which the pride of an independent 
monarchy so long dignified the struggles of 
Scotland. It is true this island has given birth 
to heroes who, under more favorable circum- 
stances, might have left in the hearts of theii 
countrymen recollections as dear as those of a 
Bruce or a Wallace ; but success was wanting 
to consecrate resistance, their cause was brand- 
ed with the disheartening name of treason, and 
their oppressed country was such a blank among 
nations, that, like the adventures of those woods 
which Rinaldo wished to explore, the fame of 
their actions was lost in the obscurity of the 
place where they achieved them. 

Errando in quelli boschi 

Trovar potria strane awenture e niolte, 
Ma come i luoghi i fatti ancor son foschi, 
Che non se'n ha notizia le piu volte.2 

Hence is it that the annals of Ireland, through 
a lapse of six hundred years, exhibit not one 
of those shining names, not one of those themes 
of national pride, from which poetry borrows j 
her noblest inspiration ; and that history, which j 
ought to be the richest garden of the Muse, 
yields no growth to her in this hapless island 
but cypress and weeds. In truth, the poet who 
would embellish his song with allusions to Irish 
names and events, must be contented to seek 
them in those early periods when our character 
was yet unalloyed and original, before the im- 
politic craft of our conquerors had divided, 
weakened, and disgraced us. The sole traits 
of heroism, indeed, which he can venture at j 
this day to commemorate, either with safety to I 
himself, or honor to his country, are to be 
looked for in those ancient times when the na- 



ation, he will feel inclined to exclaim with Belsham, 
" Blush, ye Protestant bigots ! and be confounded at the 
comparison of your own wretched and malignant uieju- 
dlces with the generous and enlarged ideas, the ;ioble 
and animated language of this Popish priest." — £s.*c«s, 
xxvii. p. 86. 

1 " La tolerance est la chose du monde la plus propre k 
ramener le siecle d'or, et k faire un concert et une harmonie 
de plusieurs voix et instruments de differens tons et nutes, 
aussi agreable pour le moins que I'uniformite d'une seu'.e 
voix." Bayle, Commentaire Philosophique, &c. part ii. 
chap. vi. — Both Bayle and Locke would have treated the 
subject of Toleration in a manner much more worthy of 
themselves and of the cause, if they had written in an age 
less distracted by religious prejudices. 

2 Ariosto, canto iv. 



174 



INTOLERANCE, A SATIRE. 



tive monarchs of Ireland displayed and fostered 
virtues worthy of a better age ; when our Mal- 
achies wore around their necks collars of gold 
which they had won in single combat from the 
invader,' and our Briens deserved and won the 
Wfirm affections of a people by exhibiting all 
the most estimable qualities of a king. It may 
3e said that the magic of tradition has shed a 
charm over this remote period, to which it is in 
reality but little entitled, and that most of the 
pictures, which we dwell on so fondly, of days 
when this island was distinguished amidst the 
gloom of Europe, by the sanctity of her morals, 
the spirit of her knighthood, and the polish of 
her schools, are little more than the inventions 
of national partiality, — that bright but spurious 
offspring which vanity engenders upon igno- 
rance, and with which the first records of every 
people abound. But the sceptic is scarcely to 
be envied who would pause for stronger proofs 
than we already possess of the early glories of 
Ireland ; and were even the veracity of all these 
proofs surrendered, yet who would not fly to 
such flattering fictions from the sad degrading 
truths which the history of later times pre- 
sents to us ? 

The language of sorrow, however, is, in gen- 
eral, best suited to our Music, and with themes 
of this nature the poet may be amply supplied. 
There is scarcely a page of our annals that Avill 
not furnish him a subject ; and, while the na- 
tional Muse of other countries adorns her tem- 
ple proudly with trophies of the past, in Ireland 
her melancholy altar, like the shrine of Pity at 
Athens, is to be known only by the tears that 
are shed upon it : " lachrymis altaria sudant." * 

There is a well-known story, related of the 
Antiochians under the reign of Thcodosius, 

1 See Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. book ix. 

2 Statins, Thebaid. lib. xii. 

3 " A sort of civil excommunication (says Gibbon), which 
separated them from their fellow-citizens by a peculiar brand 
of infamy ; and this declaration of the supreme magistrate 
(ended to justify, or at least to excuse, the insults of a fanatic 
populace. The sectaries were gradually disqualified for the 
possession of honorable or lucrative employments, and 
Theodosius was satisfied with his own justice when he de- 
creed, that, as the Eunomians distinguished the nature of 
the Son from that of the Father, they should be incapable of 
making their wills, or of receiving any advantage from tes- 
tamentary donations." 



which is not only honorable to the powers of 
music in general, but which applies so peculiar- 
ly to the mournful melodies of Ireland, that I 
cannot resist the temptation of introducing it 
here. The piety of Theodosius would have 
been admirable, had it not been stained with 
intolerance ; but under his reign was, I believe, 
first set the example of a disqualifjang penal 
code enacted by Christians against Christians.* 
Whether his interference with the religion of 
the Antiochians had any share in the alienation 
of their loyalty is not expressly ascertained by 
historians ; but severe edicts, heavy taxation, 
and the rapacity and insolence of the men 
whom he sent to govern them, sufficiently ac- 
count for the discontents of a warm and sus- 
ceptible people. Repentance soon followed the 
crimes into Avhich their impatience had hurried 
them ; but the vengeance of the Emperor was 
implacable, and punishments of the most dread- 
ful nature hung over the city of Antioch, whose 
devoted inhabitants, totally resigned to despond- 
ence, wandered through the streets and pub- 
lic assemblies, giving utterance to their grief in 
dirges of the most touching lamentation.* At 
length, Flavianus, their bishop, whom they had 
sent to intercede with Theodosius, finding all 
his entreaties coldly rejected, adopted the ex- 
pedient of teaching these songs of sorrow, 
which he had heard from the lips of his un- 
fortunate countrymen, to the minstrels who 
performed for the Emperor at table. The heart 
of Theodosius could not resist this appeal ; tears 
fell fast into his cup while he listened, and the 
Antiochians were forgiven. Surely, if music 
ever spoke the misfortunes of a people, or could 
ever conciliate forgiveness for their errors, the 
music of Ireland ought to possess those powers. 

< MeA// Tiva oXoiPvpiiov nXrifjv xai o-r^naSciaj avvBrixcvoi 
Tais ncXuiSiats CTrySov. — Jificcphor. lib. xii. cap. 43. This 
story is told also in Sozomen, lib. vii. cap. 23 ; but unfurtu- 
iiately Chrysostom says nothing whatever about it, and he 
not only had the best opportunities of information, but was 
too fond of music, as appears by his praises of psalmody 
(Exposit. in Psalm xii.), to omit such a flattering illustration 
of its powers. He imputes their reconciliation to the inter- 
ference of the Antiochian solitaries, while Zozimus attributes 
it to the remonstrances of the sophist Libanius. — Gibbon, I 
think, does not even allude to this story of the musicians. 



THE SCEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



THE SCEPTIC; 



A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE. 



Pindar, ap. Herodot. lib. iii. 



PREFACE. 

The Sceptical Philosophy of the Ancients has 
been no less misrepresented than the Epicurean. 
Pyrrho may perhaps have carried it to rather an 
irrational excess ; but we must not believe, with 
Bcattie, all the absurdities imputed to this phi- 
losopher ; and it appears to me that the doc- 
trines of the school, as explained by Sextus 
Em])iricus,' are far more suited to the wants 
and infirmities of human reason, as well as 
more conducive to the mild virtues of humility 
and patience, than any of those systems of phi- 
losophy which preceded the introduction of 
Christianity. The Sceptics may be said to have 
];cl'l a middle path between the Dogmatists and 
Acndemicians ; the former of whom boasted 
that they had attained the truth, while the lat- 
ter denied that any attainable truth existed. 
The Sceptics, however, without either asserting 
or denying its existence, professed to be mod- 
estly and anxiously in search of it ; or, as St. 
Au'^ustine expresses it, in his liberal tract 
a(;aiast the Manichaeans, "nemo nostrum dicat 
jam se invenisse veritatem ; sic eam quseramus 
quasi ab utrisque nesciatur." * From this habit 
of impartial investigation, and the necessity 
which it imposed upon them, of studying not 
only every system of philosophy, but every art 
and science, which professed to lay its basis in 
truth, they necessarily took a wider range of 
erudition, and were far more travelled in the 
regions of philosophy than those whom convic- 
tion or bigotry had domesticated in any partic- 
ular system. It required all the learning of 
dogmatism to overthrow the dogmatism of learn- 
ing ; and the Sceptics may be said to resemble, 
in this respect, that ancient incendiary, who 



1 Pyrrh. Hypoth. — The reader may find a tolerably clear 
abstract of tliis work of Sextus Enipiricus in La Verite des 
Sciences, by Mersenne, liv. i. chap. ii. &c. 

2 Lib. contra Epist. Maniclijei quam vocant Fundament!, 
Op. Paris, torn. vi. 

3 See Martin. Schoockius de Scepticismo, who endeavors, 
— weakly, 1 think — to refute this opinion of Lipsius. 



stole from the altar the fire with which he de- 
stroyed the temple. This advantage over all 
the other sects is allowed to them even by Lip- 
sius, whose treatise on the miracles of the Virgo 
Hallensis A\'ill sufficiently save him from all sus- 
picion of scepticism. " Lahore, ingenio, me- 
moria," he says, " siipra omnes pene philosophos 
fuisse. — Quid nonne omnia aliorum secta tenere 
debuerunt et inquirere, si poterunt refellere ? 
res dicit. Nonne orationes varias, raras, subti- 
les inveniri ad tarn receptas, claras, certas (ut 
videbatur) sententias evertendas?" &c. &c.^ — 
Mamtduct. ad Philosoph. Stoic. Dissert. 4. 

Between the scepticism of the ancients and 
the moderns the great difference is, that the 
former doubted for the purpose of investigating, 
as may be exemplified by the third book of 
Aristotle's Metaphysics,'* while the latter inves- 
tigate for the purpose of doubting, as may be 
seen through most of the philosophical works 
of Hume.^ Indeed, the Pyrrhonism of latter 
days is not only more subtle than that of an- 
tiquity, but, it must be confessed, more danger- 
ous in its tendency. The happiness of a Chris- 
tian depends so essentially upon his belief, that 
it is but natural he should feel alarm at the 
progress of doubt, lest it should steal by de- 
grees into that region from which he is most 
interested in excluding it, and poison at last the 
very spring of his consolation and hope. Still, 
however, the abuses of doubting ought not to 
deter a philosophical mind from indulging mild- 
ly and rationally in its use ; and there is noth- 
ing, surely, more consistent with the meek spirit 
of Christianity, than that humble scepticism 
which professes not to extend its distrust be- 
yond the circle of human pursuits, and the pre- 
tensions of human knowledge. A follower of 



< Etti St TDias VTroprjrrai ffov'Kofisvoii npovpycv to 
Sia-nnpriaai (ciXoif. Metaphxjs. lib. iii. cap 1. 

5 Neither Hume, however, nor Berkeley, are to be judged 
by the misrepresentations of Beattie, whose book, however 
amiably intended, puts forth a most unpln"losophical appeal 
to popular feelings and prejudices, and is a continued ■petitic 
priiicipii throughout. 



176 



THE SCEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



L 



this school may be among the readiest to admit 
the claims of a superintending Intelligence upon 
his faith and adoration : it is only to the -wis- 
dom of this weak world that he refuses, or at 
least delays, his assent; it is only in passing 
through the shadow of earth that his mind 
undergoes the eclipse of scepticism. No fol- 
lower of Pyrrho has ever spoken more strongly 
against the dogmatists than St. Paul himself, 
in the First Epistle to the Corinthians; and 
there are passages in Ecclesiastes and other 
parts of Scripture, which justify our utmost 
diffidence in all that human reason originates. 
Even the Sceptics of antiquity refrained care- 
fully from the mysteries of theology, and, in 
entering the temples of religion, laid aside their 
philosophy at the porch. Sextus Empiricus 
thus declares the acquiescence of his sect in the 
general belief of a divine and foreknowing Pow- 
er : — Tm fitv Biifi y.aTay.oXov6<JvrTfg adulaariag 
(pixufv eirai Seov? xai Of^auiv -S-iov? xai TTQoyottv 
miTovc (pausv.^ In short, it appears to me, that 
this rational and well-regulated scepticism is 
the only daughter of the Schools that can safely 
be selected as a handmaid for Piety. He who 
distrusts the light of reason, will be the first to 
follow a more luminous guide ; and if, with an 
ardent love for truth, he has sought her in vain 
through the ways of this life, he will but turn 
with the more hope to that better world, where 
all is simple, true, and everlasting : for, there is 
no parallax at the zenith ; it is only near our 
troubled horizon that objects deceive us into 
vague and erroneous calculations. 

1 Lib. iii. cap. 1. 

2 " The particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of 
the parts of fire or snow are really in them, whether any 
one perceive them or not, and therefore they may be called 
real qualities;, because they really exist in those bodies ; hut 
light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in 
them than sickness or pain is in manna. Take away the 
sensation of them ; let not the eye see light or colors, nor 
the ears hear sounds ; let the palate not taste, nor the nose 
smell, and all colors, tastes, odors, and sounds, as they 
are such particular ideas, vanish and cease." — Locke, book 
ii. chap. 8. 

Bishop Berkeley, it is well known, extended this doctrine 
even to primary qualities, and supposed that matter itself 
has but an ideal existence. But, how are we to apply his 
theory to that period which preceded the formation of man, 
when our system of sensible things was produced, and the 
sun shone, and the waters flowed, without any sentient 
being to witness them? The spectator, whom Whiston 
fiipplies, will scarcely solve the difliculty: "To speak my 
mind freely," says he, " I believe that the Messias was 
there actually present." — See Whiston, of the Mosaic Creation. 

8 Boetius employs this argument of the Sceptics among 
his consolatory reflections upon the emptiness of fame. 



THE SCEPTIC. 

As the gay tint that decks the vernal rose,'^ 
Not in the flower, but in our vision glows ; 
As the ripe flavor of Falernian tides, 
Not in the wine, but in our taste resides ; 
So when, with heartfelt tribute, we declare 
That Marco's honest and that Susan's fair, 
'Tis in our minds, and not in Susan's eyes 
Or Marco's life, the worth or beauty lies : 
For she, in flat-nos'd China, would appear 
As plain a thing as Lady Anne is here ; 
And one light joke at rich Loretto's dome 
Would rank good Marco with the damn'd at 
Rome. 

There's no deformity so vile, so base. 
That 'tis not somewhere thought a charm, a 

grace ; 
No foul reproach, that may not steal a beam 
From other suns, to bleach it to esteem.' 
Ask, who is wise ? you'll find the selfsame 

man 
A sage in France, a madman in Japan ; 
And here some head beneath a mitre swells. 
Which there had tingled to a cap and bells ; 
Nay, there may yet some monstrous region 

be. 
Unknown to Cook, and from Napoleon free. 
Where C — stl — r — gh would for a patriot 

pass. 
And mouthing M ve scarce be deem'd an 



" Quid quod diversarum gentium mores inter se atque insti 
tuta discordant, ut quod apud alios laude, apud alios sup 
plicio dignum judicetur?" — Lib. ii. prosa 7. Many 
amusing instances of diversity in the tastes, manners, and 
morals of different nations, may be found throughout the 
works of that amusing Sceptic Le Mothe le Vayer. — See 
his Opuscule Sceptique, his Treatise " De la Secte Scep- 
tique," and, above all, those Dialogues, not to be tound in h'm 
works, which he published under the name of HoratiusTu- 
bero. — The chief objection to these writings of Le Vayer 
(and it is a blemish which may be felt also in the Esprit des 
Loix), is the suspicious obscurity of the sources from whence 
he frequently draws his instances, and the indiscriminate use 
made by him of the lowest populace of the library, — ibore 
lying travellers and wonder mongers, of whom Shaftesburj', 
in his Advice to an Author, complains, as having tended in 
his own time to the difl'usion of a very shallow and vicious 
sort of scepticism. — Vol. i. p. 352. The Pyrrhonism of La 
Vayer, however, is of the most innocent and playful kind ; 
and Villemandy, the author of Scepticismus Debellatus, ex 
empts him specially in the declaration of war which b" 
denounces against the other armed neutrals of the sect, in 
consideration of the orthodox limits within which he confines 
his incredulitv. 



THE SCEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



177 



" List not to reason (Epicurus cries), 
" But trust the senses, there conviction lies : " ' — 
Alas ! they judge not by a purer light, 
Nor keep their fountains more untinged and 

bright : 
Habit so mars them, that the Russian swain 
Will sigh for train oil, while he sips Champagne : 
And health so rules them, that a fever's heat 
Would make even Sh — r — d — n think water 

sweet. 

Just as the mind the erring sense ^ believes, 
The erring mind, in turn, the sense deceives ; 
A.nd cold disgust can find but wrinkles there. 
Where passion fancies all that's smooth and 

fair. 
p * * * * , who sees, upon his pillow laid, 
A face for which ten thousand pounds were paid. 
Can tell, how quick before a jury flies 
The spell that mock'd the warm seducer's eyes. 

Self is the medium through which Judg- 
ment's ray 
Can seldom pass without being turn'd astray. 
The smith of Ephesus ^ thought Diana's shrine, 
By which his craft most throve, the most divine ; 
And ev'n the true faith seems not half so true. 
When link'd with 07ie good living as Avith two. 
Had W — Ic — t first been pension'd by the throne, 
Kings would have suifer'd by his praise alone ; 



1 This was the creed also of those modern Epicureans, 
whom Ninon de I'Enclos collected around her in the Rue 
des Tournelles, and whose object seems to have been to de- 
cry the faculty of reason, as tending only to embarrass our 
wholesome use of pleasures, without enabling us, in any de- 
gree, to avoid their abuse. Madame des Houli^res, the fair 
pupil of Des Barreaux in the arts of poetry and gallantry, 
has devoted most of her verses to this laudable purpose, and 
is even such a determined foe to reason, that, in one of her 
pastorals, she congratulates her sheep on the want of it. St. 
Evremont speaks thus upon the subject : — 

" Un melange incertain d'esprit et de matiere 
Nous fait vivre avec trop ou trop pen de lumifere. 

Nature, 6I6ve-nous i la clarte des anges, 
Ou nous abaisse au sens des simples aniraaux." 
Which may be thus paraphrased : — 

Had man been made, at nature's birth. 

Of only flame or only earth, 

Had he been form'd a pejfect whole 

Of purely that, or grossly this, 
Then sense would ne'er have clouded soul. 

Nor soul restrain'd the sense's bliss. 
O happy, had his light been strong, 

Or had he never shared a light. 
Which shines enough to show he's wrong. 

But not enough to lead him right. 

» See, among the fragments of Petronius, those verses be- 
23 



And P — ine perhaps, for something snug per 

ann.. 
Had laugh' d like W— U— sley, at all Rights of 

Man. 

But 'tis not only individual minds, — 
Whole nations, too, the same delusion blinds. 
Thus England, hot from Denmark's smoking 

meads. 
Turns up her eyes at Gallia's guilty deeds ; 
Thus, self- pleas' d still, the same dishonoring 

chain 
She binds in Ireland, she would break in Spain ; 
While prais'd at distance, but at home forbid. 
Rebels in Cork are patriots at Madrid. 

If Grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the book. 
In force alone for Laws of Nations look. 
Let shipless Danes and whining Yankees dwell 
On naval rights, with Grotius and Vattel, 
While C — bb — t's pirate code alone appears 
Sound moral sense to England and Algiers. 

Woe to the Sceptic, in these party days, 
Who wafts to neither shrine his puffs of praise ! 
For him no pension pours its annual fruits, 
No fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
Not his the meed that crown'd Don H — kh- 

— m's rhyme. 
Nor sees he e'er, in dreams of future time, 



ginning "Fallunt nos oculi,"&c. The most sceptical of the 
ancient poets was Euripides ; and it would, I think, puzzle 
the whole school of Pyrrho to produce a doubt more star- 
tling than the following : — 

Tij 6' oiiev £1 t,r]v tovO' h K£KXriTai ^avctv, 

To J^ijv Se ^vrjaKCiv iari. 

See Laert. in Pyrrh. 

Socrates and Plato were the grand sources of ancient scep- 
ticism. According to Cicero (de Orator, lib. iii.), they sup- 
plied Arcesilas with the doctrines of the Middle Academy ; 
and how closely these resembled the tenets of the Sceptics, 
may be seen even in Sextus Empiricus (lib. i. cap. 33), who, 
with all his distinctions, can scarcely prove any diflerenio. 
It appears strange that Epicurus should have been a dne- 
matist ; and his natural temper would most probably have 
led him to the repose of scepticism, had not the Stoics, by 
their violent opposition to his doctrines, compelled liim to 
be as obstinate as themselves. Plutarch, indeed, in report- 
ing some of his opinions, represents him as having delivered 
them with considerable hesitation. — 'KiriKovpos ov(]tv imn- 
yivuxTKei rovToiv, exoncvo; tov tvif-X^fi-vov. — De Placii. 
Philosoph. lib. ii. cap. 13. See also the 21st and 22d chii])- 
ters. But that the leading characteristics of the sect were 
self-sufficiency and dogmatism, appears from what (Cicero 
says of Velleius, De JVatur. Dear. — " Turn Vellsius, fiden 
ter sane, ut solent isti, nihil tarn verens quam ne diihitare 
aliqua de re videretur." 

s .Sets, chap. xii. " For a certain man named Dunetriiis 



178 



THE SCEPTIC, A SATIRE. 



Those shadowy forms of sleek reversions rise, 
So dear to Scotchmen's second-sighted eyes. 
Yet who, that looks to History's damning leaf. 
Whore Whig and Tory, thief opposed to thief, 
On either side in lofty shame are seen,' 
AVhile Freedom's form hangs crucified between. 
Who, B — rd — tt, who such rival rogues can see. 
But flies from both to Honesty and thee ? 

If, weary of the vcorld's bewildering maze,' 
Hopeless of finding, through its weedy ways. 
One flower of truth, the busy crowd we shun. 
And to the shades of tranquil learning run. 
How many a doubt pursues ! ^ how oft we sigh, 
When histories charm, to think that histories lie ! 
That all are grave romances, at the best, 
And M — sgr — ve's * but more clumsy than the 

rest. 
By Tory Hume's seductive page beguiled, 
AVe fancy Charles was just and Straff'ord mild ; * 
And Fox himself, with party pencil, draws 
Monmouth a hero, " for the good old cause ! " * 
Then, rights are wrongs, and victories are de- 
feats. 
As French or English pride the tale repeats ; 



a silversmith, which made silver shrines for Diana, brought 
no small gain unto the craftsnien." 

1 "Those two thieves," says Ralph, "between whom the 
nrtlion is crucified." — Use and Abii.ie nf Parliaments. 

- The agitation of th0 ship is one of the chief difficulties 
which impede the discovery of the longitude at sea ; and 
the tumult and hurry of life are equally unfavorable to that 
cahii level of mind which is necessary to an inquirer after 
truth. 

Iti the mean time, our modest Sceptic, in the absence of 
truth, contents liimself with probabilities, resembling in this 
respect those suitors of Penelope, who, on finding that they 
c.iiild not possess the mistress herself, very wisely resolved 
to put up with her maids: rr) nr/ueXiiirri rrXnaial^eiv nn 
Svvanciioi, Tui; ravTrn epnyvvvTO ScpaTroii/aij. — Plutarch, 
Ucin naijoji/ Ayaiynf. 

3 See a curious work, entitled " Reflections upon Learn- 
ing," written on the plan of Agrippa's " De Vanitate Scien- 
tiarum," but much more honestly and skilfully executed. 

* This historian of the Irish rebellions has outrun even his 
predecessor in the same task, Sir John Temple, for whose 
character with respect to veracity the reader may consult 
Carte's Collection of Ormond's Original Papers, p. 207. See 
also Dr. Nalson's account of him, in tlie introduction to the 
second volume of his Historic. Collect. 

5 He defends Strafford's conduct as " innocent and even 
la(ulal)le." In the same spirit, speaking of the arbitrary 
sentences of the Star Chamber, he says,— " The severity 
of tlie Star Chamber, which was generally ascribed to 
Laud's passionate disposition, was perhaps, in itself, some- 
what hiamable." 

6 That flexibility of temper and opinion, which the habits 
of scepticism are so calculated to produce, are thus pleaded 
for by Mr. Fox, in the very sketch of Monmouth to which I 
allude; and this part of the picture the historian may be 



And, when they tell Corunna's story o'er, 
They'U disagree in all, but honoring Moore : 
Nay, future pens, to flatter future courts. 
May cite perhaps the Park-guns' gay reports. 
To prove that England triumph' d on the morn 
Which found her Junot's jest and Europe's 



In science, too — how many a system, raised 
Like Neva's icy domes, a while hath blamed 
With lights of fancy and with forms of pride. 
Then, melting, mingled with the oblivious tide ! 
Now Earth usurps the centre of the sky, 
N'oio Newton puts the paltrj' planet by ; 
Now whims revive beneath Descartes' ^ pen, 
Which noiv, assail'd by Locke's, expire again. 
And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic powers, 
We think the keys of Nature's kingdom ours, 
Some Davy's magic touch the dream unsettles, 
And turns at once our alkalis to metals. 
Or, should we roam, in metaphysic maze, 
Through fair-built theories of former days, 
Some Dr — mm — d^ from the north, more ably 

skiU'd, 
Like other Goths, to ruin than to build. 



thought to have drawn from hiinself. "One of tlie most 
conspicuous features in his character seems to have been a 
remarkable, and, as some think, a culpable degree of flexi- 
bility. That such a disposition is preferable to its opposite 
extreme will be admitted by all, who think that modesty, 
even in excess, is more nearly allied to wisdom than conceit 
and self-sufficiency. He who has attentively considered 
the political, or indeed the general concerns of life, may 
possibly go still further, and may rank a willingness to be 
convinced, or, in some cases, even without conviction, to 
concede our own opinion to that of other men, among the 
principal ingredients in the composition of practical v/is- 
dom." — It is right to observe, however, that the Sceptic's 
readiness of concession arises rather from uncertainty than 
conviction ; more from a suspicion that his own opinion 
may be wrong, than from any persuasion that the opinion 
of his adversary is right. " It may be so," was the courte- 
ous and sceptical formula with which the Dutch were ac- 
customed to reply to the statements of ambassadors. See 
Lloyd's State Worthies, art. Sir Thomas Wyat. 

^ Descartes, who is considered as the parent of modern 
scepticism, says, that there is nothing in the whole range 
of philosophy which does not admit of two opposite opin- 
ions, and which is not involved in doubt and uncertainty. 
" In Philosophia nihil adhuc reperiri, de quo non in utram- 
qne partem disputatur, hpc est, quod non sit incertum et 
dubium." Gassendi is lilftwise to be added to the list of 
modern Sceptics : and Wedderkopff, in his Dissertation 
" De Scepticismo profano et sacro " (Argentorat. 1666), has 
denounced Erasmus also as a follower of Pyrrho, for his 
opinions upon the Trinity, and some other subjects. To 
these if we add the names of Bayle, Mallebranche, Dryden, 
Locke, &c. &c., I think there is no one who need be 
ashamed of doubling in such company. 

8 See this gentleman's Academic Questions. 



TWOPENNY POST BAG. 



17^ 



Tramples triumphant through our fanes o'er- 

thrown. 
Nor leaves one grace, one glory of his own. 

Learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp and boast, 
C7«letter'd minds have taught and charm'd men 

most. 
The rude, unread Columbus was our guide 
''"o worlds, which learn'd Lactantius had de- 
nied; 
And one wild Shakspeare, following Nature's 

lights. 
Is worth whole planets, fiU'd with Stagirites. 

See grave Theology, when once she strays 
From Revelation's path, what tricks she plays ; 
What various heav'ns, — all fit for bards to 

sing, — 
Have churchmen dream' d, from Papias ' down 

to King ! ^ 
While hell itself, in India nought but smoke,^ 
In Spain's a furnace, and in France — a joke. 

1 Papias lived about the time of the apostles, and is sup- 
posed to have given birth to the heresy of the Chiliasts, 
whose heaven was by no means of a spiritual nature, but 
rather an anticipation of the Prophet of Hera's elysium. 
See Eusebius, Hist. Ecclesiast. lib. iii. cap. 33, and Hie- 
ronym. de Scriptor. Ecclesiast. — From all I can find in 
these authors concerning Papias, it seems hardly fair to im- 
pute to him those gross imaginations in which the believers 
of the sensual millennium indulged. 

2 King, in his Morsels of Criticism, vol. i., supposes the 
Eun to be the receptacle of blessed spirits. 



Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal and prize^ 
Thou last, best knowledge of the simply wise ! 
Hail, humble Doubt, when error's waves are past. 
How sweet to reach thy shelter'd porf at last, 
And, there, by changing skies nor lured nor 

awed. 
Smile at the battling winds that roar abroad. 
There gentle Charity, who knows how frail 
The bark of Virtue, even in summer's gale, 
Sits by the nightly fire, whose beacon glows 
For all who wander, whether friends or foes. 
There Faith retires, and keeps her white sail 

furl'd. 
Till call'd to spread it for a better world ; 
While Patience, watching on the weedy shore. 
And, mutely waiting till the storm be o'er. 
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her eye 
To some blue spot, just breaking in the sky ! 

Such are the mild, the blest associates given 
To him who doubts, — and trusts in nought but 
Heaven ! 



3 The Indians call hell " the House of Smoke." See Pi- 
cart upon the Religion of the Banians. The reader who is 
curious about infernal matters may be edified by consulting 
Rusca de Inferno, particularly lib. ii. cap. 7, 8, where he will 
find the precise sort of fire ascertained in which wicked 
spirits are to be burned hereafter. 

4 " Chere Sceptique, douce pSlture de mon ame, et I'unique 
port de salut i un esprit qui aime le repos ! " — La Mothe le 
Vayer. 



TWOPENNY POST BAG 



BY THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 



Elapsae manibus secidere tabellae. Otid. 



DEDICATION. 

TO STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESa 

My dear Woolriche : — 

It is now about seven years since I prom- 
ised (and I grieve to think it is almost as long 
since we met) to dedicate to you the very first 
Book, of whatever size or kind, I should pub- 
lish. "Who could have thought that so many 



years would elapse, without my giving the least 
signs of life upon the subject of this important 
promise ? Who could have imagined that a vol- 
ume of doggerel, after all, would be the first 
offering that Gratitude would lay upon the 
shrine of Friendship ? 

If you continue, however, to be as much in- 
terested about me and my pursuits as formerly, 
you will be happy to hear that doggerel is not 
my only occupation ; but that I am preparing to 



180 



TWOPENNY POST BAG. 



throw my name to the Swans of the Temple of 
Immortality,' leaving it, of course, to the said 
Swans to determine, whether they ever will 
take the trouble of picking it from the stream. 
In the mean time, my dear Woolriche, like 
an orthodox Lutheran, you must judge of me 
rather by my faith than my works ; and, how- 
ever trifling the tribute which I here offer, never 
doubt the fidelity with which I am, and always 
shall be, 

Your sincere and 

attached friend, 

THE AUTHOR. 

March 4, 1813. 



PREFACE. 

The Bag, from which the following Letters 
are selected, was dropped by a Twopenny Post- 
man about two months since, and picked up by 
an emissary of the Society for the Suppression 
of Vice, who, supposing it might materially as- 
sist the private researches of that Institution, 
immediately took it to his employers, and was 
rewarded handsomely for his trouble. Such a 
treasury of secrets was worth a whole host of 
informers ; and, accordingly, like the Cupids of 
the poet (if I may use so profane a simile) who 
" fell at odds about the sweet bag of a bee," *-' 
those venerable Suppressors almost fought with 
each other for the honor and delight of first 
ransacking the Post Bag. Unluckily, however, 
it turned out, upon examination, that the dis- 
coveries of profligacy which it enabled them to 
make, lay chiefly in those upper regions of so- 
ciety, which their well-bred regulations forbid 
them to molest or meddle with. — In conse- 
quence, they gained but very few victims by 
their prize, and, after lying for a week or two 
under Mr. Hatchard's counter, the Bag, with 
its violated contents, was sold for a trifle to a 
friend of mine. 

It happened that I had been just then seized 
with an ambition (having never tried the strength 
of my wing but in a Newspaper) to publish 
something or other in the shape of a Book ; and 
it occurred to me that, the present being such a 
letter- writing era, a few of these Twopenny Post 
Epistles, turned into easy verse, would be as 
light and popular a task as I could possibly se- 



1 Ariosto, canto 3& 

2 Herrick. 



lect for a commencement. I did not, however, 
think it prudent to give too many Letters at 
first, and, accordingly, have been obliged (in 
order to eke out a sufficient number of pages) 
to reprint some of those trifles, which had al- 
ready appeared in the public journals. As in 
the battles of ancient times, the shades of the 
departed were sometimes seen among the com- 
batants, so I thought I might manage to remedy 
the thinness of my ranks, by conjuring up a few 
dead and forgotten ephemerons to fill them. 

Such are the motives and accidents that led 
to the present publication ; and as this is the 
first time my Muse has ever ventured out of the 
go-cart of a Newspaper, though I feel all a 
parent's delight at seeing little Miss go alone, I 
am also not without a parent's anxiety, lest an 
unlucky fall should be the consequence of the 
experiment; and I need not point out how 
many living instances might be found, of Muses 
that have siifl'ered very severely in their heads, 
from taking rather too early and rashly to their 
feet. Besides, a Book is so very diff'erent a thing 
from a Newspaper ! — in the former, your dog- 
gerel, without either company or shelter, must 
stand shivering in the middle of a bleak page by 
itself ; whereas, in the latter, it is comfortably 
backed by advertisements, and has sometimes 
even a Speech of Mr. St— ph— n's, or some- 
thing equally warm, for a chauffe-pied — so that, 
in general, the very reverse of "laudatur et 
alget " is its destiny. 

Ambition, however, must run some risks, and 
I shall be very well satisfied if the reception of 
these few Letters, should have the eff'ect of 
sending me to the Post Bag for more. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FOURTEENTH EDITION. 

BY A FKIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 

In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is at pres- 
ent on a tour through , I feel myself 

called upon, as his friend, to notice certain mis- 
conceptions and misrepresentations, to which 
this little volume of Trifles has given rise. 

In the first place, it is not true that Mr. Brown 
has had any accomplices in the Avork. A note, 
indeed, which has hitherto accompanied his 
Preface, may very naturally have been the 
origin of such a supposition ; but that note, 
which was merely the coquetry of an author, I 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



181 



have, in the present edition, taken upon myself 
to remove, and Mr. Brown must therefore be 
considered (like the mother of that unique pro- 
duction, the Centaur, ^ovu r.ai luorov') as alone 
responsible for the whole contents of the volume. 

In the next place it has been said, that in 
consequence of this graceless little book, a cer- 
tain distinguished Personage prevailed upon 
another distinguished Personage to withdraw 
from the author that notice and kindness with 
which he had so long and so liberally honored 
him. In this^story there is not one syllable of 
truth. For the magnanimity of the former of 
these persons I would, indeed, in no case an- 
swer too rashly : but of the conduct of the latter 
towards my friend, I have a proud gratification 
in declaring, that it has never ceased to be such 
as he must remember with indelible gratitude ; 
— a gratitude the more cheerfully and warmly 
paid, from its not being a debt incurred solely 
on his own account, but for kindness shared 
with those nearest and dearest to him. 

To the charge of being an Irishman, poor Mr. 
Brown pleads guilty ; and I believe it must also 
be acknowledged that he comes of a Roman 
Catholic family : an avowal which I am aware 
is decisive of his utter reprobation, in the eyes 
of those exclusive patentees of Christianity, so 
worthy to have been the followers of a certain 
enlightened Bishop Donatus,- who held " that 
God is in Africa and not elsewhere." But from 
all this it does not necessarily follow that Mr. 
Brown is a Papist; and, indeed, I have the 
strongest reasons for suspecting that they, who 
say so, are somewhat mistaken. Not that I 
presume to have ascertained his opinions upon 
such subjects. All I profess to know of his 
orthodoxy is, that he has a Protestant wife and 
two or three little Protestant children, and that 
he has been seen at church every Sunday, for a 
whole year together, listening to the sermons 
of his truly reverend and amiable friend, Dr. 

, and behaving there as well and 

as orderly as most people. 

There are yet a few other mistakes and false- 
hoods about Mr. Brown, to which I had in- 
tended, with all becoming gravity, to advert ; 
but I begin to think the task is quite as useless 



1 Pindar, Pytli. 2.— My friend certainly cannut add ovt' 
ev avinaai yciJaatpopuv, 

2 Bishop of Caste Nigrs, in the fourth century. 

3 A new reading has been suggestted in the original of the 
Ode of Horace, freely translated by Lord Eld— n, page 189. 
In the line " Sive per Syrteis iter ffistuosas," it is proposed, 
\iy a very trifling alteration, to read " SuHees," instead of 



as it is tiresome. Misrepresentations and cal- 
umnies of this sort are, like the arguments ana 
statements of Dr. Duigenan, — not at all the 
less vivacious or less serviceable to their fabri- 
cators, for having been refuted and disproved a 
thousand times over. They are brought for- 
ward again, as good as new, whenever malice 
or stupidity may be in want of them ; and are 
quite as useful as the old broken lantern, ir. 
Fielding's Amelia, wliich the watchman always 
keeps ready by him, to produce, in proof of 
riotous conduct, against his victims. I shall 
therefore give up the fruitless toil of vindica- 
tion, and would even draw my pen over what I 
have already written, had I not promised to 
furnish my publisher with a Preface, and know 
not how else I could contrive to eke it out. 

I have added two or three more trifles to this 
edition, which I found in the Morning Chron- 
icle, and knew to be from the pen of my friend. 
The rest of the volume remains ' in its original 
state. 

./JpriZ 20, 1814. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS, &c. 



LETTER I. 



FROM THE PR — NC — 
TO THE LADY 



CH — RL — E OF W- 
-RB — A ASHL — Y.* 



My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shock'd, I'm afraid. 
When you hear the sad rumpus your Ponies 

have made ; 
Since the time of horse consuls (now long out 

of date). 
No nags ever made such a stir in the state. 
Lord Eld — n first heard — and as instantly 

pray'd he 
To " God and his King" — that a Popish young 

Lady 
(For though you've bright eyes and twelve 

thousand a year. 
It is still but too true you're a Papist, my dear,) 

" Syrteis," which brings the Ode, it is said, more home tc 
the noble translator, and gives a peculiar force and aptiie-ss to 
the epithet " eestuosas." I merely throw ont this emenda- 
tion for the learned, being unable myself to decide upon its 
merits. 

* This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, had lately 
made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the Pr — nc — ss. 



182 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish groom, 
Two priest- ridden Ponies, j ust landed from Ronae, 
And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks, 
That the dome of St. Paul's was scarce safe 
fi-om their kicks. 

Off at once to Papa, in a flurry he flies — 
For Papa always does what these statesmen 

advise, 
On condition that they'll be, in turn, so polite 
As in no casewhate'er to advise him too right — 
" Pretty doings are here, Sir (he angrily cries, 
While by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to 

look wise) — 
" 'Tis a scheme of the Romanists, so help me 

God! 
" To ride over your most Royal Highness rough- 
shod — 
" Excuse, Sir, my tears — they're from loyalty's 

source — 
" Bad enough 'twas for Troy to be sack'd by a 

Horse, 
" But for us to be ruin'd by Ponies still worse ! " 
Quick a Council is call'd — the whole Cabinet 

sits — 
The Archbishops declare, frighten'd out of their 

wits. 
That if once Popish Ponies should eat at my 

manger. 
From that awful moment the Church is in 

danger ! 
As, give them but stabling, and shortly no stalls 
Will suit their proud stomachs but those at St. 

Paul's. 

The Doctor,' and he, the devout man of 
Leather,^ 
V — ns — tt — t, now laying their Saint heads to- 
gether. 
Declare that these skittish young «-bominations 
Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revelations — 
Nay, they verily think they could point out 

the one 
Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter 
upon. 

Lord H — rr — by, hoping that no one imputes 
To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes. 
Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies. 
That had these s-^'d creatures been Asses, not 
Ponies, 

1 Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 

2 Alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather. 
« The question wheti.er a Veto was to be allowed to the 



The Court would have started no sort of ob- 
jection, 
As Asses were, there, always sure of protection. 

" If the Pr — nc — ss will keep them (says Lord 

C— stl— r— gh), 
" To make them quite harmless, the only true 

way 
"Is (as certain Chief Justices do with their 

wives) 
" To flog them within half an inch of their lives. 
" If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about, 
"This (he knew by experience) would soon 

draw it out." 
Should this be thought cruel, his Lordship pro- 
poses 
"The new Veto snaffle ^ to bind down their 

noses — 
" A pretty contrivance, made out of old chains, 
" Which appears to indulge, while it doubly 

restrains ; 
"Which, however high mettled, their game- 

someness checks 
("Adds his Lordship humanely,) or else breaks 

their necks ! " 

This proposal receiv'd pretty general applause 
From the Statesmen around — and the neck- 
breaking clause 
Had a vigor about it, which soon reconcil'd 
Even Eld — n himself to a measure so mild. 
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to new. 

con.. 
And my Lord C — stl — r — gh, having so often 

shone 
In the fettering line, is to buckle them on. 

I shall drive to your door in these Vetoes some 
day, 
But, at present, adieu ! — I must hurry away 
To go see my Mamma, as I'm suffer'd to meet her 
For just half an hour by the Qu — n's b(!St re- 
peater. 

Cn — RL — TTE. 



LETTER II. 

FROM COLONEL M'M — H — N TO G — LD 
FR— NC — S L— CKIE, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, I've just had time to look 
Into your very learned Book,'' 

Crown in the appointment of Irish Catholic Bishops was, ai 
this time, very generally and actively agitated. 

< For an account of this extraordinary work of Mr. Leckis 
see the Edinburgh Review, vol. xx. 



INTERCEP1"ED LETTERS. 



183 



Wherein — as plain as man can speak, 
Whose English is half modern Greek — 
You prove that we can ne'er intrench 
Our happy isles against the French, 
Till Royalty in England's made 
A much more independent trade ; — 
In short, until the House of Guelph 
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf. 
And boldly sets up for itself. 

All that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good ; 
And, as to what's incomprehensible, 
I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible. 

But, to your work's immortal credit, 
The Pr— n— e, good Sir, the Pr— n— e has 

read it, 
(The only Book, himself remarks, 
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's). 
Last levee morn he look'd it through, 
During that awful hour or two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation. 
Which, to a fond, admiring nation. 
Sends forth, announc'd by trump and drum. 
The best-wigg'd Pr — n — e in Christendom. 

He thinks with you, th' imagination 
Of parlnership in legislation 
Could only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and leger-keeping twaddles. 
Whose heads on firms are running so. 
They ev'n must have a King and Co., 
And hence, most eloquently show forth 
On checks and balances, and so forth. 

But now, he trusts, we're coming near a 
Far more royal, loyal era ; 
When England's monarch need but say, 
" Whip me those scoundrels, C — stl — r — gh ! " 
Or, "Hang me up those Papists, Eld — n," 
And 'twill be done — ay, faith, and well done. 

With view to which, I've his command 
To beg, Sir, from your travell'd hand, 
(Round which the foreign graces swarm ') 
A Plan of radical Reform : 



1 " The truth indeed seems to be, that having lived so long 
abroad as evidently to have lost, in a great degree, the use of 
his native language, Mr. Leckie has gradually come not 
>nly to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner." — Edinburgh 
Reriew. 

2 The learned Colonel must allude here to a description of 
;ne M)sterious Isle, in the history of Abdalla, Son of Hanif, 



Compil'd and chos'n as best you can, 
In Turkey or at Ispahan, 
And quite upturning, branch and root, 
Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot. 

But, pray, whate'er you may impart, write 
Somewhat more brief than Major C-rtwr-ght : 

Else, though the Pr e be long in rigging, 

'T would take, at least, a fortnight's wigging, — 
Two wigs to every paragraph — 
Before he well could get through half. 

You'll send it also speedily — 
As, truth to say, 'twixt you and ine. 
His Highness, heated by your work, 
Already thinks himself Grand Turk ! 
And you'd have laugh' d, had you seen how 
He scar'd the Ch — nc — 11 — r just now. 
When (on his Lordship's entering puff'd) he 
Slapp'd his back and call'd him " Mufti ! " 

The tailors too have got commands. 
To put directly into hands 
All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, 
With Sashes, Turbans, and Paboutches, 
(While Y — rm — th's sketching out a plan 
Of new Moustaches a I' Ottomane) 
And all things fitting and expedient 
To turkifij our gracious R — g — nt ! 

You, therefore, have no time to waste — 
So, send your System. — 

Yours, in haste. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Before I send this scrawl away, 

I seize a moment, just to say, 

There's some parts of the Turkish system 

So vulgar, 'twere as well you miss'd em. 

For instance — in Heraglio matters — 

Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters, 

Would fill his Harem (tasteless fool !) 

With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school. 

But here (as in that fairyland. 

Where Love and Age went hand in hand ; * 



where such inversions of the order of nature are said to 
have taken place. — " A score of old women and t)ie same 
number of old men played here and there in the court, aomo 
at chuck-farthing, others at tipcat or at cockles."— And 
again, "Tiiere is nothing, believe me, more enf;agiMg than 
those lovely wrinkles," &c. &,c. — See Talcs of the EasU. 
vol. iii. pp. C07, G08. 



184 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



Where lips, till sixty, slied no honey. 
And Grandams were worth any money,) 
Our Sultan has much riper notions — 
So, let your list of sAe-promotions 
Include those only, plump and sage, 
Who've reach'd the regulation-a^e ; 
That is, (as near as one can fix 
From Peerage dates) full fifty-six. 

This rule's for fav'rites — nothing more ■ 
I'or, as to wives, a Grand Signor, 
Though not decidedly without them. 
Need never care one curse about them. 



LETTER III. 



fROM G GE PR — CE 

E OF Y— 



-G — T TO THE 



We miss'd you last night at the " hoary old 
sinner's," 

V\Tio gave us, as usual, the cream of good din- 
ners ; 

His soups scientific — his fishes quite prime — 

His p^tes superb — and his cutlets sublime ! 

In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a 

Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El — b — gh, 

Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force. 

And exclaim' d between mouthfuls, " a He-Cook, 
of course ! — 

" While you live — (what's there under that 
cover ? pray, look) — 

"While you live — (I'll just taste it) — ne'er 
keep a She-Cook. 

•• 'Tis a sound Salic Law — (a small bit of that 
toast) — 

" Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule 
the roast ; 

"For Cookery's a secret — (this turtle's uncom- 
mon) — 

" Like Masonry, never found out by a woman ! " 

The dinner, you know, was in gay celebration 
Of tni/ brilliant triumph and H — nt's condem- 
nation ; 
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge 
For his Speech to the Jury — and zounds ! who 

would grudge 
Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a 

bowl. 
To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul ? 



1 This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the 
day alter a dinner given by the M — rq— s of H — d— t. 



We were all in high gig — Roman Punch and 

Tokay 
Travell'd round, tiU our heads travell'd just thb 

same way ; 
And we car'd not for Juries or Libels — no 

damme ! nor 
Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner ! 

More good things were eaten than said — but 

Tom T— rrh— t 
In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some 

merit ; 
And, hearing the sturdy Justitiary Chief 
Say — sated with turtle — "I'll now try the 

beef" — 
Tommy whisper'd him (giving his Lordship a 

sly hit) 
" I fear 'twill be hunff-hee^, my Lord, if you 

try it ! " 

And C — md — n was there, who, that morn- 
ing, had gone 
To fit his new Marqius's coronet on ; 
And the dish set before him — O dish well de- 

vis'd ! — 
Was, Avhat old Mother Glasse calls, " a calf s 

head surpris'd ! " 
The brains were near Sh — ry, and otice had been 

fine, 
But, of late they had lain so long soaking in 

wine, 
That, though we, from courtesy, still chose to 

call 
These brains very fine, they were no brains at 

all. 

When the dinner was over, we drank, every 

one 
In a bumper, "The venial delights of Crim. 

Con. ; " 
At which H — df — t with warm reminiscenced 

gloated. 
And E — b'r — h chuckled to hear himself quoted. 

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite 
new, 

For we drank — and you'll own 'twas benevo- 
lent too — 

To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons, 
or peers. 

Whom we've, any time, honor' d by courting 
their dears : 

This museum of wittols was comical rather ; 

Old II — df — t gave M — ss — y, and / gave youJ 
f_th— r. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



K hAoit, not a soul till this morning would 

biiage — 
W e -w'cro all fun and frolic, — and even the 

J e 

Lnid aside, ioi the time, his juridical fashion, 
AaJ through the whole night wasn't once in a 

passiou ! 

I write thii m bed, while my whiskers are 

airing, 
A.nd M — c ' has a sly dose of jalap preparing 
For poor T — mmy T — rr — t at breakfast to 

quaff — 
A.S I feel I want something to give me a laugh, 
And there's nothing so good as old T — mmy, 

kept close 
To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a dose. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM THE EIGHT HON. P — TR — CK D — GEN — N 
TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR J HN N — CH — L. 

Dublin.^ 

Last week, dear N — eh — 1, making merry 

At dinner with our Secretary, 

Wlien all were drunk, or pretty near 

'^The time for doing business here). 

Says he to me, " Sweet Bully Bottom ! 

" These Papist dogs — hiccup — 'od rot 'em ! — 

" Deserve to be bespatter'd — hiccup — 

" With aU the dirt ev'n you can pick up. 

" But, as the Pr — ce (here's to him — fill — 

" Hip, hip, hurra !) — is trying still 

" To humbug them with kind professions, 

" And, as i/ou deal in strong expressions — 

" Rogue " — " traitor " — hiccup — and all that — 

" You must be muzzled. Doctor Pat ! — 

" You must indeed — hiccup — that's flat." — 

Yes — " muzzled " was the word, Sir John — 
These fools have clapp'd a muzzle on 
The boldest mouth that e'er ran o'er 
With slaver of the times of yore ! ^ — 
Was it for this that back I went 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 

I Colonel M'Mahon. 

- This letter, which contained some very heavy enclosures, 
seems to have been sent to London hy a private hand, and 
then put into the Twopenny Post Office, to save trouble. 
Bee tlie Appendix, p. 141. 

3 In sending this sheet to the press, however, I learn that 
the " iim/,/.le " has been taken off, and the Right Hon. 
Doctor again let loose ! 

24 



To prove that they, who damn'd us then, 

Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again ? — 

The silent victim still to sit 

Of Gr— tt— n's fire and C— nn — g's wit, 

To hear ev'n noisy M — th — w gabble on. 

Nor mention once the W — e of Babylon ! 

O, 'tis too much — who now will be 

The Nightman of No-Popery ? 

What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 

Such learned tilth will ever fish up ? 

If there among our ranks be one 

To take my place, 'tis thou, Sir John ; 

Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd Right Hon. 

Like me too, art a Lawyer Civil 

That wishes Papists at the devil. 

To whom then but to thee, my friend, 
Should Patrick * his Portfolio send ? 
Take it — 'tis thine — his learn'd Portfolio, 
With all its theologic olio 
Of BuUs, half Irish and half Roman — 
Of Doctrines, now believ'd by no man — 
Of Councils, held for men's salvation, 
Y''et alwaj's ending in damnation — 
(Which shows that, since the world's cie 

tion, 
Your Priests, whate'er their gentle shamming 
Have always had a taste for damning,) 
And many more such pious scraps. 
To prove (what we've long prov'd, perhaps,) 
That, mad as Christians us'd to be 
About the Thirteenth Century, 
There still are Christians to be had 
In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad ! 

Farewell — I send with this, dear N — ch — ] 
A rod or two I've had in pickle 
Wherewith to trim old Gr — tt — n's jacket. — 
The rest shall go by Monday's packet. 

P. D. 



Among the Enclosures in the foregoing Letter wan 
the following " Unanswerable Argument against 
the Papists." 

« * * * 

We're told the ancient Roman nation 
Made use of spittle in lustration ; * 

* A bad name for poetry ; but D— gen— n is still worse. — 
As Frudentius says upon a very different subject — 



Torauetur Apollo 
Nomine percussus. 



Expiat 



■ Lustralibus ant6 salivis 

PtHs. sat. 2. 



186 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



(Vide Lactantium ap. GallBeum ' — 
i. e. you need not read but see 'em ;) 
Now, Irish Papists, fact surprising, 
Make use of spittle in baptizing ; 
Which proves them all, O'Finns, O'Fagans, 
Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pagans. 
This fact's enough ; — let no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivotts fellows. — 
No, no — the man, baptiz'd with spittle, 
Hath no truth in him — not a tittle ! 



LETTER V. 



FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF C RK 

TO LADY . 



! I've been just sending 



My dear Lady ■ 

out 
About five hundred cards for a snug little Rout — 
(By the by, you've seen Rokeby ? — this mo- 
ment got mine — 
The Mail Coach Edition* — prodigiously fine !) 
But I can't conceive how, in this very cold 

weather, 
I'm ever to bring my five hundred together ; 
As, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, 
One can never get half of one's hundreds to meet. 
(Apropos — you'd have laugh' d to see Townsend 

last night, 
Escort to their chairs, with his staff", so polite. 
The " three maiden Miseries," all in a fright ; 
Poor Townsend, Like Mercury, filling two posts. 
Supervisor of thieves, and chief usher of ghosts /) 

But, my dear Lady , can't you hit on 

some notion, 

At least for one night to set London in motion ? — 

As to having the R_g_nt, that show is gone 
by- 

Besides, I've remark'd that (between you and I) 

The Marchesa and he, inconvenient in more 
ways, 

Have taken much lately to whispering in door- 
ways ; 

Which — consid'ring, you know, dear, the size 
of the two — 

Makes a block that one's company cannot get 
through ; 

1 I have taken the trouble of examining the Doctor's ref- 
erence here, and find hitn for once correct. The following 
are the words of his indignant referee Gallaus — "Asserere 
non veremur sacrum baptismum a Papistis profanari, et 



And a house such as mine is, with doorways so 

small, 
Has no room for such cumbersome love work 

at all.— 
(Apropos, though, of love work — you've heard 

it, I hope, 
That Napoleon's old mother's to marry the 

Pope, — 
What a comical pair!) — but, to stick to my 

Rout, 
'Twill be hard if some novelty can't be struck out. 
Is there no Algerine, no Kamchatkan arriv'd ? 
No Plenipo Pacha, three-tail'd and ten-wiv'd ? 
No Russian, whose dissonant consonant name 
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of fame ? 

1 remember the time, three or four winters 

back. 
When — provided their wigs were but decently 

black — 
A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, were a sight 
That would people one's house for one, night 

after night. 
But — whether the Ministers paw'd them too 

much — 
(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they 

touch) 
Or, whether Lord G — rge (the young man about 

town) 
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written them down 
One has certainly lost one's Peninsular rage ; 
And the only stray Patriot seen for an age 
Has been at such places (think, how the fit 

cools !) 
As old Mrs. V — gh — n's or Lord L — v — rp — I's. 

But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztsehit- 

stopschinzoudhoff" 
Are the only things now make an cv'ning go 

smooth off": 
So, get me a Russian — till death I'm your 

debtor — 
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so much the 

better. 
And — Lord ! if he would but, in character, sup 
Off" his fish oil and candles, he'd quite set me up ! 

Au revoir, my sweet girl — I must leave you 
in haste — 
Little Gunter has brought me the Liqueurs to 
taste. 

sputi usiim in peccatorum e.xpiatione a Paganis non a Chns 
tianis man&sse." 

2 See Mr. Murray's Advertisement about the Mail Coach 
copies of Kokeby. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



187 



POSTSCRIPT. 

By the by, have you found any friend that can 

construe 
That Latin account, t'other day, of a Monster ? ' 
If we can't get a Russian, and that thing in Latin 
Be not too improper, I think I'll bring that in. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM ABDALLAH,' IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN 
ISPAHAN. 

Whilst thou, Mohassan, (happy thou !) 

Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 

Before our King — our Asia's treasure ! 

Nutmeg of Comfort ; Rose of Pleasure ! — 

And bear' St as many kicks and bruises 

As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses ; 

Thy head still near the bowstring's borders, 

And but left on till further orders — 

Through London streets, with turban fair, 

And caftan, floating to the air, 

I saunter on, the admiration 

Of this short-coated population — 

This sew'd-up race — this button'd nation — 

Who, while they boast their laws so free, 

Leave not one limb at liberty. 

But live, with all their lordly speeches. 

The slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 

Yet, though they thus their kneepans fetter, 
(They're Christians, and they know no better ••) 
In some things they're a thinking nation ; 
And, on Religious Toleration, 
I own I like their notions quite, 
They are so Persian and so right ! 
You know our Sunnites,'' — hateful dogs ! 
Whom every pious Shiite flogs, 

1 Alluding, I suppose, to the Latin Advertisement of a 
Lusus NaturiE in the newspapers lately. 

2 I have made many inquiries about this Persian gentle- 
man, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he is. From 
his notions of Religious Liberty, however, I conclude that 
he is an importation of Ministers ; and he has arrived just 

in time to assist the P e and Mr. L — ck — e in their new 

Oriental Plan of Reform. — See the second of these Letters. 
How Abdallah's epistle to Ispahan found its way into the 
Twopenny Post Bag is more than I can pretend to account for. 

3 " C ofit un honnete *iomme," said a Turkish governor 
of De Ruyter ; " c'est grand domniage qu'il soit Chretien." 

* Sunnites and Shiites are the two leading sects into which 
the Mahometan world 's divided ; and they have gone on 
cursing and persecuting each other, without any intermis- 
sion, for about eleven hundred years. The Sunni is the es- 
teblished sect in Turkey, and the Shia in Persia j and the 



Or longs to flog * — 'tis true, they pray 

To God, but in an ill-bred way ; 

With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces 

Stuck in their right, canonic places. ' 

'Tis true, they worship All's name ' — 

Their Heav'n and ours are just the same — 

(A Persian's Heav'n is eas'ly made, 

'Tis but black eyes and lemonade.) 

Yet, though we've tried for centuries back — 

We can't persuade this stubborn pack. 

By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers, 

To wear th' establish'd pea-green slippers.' 

Then, only think, the libertines ! 

They wash their toes — they comb their chins,' 

With many more such deadly sins ; 

And what's the worst, (though last I rank it) 

Beheve the Chapter of the Blanket ! 

Yet spite of tenets so flagitious, 
(Which must, at bottom, be seditious ; 
Since no man living would refuse 
Green slippers, but from treasonous views ; 
Nor wash his toes, but with intent 
To overturn the government,) — 
Such is our mild and tolerant way, 
We only curse them twice a day 
(According to a Form that's set). 
And, far from torturing, only let 
All orthodox believers beat 'em, 
And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 



As to the rest, they're free to do 
Whate'er their fancy prompts them to, 
Provided they make nothing of it 
Towards rank or honor, power or profit ; 
Which things, we nat'rally expect, 
Belong to us, the Establish'd sect, 
WTio disbelieve (the Lord be thanked !) 
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. 

differences between them turn chiefly upon those important 
points, which our pious friend Abdallah, in the true spirit 
of Shiite Ascendency, reprobates in this Letter. 

6 " Les Sunnites, qui etoient comrae les Catholiquea de 
Musulmanisnie." — D^He.rbelot. 

9 " In contradistinction to the Sounis, who in their prayers 
cross their hands on the lower part of the breast, the Schiahs 
drop their arms in straight lines ; and as the Sounis, at cer- 
tain periods of the prayer, press their foreheads on the 
ground or carpet, the Schiahs," &c. &c. — Forster^s Voyaire. 

7 "Les Turcs ne detestent pas Ali reciproquement; au 
contraire, ils le reconnoissent," &c. &c. — Chardin. 

8 "The Shiites wear green slippers, which the bunnites 
consider as a great abomination." — Marili. 

9 For tliese points of difference, as well as for the Cha|>- 
ter of the Blanket, I must refer the reader (not having th* 
book by me) to Picart's Account of the Mahometan Sects 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



The same mild views of Toleration 
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation, 
Whose Papists (full as giv'n to rogue, 
And only Sunnites with a brogue) 
Fare just as well, with all their fuss, 
A.S rascal Sunnites do with us. 

The tender Gazel I enclose 
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose — 
Take it when night begins to fall, 
And throw it o'er her mother's wall. 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest thou the hour we pass'd, — 

That hour the happiest and the last ? 

O, not so sweet the Siha thorn 

To summer bees, at break of morn, 

Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, 

To Camels' ears the tinkling bell, 

As is the soothing memory 

Of that one precious hour to me. 

How can we live so far apart ? 
0, why not rather, heart to heart. 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet birds, that fly together. 
With feather always touching feather, 

Link'd by a hook and eye ! ' 



LETTER VII. 

FROM MESSRS. L — CK GT — X AND CO. 

TO , ESQ.^ 

Per Post, Sir, we send your MS. — look'd it 

through — 
Very sorry — but can't undertake — 'twouldn't 

do. 
Clever work, Sir ! — would get up prodigiously 

well — 
Its only defect is — it never would sell. 
And though Statesmen may glory in being wi- 

hought. 
In an Author 'tis not so desirable thought. 



1 This will appear strange to an English reader, but it is 
literally translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curidus 
bird to which lie alludes is the Jiiftak, of which I find tlie 
following account in Richardson : — " A sort of bird, that is 
said to have but one wing ; on the opposite side to which 
the male has a hook and the female a ring, so that, when 
they fly, they are fastened together." 

2 Prom motives of delicacy, and, indeed, n{ fellnw-feeling, 
I suppress the name of the Author, whose rejected manu- 



Hard times, Sir, — most books are too dear 

to be read — 
Tliough the gold of Good Sense and Wit's stnall 

change are fled. 
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead, 
Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful tt. 

think it) 
Not even such names as F — tzg — r — d's can 

sink it ! 

However, Sir — if you're for trying again. 
And at somewhat that's vendible — we are your 
men. 

Since the Chevalier C — rr ■' took to marrying 

lately, 
The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly — 
No job. Sir, more easy — your Country once 

plann'd, 
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land 
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of 

hand. 

An East India pamphlet's a thing that would 

teU — 
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well. 
Or — supposing you've nothing original in 

you — 
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win 

you, 
You'U get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Al- 

binia ! * 
(Mind — not to her ditmers — a second-hand Muse 
Musn't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.) 
Or — in case nothing else in this world you can 

do — 
The dense is in't, Sir, if you cannot review ! 

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a scheme to suggest : — Mr. Sc — tt, you 

must know, 
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 

Row,'') 
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new re- 
nown. 
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town ; 



script was enclosed in this letter. — See the Appendix, r 
144. 

3 Sir John Carr, the author of "Tours in Ireland, Hol- 
land, Sweden," &c. &c. 

4 This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspondence, 
which is said to have passed lately between Aib— n — a 
Countess of B— ck— gh— ins— e, and a certiin ingenious 
Parodist. 

5 Paternoster Row. 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to 

pay) 
Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the 

way. 
Now, the scheme is (though none of our hack- 
neys can beat him) 
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet 

him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — 

long coaches — 
May do a few Villas, before Sc — tt approaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, 
He'U reach, without found' ring, at least "Wo- 

bum Abbey. 
Such, Sir, is our plan — if you're up to the 

freak, 
'Tis a match ! and we'U put you in training next 

week. 

At present, no more — in reply to this letter, a 

Line will oblige very much 

Yours, et cetera. 
Temple of the Muses. 



LETTER Vin. 



FROM COLONEL TH — M — S TO 

SK — FF NGT — N, ESQ. 

Come to our Fete,' and bring with thee 
Thy newest, best embroidery. 
Come to our Fete, and show again 
That pea-green coat, thou pink of men, 
Which charra'd all eyes, that last survey'd it; 
When Br — mm — I's self inquir'd •' who made 

it ? " — 
"WTien Cits came wond'ring, from the East, 
And thought thee Poet Pye at least ! 

0, come, (if haply 'tis thy week 
For looking pale,) with paly cheek ; 
Though more we love thy roseate days. 
When the rich rouge pot pours its blaze 
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread. 
Tips e'en thy whisker tops with red — 



1 This Letter enclosed a Card for the Grand Fete on the 
5th of February. 

2 An amateur actor of much risible renown. 

3 Q,uem tu, Melpomene, semel 

Nascentem placido lumine, videris, &c. Horat. 
The Man, upon whom thou hast deign'd to look funny, 

O Tragedy's aiuse ! at the hour of his birth — 
^et them say what they will, that's the Man for my money. 

Give others thy tears, but let me have thy mirth ! 



The CKt -^f Mr C— tes. 



very amusing amateur tra- 



Like the last tints of dyings Day 
That o'er some darkling grove delay. 

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander, 
(That lace, like H— rry Al— x— nd— r. 
Too precious to be wash'd,) — thy rings, 
Thy seals — in short, thy prettiest things ! 
Put all thy wardrobe's glories on, 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R — g — t's self alone ; 
Who — by particular desire — 
For that night only, means to hire 
A dress from Romeo C — tes. Esquire.'"* 
HaU, first of Actors ! ^ best of R— g— ts ! 
Born for each other's fond allegiance ! 
Both gay Lotharios — both good dressers — 
Of serious Farce both learn'd Professors 
Both circled round, for use or show. 
With cock's combs, wheresoe'er they go ! * 

Thou know'st the time, thou man of lore ! 
It takes to chalk a ball-room floor — 
Thou know'st the time, too, welladay ! 
It takes to dance that chalk away.' 
The ball room opens — far and nigh 
Comets and suns beneath us lie ; 
O'er snow-white moons and stars we walk, 
And the floor seems one sky of chalk ! 
But soon shall fade that bright deceit. 
When many a maid, with busy feet 
That sparkle in the lustre's ray. 
O'er the white path shall bound and play 
Like Nymphs along the MUlcy Way : — 
With every step a star hath fled. 
And suns grow dim beneath their tread ! 
So passeth life — (thus Sc — tt would write, 
And spinsters read him vAXV delight,) — 
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on. 
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone ! * 

But, hang this long digressive flight ! — 
I meant to say, thou'lt see, that night. 
What falsehood rankles in their hearts. 
Who say the Pr e neglects the arts — 



gedian here alluded to, was a cock ; and most profusely 
were his liveries, harness, fcc, covered with this ornament. 

6 To those, who neither go to balls nor read the Morning 
Post, it may be necessary to mention, that the floors of balJ 
rooms, in general, are chalked, for safety and for ornament, 
with various fanciful devices. 

6 Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent. 

Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent. 
After all, however, Mr. Sc— tt may well say to the Colonel, 
(and, indeed, to much better wags than the Colonel..! iiaot 
IxcoiiCicdai r; mniicQai. 



190 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



JNcglects the arts ? no, Str — hi — g,' no ; 
Thy Cufncls answer ♦' 'tis not so ; " 
And every floor, that night, shall tell 
How quick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou mayst in French vermilion, 
Thou'rt best beneath a French cotillon ; 
And still com'st off, whate'er thy faults, 
With flying colors in a Waltz. 
Nor need'st thou mourn the transient date 
To thy bes.t works assign' d by fate. 
While some chef-d'cEuvres live to weary one, 
T//i/ie boast a short life and a 'merry one ; 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With " Molly put the kettle on ! " * 

But, bless my soul ! I've scarce a leaf 
Of paper left — so, must be brief. 

This festive Fete, in fact, will be 
The former Fcte's facsimile ; ^ 
The same long Masquerade of Rooms, 
All trick'd up in such odd costumes, 
(These, P — rt — r,* are thy glorious works !) 
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks, 
Bearing Good Taste some deadly malice. 
Had clubb'd to raise a Picnic Palace ; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State Room as a present. 
The same fauteuils and girandoles — 
The same gold Asses,''' pretty souls ! 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home ; 
The same bright river 'mong the dishes. 
But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes : — 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones — 
So, 'stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie nowadaj's") 
Some sprats have been, by Y — rm — th's wish, 
Promoted into Silver Fish, 
And Gudgeons (so V — ns — tt — t told 
The R — g — t) are as good as Gold ! 

So, prithee, come — our Fete will be 
B at half a Fete if wanting thee. 



1 A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince Regent 

2 The name of a popular country dance. 

^ " C — rl — t — n H e will exhibit a complete facsimile, 

in respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last 
Fete. The same splendid draperies," &c. &c. — Morning 
Post. 

* Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the furnishing 

f the rjoms of Carlton House. 



APPENDIX. 

LETTER IV. PAGE 185. 

Among the papers, enclosed in Dr. D — g — n- 
— n's Letter, was found an Heroic Epistle in 
Latin verse, from Pope Joan to her Lover, of 
which, as it is rather a curious document, I 
shall venture to give some account. This fe- 
male Pontiff was a native of England, (or, ac- 
cording to others, of Germany,) who, at an 
early age, disguised herself in male attire, and 
followed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to 
Athens, where she studied with such effect, that 
upon her arrival at Rome, she was thought 
worthy of being raised to the Pontificate. This 
Epistle is addressed to her Lover (whom she 
had elevated to the dignity of Cardinal), soon 
after the fatal accouchement, by which her Falli- 
bility was betrayed. 

She begins by reminding him tenderly of the 
time, when they were together at Athens — 
when, as she says, 

" by Hissus' stream 

" We whispering walk'd along, and learn'd to 

speak 
" The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek ; — 
" Ah, then how little did we think or hope, 
" Dearest of men, that I should e'er be Pope ! * 
" That I, the humble Joan, whose housewife 

art 
" Seem'd just enough to keep thy house and 

heart, 
(" And those, alas, at sixes and at sevens,) 
" Should soon keep aU the keys of all the heav- 
ens ! " 

Still less (she continues to say) could they have 
foreseen, that such a catastrophe as had hap- 
pened in Council would befall them — that she 

" Should thus surprise the Conclave's grave de- 
corum, 
'« And let a little Pope pop out before 'em — 
" Pope Innocent ! alas, the only one 
" That name could e'er be justly fix'd upon." 



6 The saltcellars on the Pr e's own table were in the 

form of an Ass with panniers. 

« Spanheim attributes the unanimity, with which Joar 
was elected, to that innate and irresistible charm, by which 
her SOX, though latent, operated upon the instinct of the 
Cardinals — " Non vi aliqna, sad concorditer, omnium in se 
converse) desiderio, qua: sunt blandientis sexus artes, latentea 
in hlc quanquam ! " 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



)91 



She then very pathetically laments the down- 
fall of her greatness, and enumerates the vari- 
ous treasures to which she is doomed to bid 
farewell forever : — 

" But O, more dear, more precious ten times 

over — 
" Farewell my Lord, ray Cardinal, ray Lover ! 
" I made thee Cardinal — thou mad'st me — ah ! 
" Thou mad'st the Papa of the world Mamma ! " 

I have not time at present to translate any 
more of this Epistle ; but I presume the argu- 
ment which the Right Hon. Doctor and his 
friends mean to deduce from it, is (in their usual 
convincing strain) that Romanists must be un- 
worthy of Emancipation noio, because they had 
a Petticoat Pope in the Ninth Century. Noth- 
ing can be more logically clear, and I find that 
Horace had exactly the same views upon the 
subject : — 

Romanus (eheu poster! negabitis '.) 

Einancipalus FcEMiN^ 
Fert vallum ! 



LETTER Vn. PAGE 188. 

The Manuscript, found enclosed in the IJpok- 
sellers' Letter, turns out to be a Melodrama, 
in two Acts, entitled "The Book,"' of which 
the Theatres, of course, had had the refusal, 
before it was presented to Messrs. L — ck — ng- 
t — n and Co. This rejected Drama, however, 
possesses considerable merit, and I shall take 
tlie liberty of laying a sketch of it before ray 
Readers. 

The first Act opens in a very awful manner — 
Time, three o'clock in the morning — Scene, the 
Bourbon Chamber^ in C — rl — t — n House — 

Enter the P e R — g — t solus — After a few 

broken sentences, he thus exclaims : — 

Away — Away — 
Thou haunt' st my fancy so, thou devilish Book, 
I meet thee — trace thee, wheresoe'er I look. 

1 There was, in like manner, a mysterious Book, in the 
16th century, which employed all the anxious curiosity of 
the leariiert of that time. Every one spoke of it ; many 
wrote against iv though it does not appear that any body 
had ever seen it ; and Grotius is of opinion that no sucli 
Book ever existed. It was entitled " Liber de tribus inipos- 
toribus." (See Morhof. Cap. de Libris dainnatis.) — Our 
more modern mystery of " the Book " resembles this in 
many particulars; and, if the number of Lawyers employed 
in drawing it up be stated correctly, a slight alteration of 



I see thy damned ink in Eld — n's brows — 
1 see thy foohcap on my H — rtf — d's Spouse — 
V — ns — tt — t's head recalls thy leathern case. 
And all thy blank leaves stare from R — d — r's 

face ! 
Wh.ile, turning here {laying his hand on his 

heart), I find, ah wretched elf! 
Thy List of dire Errata in myself. 

( Walks the stage in considerable agitation.) 
O Roman Punch ! O potent Cura^oa ! 
O Mareschino ! Mareschino O ! 
Delicious drams ! why have you not the art 
To kill this gnawing Bookworm in my heart ? 

He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy by per- 
ceiving on the ground some scribbled fragments 
of paper, which he instantly collects, and '*by 
the light of two magnificent candelabras" dis- 
covers the following unconnected words, " Wifo 
neglected " — " the Book " — " Wrong Measures " 
— " the Queen " — " Mr. Lambert " — " the R — 
g-t." 

Ha ! treason in my house ! Curst words, that 

wither 
My princely soul, {shaking the papers violently) 

■what Demon brought you hither ? 
" My Wife ; " — " the Book " too ! — stay — a 

nearer look — 
{holding the fragments closer to the candelabras) 
Alas ! too plain, B, double O, K, Book — 
Death and destruction ! 

He here rings all the bells, and a whole legion 
of valets enter. A scene of cursing and swear- 
ing (very much in the German style) ensues, 
in the course of which messengers are de- 
spatched, in difi'erent directions, for the L — rd 
Ch— nc— 11— r, the D— e of C— b— 1— d, &c. 
&c. The intermediate time is filled up by 
aiiother Soliloquy, at the conclusion of which 
the aforesaid Personages rush on alarmed ; the 
D — ke with his stays only half Iftced, and the 
Ch — nc — 11 — r with his wig thrown hastily 
over an old red nightcap, «' to maintain the 
becoming splendor of his office." ^ The R — 

the title into "d tribus impostoribus " would produce a 
coincidence altogether very remarkable. 

2 The same chamber, doubtless, that was prepared for 
tlie reception of the Bourbons at the first Grand Ffite, and 
which was ornamented (all " for the Deliverance of Eu- 
rope ") with flours de lis. 

3 "To enable the individual, who holds the office of 
Chancellor, to maintain it in becoming splendor." (./J loud 
laugh.) — Lord Castlereagh's Speick upon the Vice Chan- 
cellor's Bill 



192 



INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 



g — t produces the appalling fragments, upon 
which the Ch — nc — 11 — r breaks out into ex- 
clamations of loyalty and tenderness, and re- 
lates the following portentous dream : — 

'Tis scarcely tw^o hours since 

I had a fearful dream of thee, my P e ! — 

Methought I heard thee, 'midst a courtly crowd. 
Say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud, 
" Worship my whiskers ! " — {weeps) not a knee 

was there 
But bent and worshipp'd the Illustrious Pair, 
Which curl'd in conscious majesty ! {pulls out 

his handkerchief ) — while cries 
Of " Whiskers, whiskers ! " shook the echoing 

skies. — 
Just in that glorious hour, methought, there 

came. 
With looks of injur'd pride, a Princely Dame, 
And a young maiden, clinging by her side, 
As if she fear'd some tyrant would divide 
Two hearts that nature and affection tied ! 
The Matron came — within her right hand 

glow'd 
A radiant torch ; while from her left a load 
Of Papers hung — {zoipes his eyes) collected in 

her veil — 
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale. 
The wounding hint, the current lies that pass 
From Post to Courier, form'd the motley mass ; 
AVhich, with disdain, before the Throne she 

throws, 
And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose. 

( Weeps.) 
Heav'ns, how it blaz'd ! I'd ask no livelier fire, 
( With animatio7i) To roast a Papist by, my gra- 
cious sire ! — 
But ah ! the Evidence — {weeps agahi) I moum'd 

to see — 
Cast, as it burn'd, a deadly light on thee : 
And Tales and Hints their random sparkles 

flung, 
And hiss'd and crackled, like an old maid's 

tongue ; 
While Post and Courier, faithful to their fame. 
Made up in stink for what they lack'd in 

flame. 
When, lo, ye Gods ! the fire ascending brisker, 
Now singes one, now lights the other whisker. 
Ah ! where was then the Sylphid, that unfurls 
Her fairy standard in defence of curls ? 
Throne, Whiskers, Wig, soon vanish' d into 

smoke, 
The watchman cried " Past One," and — I 

awoke. 



Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than 
ever, and the R — g — t (who has been very much 
agitated during the recital of the Dream) by a 
movement as characteristic as that of Charles 
XII. when he was shot, claps his hands to his 
whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A Privy 
Council is held — all the Servants, &c. are ex- 
amined, and it appears that a Tailor, who had 
come to measure the R — g — t for a Dress (which 
takes three whole pages of the best superfine 
clinquant in describing), was the only person 
who had been in the Bourbon Chamber during 
the day. It is, accordingly, determined to seize 
the Tailor, and the Council breaks up with a 
unanimous resolution to be vigorous. 

The commencement of the Second Act turns 
chiefly upon the Trial and Imprisonment of 
two Brothers ' — but as this forms the under 
plot of the Drama, I shall content myself with 
extracting from it the following speech, which 
is addressed to the two Brothers, as they " exeunt 
severally" to Prison: — 

Go to your prisons — though the air of Spring 
No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall 

bring ; 
Though Summer flowers shall pass unseen away, 
And all your portion of the glorious day 
Maj^be some solitary beam that falls, 
At morn or eve, upon your dreary walls — 
Some beam that enters, trembling as if aw'd. 
To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad ! 
Yet go — for thoughts as blessed as the air 
Of Spring or Summer flowers await you 

there ; 
Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his courtly 

crew 
In rich conservatories, never knew ; 
Pure self-esteem — the smiles that light within, 
The Zeal, whose circling charities begin 
With the few lov'd ones Heaven has plac'd it 

near, 
And spread, till all Mankind are in its spnere ; 
The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or plea, 
And the fresh Spirit that can warble free. 
Through prison bars, its hymn to Liberty ! 

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Work- 
shop, and a fancifuUy-arranged group of these 
Artists is discovered upon the Shopboard — 
Their task evidently of a royal nature, from the 
profusion of gold lace, frogs, &c. that lie about — 
They all rise and come forward, while one of 

1 Mr. Leigh Hunt and his '-j-othet. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



them sings the following Stanzas to the tane of 
•^ Derry Down." 

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your 

knees, 
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease. 
While I sing of our P e (and a fig for his 

railers) 
The Shopboard's delight ! the Maecenas of 

Tailors ! 
Derry down, down, down derry down. 

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note, 
While His short cut to fame is — the cut of his 

coat ; 
Philip's Son thought the World was too small 

for his Soul, 
But our R — g — t's finds room in a lac'd button 

hole. 

Derry down, &c 

Look through all Europe's Kings — those, at 
least, who go loose — 

Not a King of them all's such a friend to the 
Goose. 

So, God keep him increasing in size and re- 
nown, 

Still the fattest and best fitted P e about 

town ! 

Derry down, &c. 

During the <' Derry down" of this last verse, 

a messenger from the S — c — t — y of S e's 

Dffice rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily 
the effect of the scene, is the very Tailor sus- 



pected of the mysterious fragments) is inter- 
rupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions, 
and hurried away, to the no small surprise and 
consternation of his comrades. The Plot now 
hastens rapidly in its development — the man- 
agement of the Tailor's examination is highly 
skilful, and the alarm, which he is made to be- 
tray, is natural without being ludicrous. The 
explanation, too, which he finally gives is not 
more simple than satisfactory. It appears that 
the said fragments formed part of a self-excul- 
patory note, which he had intended to send to 
Colonel M'M n upon subjects purely profes- 
sional, and the corresponding bits (which still 
lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and 
skilfully laid beside the others, the following 
billet-doux is the satisfactory xesvlt of their 
juxtaposition. 

Honor'd Colonel — my Wife, who's the Queen 

of all slatterns. 
Neglected to put up the Book of new Patterns. 
She sent the wrong Measures too — shamefully 

wrong — 
They're the same us'd for poor Mr. Lambert, 

when young ; 
But, bless you ! they wouldn't go half round 

the R— g— t — 
So, hope you'U excuse yours tiU death, most 

obedient. 

This fully explains the whole mystery — the 
R — g — t resumes his wonted smiles, and the 
Drama terminates as usual, to the satisfaction 
of all parties. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



SXOAAZONTOS A2X0AIA. 



THE INSURRECTION OF THE PAPERS. 

A DREAM. 
" It would be impossible for his Royal Highness to disen- 
gage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that 
encompassed it." — Lord Castlereagh's Speechupon Colo- 
nel M''Makon's Appointment, April 14, 1812. 

Last night I toss'd and turn'd in bed, 
But could not sleep — at length I said, 
25 



«' I'll think of Viscount C — stl — r — gh, 
" And of his speeches — that's the way.' 
And so it was, for instantly 
I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then I dreamt — so dread a dream ' 
Fuseli has no such theme ; 
Lewis never wrote or borrow' d 
Any horror, half so horrid ! 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Methought the Pr e, in whisker'd state, 

Before me at his breakfast sate ; 

On one side lay unread Petitions, 

On t'other, Hints from five Physicians ; 

Here tradesmen's bills, — official papers. 

Notes from my Lady, drams for vapors — 

There plans of saddles, tea and toast. 

Death warrants and the Morning Post, 

When lo ! the Papers, one and all, 
As if at some magician's call. 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shelves ; 
And, cutting each some different capers, 
Advanc'd, O Jacobinic papers ! 
As though they said, " Our sole design is 
" To suffocate his Royal Highness ! " 
The Leader of this vile sedition 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 
With grievances so full and heavy, 
It threaten'd worst of all the bevy. 
Then Common Hall Addresses came 
In swaggering sheets and took their aim 
Right at the R — g — t's weU-dress'd head, 
As if determin'd to be read. 
Next Tradesmen's BUI? began to fly, 
And Tradesmen's Bills, we know, mount 

high; 
Nay ev'n Death warrants thought they'd 

best 
Be lively too, and join the rest. 

But, O the basest of defections ! 
His Letter about " predilections " — 
His own dear Letter, void of grace. 
Now flew up in its parent's face ! 
Shock'd with this breach of filial duty. 
He just could murmur " e< Tu Brute f " 
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox's bust, to rise no more ! 

I wak'd — and pray'd, with lifted hand, 
" O, never may this Dream prove true ; 

«' Though paper overwhelms the land, 
" Let it not crush the Sovereign too ! " 



1 Letter from his Royal flighness the Prince Regent to 
eke Duke of York, Feb. 13, 1812. 

» " I think it hardly necessary to call your recollection to 
the recent circumstances under which I assumed the au- 
thority delegated to me by Parliament." — Prince's Letter. 



PARODY 

OF A CELEBRATED LETTER.' 

At length, dearest Freddy, the moment is nigh, 
When, with P — re — v— I's leave, I may throw 

my chains by ; 
And, as time now is precious, the first thing 

I do, 
Is to sit down and write a wise letter to you. 



I meant before now to have sent you this Letter, 
But Y — rm — th and I thought perhaps 'twould 

be better 
To wait till the Irish affairs were decided — 
(That is, till both Houses had prosed and di- 
vided. 
With all due appearance of thought and diges- 
tion) — 
For, though H — rtf— rd House had long settled 

the question, 
I thought it but decent, between me and you, 
That the two other Houses should settle it too. 

I need not remind you ho-w cursedly bad 
Our affairs were aU looking, when Father went 

mad ;' 
A strait waistcoat on him and restrictions on me, 
A more limited Monarchy could not well be. 
I was call'd upon then, in that moment of puzzle, 
To choose my own Minister — just a.i they muzzle 
A playful young bear, and then mock his disaster. 
By bidding him choose out his ovn dancing 
master. 

I thought the best way, as a dutiful son. 
Was to do as Old Royalty's self would have 

done.' 
So I sent word to say, I would keep the whole 

batch in. 
The same chest of tools, without cleansing or 

patching ; 
For tools of this kind, like Martinus's sconce,* 
Would lose all their beauty, if purified once ; 



3 " My sense of duty to our Royal father solely decided 
that choice." — Prince's Letter. 

* The antique shield of Martinus Scriblenis, which, upon 
scouring, turned out to be only an old sconce. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



I9t 



And think — only think — if our Father should 

find, 
Upon graciously coming again to his mind,' 
That improvement had spoil'd any favorite ad- 
viser — 
That R — se was grown honest, or W — stm — re- 

1 — nd wiser — 
That R — d — r was, ev'n by one twinkle, the 

brighter — 
Or L — V — rp — I's speeches but half a pound 

lighter — 
What a shock to his old royal heart it would be ! 
No ! — far were such dreams of improvement 

from me : 
And it pleased me to find, at the House, where, 

you know,'' 
There's such good mutton cutlets, and strong 

cura(;oa,^ 
That the Marchioness call'd me a duteous old 

boy. 
And my Y — rm — th's red whiskers grew redder 

for joy. 

iTou know, my dear Freddy, how oft, if I 

By the law of last Sessions I might have done 

good. 
I might have withheld these political noodles 
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee 

Doodles ; 
I might have told Ireland I pitied her lot, 
Might have sooth'd her with hope — but you 

know I did not. 
And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old 

fellows 
Should not, on recovering, have cause to be 

jealous, 
But find that, while he has been laid on the shelf, 
We've been all of us nearly as mad as him- 
self. 
You smile at my hopes — but the Doctors and I, 
Are the last that can think the K — ng ever will 

die.* 

A new era's arriv'd* — though you'd hardly 
believe it — 
And all things, of course, must be new to re- 
ceive it. 



1 " I waved any personal gratification, in order that his 
Majesty might resume, on his restoration to health, every 
power and prerogative," &c. — Prince's Letter, 

2 " And 1 have the satisfaction of Itnovving that such was 
the opinion ol persons for whose judgment," &c. &c. — 
Ibid. 

5 The letter-writer's favorite luncheon. 



New viUas. new fetes (which ev'n Waithraau 

attends) — 
New saddles, new helmets, and — why not new 
friends f 



I repeat it, " New Friends " — for I cannot de- 
scribe 

The delight I am in vdth this P — re — v — 1 tribe. 

Such capering ! — Such vaporing ! — Such rigor ! 
— Such vigor ! 

North, South, East, and West, they have cut 
such a figure, 

That soon they will bring the whole world round 
our ears, 

And leave us no friends — but Old Nick and 
Algiers. 

When I think of the glory they've beam'd on 
my chains, 

'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains. 

It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and 
riches, 

But think how we find our Allies in new 
breeches ! 

We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis 
granted, 

But then we've got Java, an island much wanted. 

To put the last lingering few who remain, 

Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain. 

Then how Wellington fights ! and how squab- 
bles his brother ! 

For Papists the one, and with Papists the other ; 

One crushing Napoleon by taking a City, 

While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'lic Com- 
mittee. 

O deeds of ren&\^Ti ? — shall I boggle or flinch, 

With such prospects before me ? by Jove, not 
an inch. 

No — let Engla?id's aff'airs go to rack, if they will, 

We'll look after th' aff'airs of the Contiiient still ; 

And, with nothing at home but starvation and 
riot. 

Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet. 

I am proud to declare I have no predilections,* 
My heart is a sieve, where some scatter' d affec- 
tions 



« " 1 certainly am the last person in the kingdom to 
whom it can be permitted to despair of our royal fatlier's 
recovery." — Prince's Letter. 

6 " A new era is now arrived, and I cannot but reflect 
with satisfaction," &c. — Ibid. 

6 " I have no predilections to indulge, — no resentment^ 
to gratify." — Ibid. 



196 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Are just danc'd about for a moment or two, 
And the finer they are, the more sure to run 

through : 
Neither feel I resentments, nor wish there 

should come ill 
To mortal — except (now I think on't) Beau 

Br — mm — 1, 
Who threaten' d last year, in a superfine passion, 
To cut me,, and bring the old K — ng into fashion. 
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present ; 
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant, 
So royally free from all troublesome feelings, 
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings, 
(And that I'm consistent the world will allow. 
What I was at Newmarket the same I am now). 
When such are my merits (you know I hate 

cracking), 
I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent Blacking, 
*' To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation 
" Of a candid, enlighten' d, and liberal nation." 

By the by, ere I close this magnificent Letter, 
(No man, except Pole, could have writ you a 

better), 
'Twould please me if those, whom I've hum- 

bugg'd so long ' 
With the notion (good men !) that I knew right 

from wrong. 
Would a few of them join me — mind, only a 

few — 
To let too much light in on me never would do ; 
But even Grey's brightness shan't make me 

afraid, 
While I've C— md— n and Eld— n to fly to for 



Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us much 

harm. 
While there's W — stm — rel — nd near him to 

weaken the charm. 
As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it. 
Sure joining with H — rtf— rd and Y — rm — th 

will do it ! 
Between R — d — r and Wh — rt — n let Sheridan 

sit, 
And the fogs will soon quench even Sheridan's 

wit : 
And against all the pure public feeling that glows 
Ev'n in Whitbread himself we've a Host in 

G— rge R— se ! 

1 " I cannot conclude without expressing the gratification 
I should feel if some of those persons with whom the early 
habits of my public life were formed would strengthen my 
hands, and constitute a part of my government." — Prince's 
tetter. 

a " You are authorized to communicate these sentiments 



So, in short, if they wish to have Places, they 
may, 

And I'll thank you to tell all these matters to 
Grey,' 

Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time 
to lose) 

By the twopenny post to tell Grenville the news ; 

And now, dearest Fred (though I've no predi- 
lection), 

Believe me yours always with truest aff'ection. 

P. S. A copy of this is to P— re— 1 going ^ — 
Good Lord, how St. Stephen's will ring with 
his crowing ! 

ANACREONTIC 

TO A PLUMASSIER. 

Fine and feathery artisan. 
Best of Plumists (if you can 
With your art so far presume) 
Make for me a Pr — ce's Plume — 
Feathers soft and feathers rare, 
Such as suits a Pr — ce to wear. 

First, thou downiest of men. 
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen ; 
Such a Hen, so tall and grand, 
As by Juno's side might stand, 
If there were no cocks at hand. 
Seek her feathers, soft as down. 
Fit to shine on Pr — ce's crown ; 
K thou canst not find them, stupid ! 
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.* 

Ranging these in order due, 
Pluck me next an old Cuckoo ; 
Emblem of the happy fates 
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates. 
Pluck him well — be sure you do — 
Who wouldn't be an old Cuckoo, 
Thus to have his plumage blest. 
Beaming on a R — y — 1 crest ? 

Bravo, Plumist ! — now what bird 
Shall we find for Plume the third ? 
You must get a learned Owl, 
Bleakest of black-letter fowl — 

to Lord Grey, who, I have no doubt, will make them 
known to Lord Grenville." — Ibid. 

8 " I shall send a copy of this letter immediately to Mr 
Perceval." — Ibid. 

4 See Prior's poem, entitled " The Dove " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



19? 



Bigot bird, that hates the light,' 
Foe to all that's fair and bright. 
Seize his quills, (so form'd to pen 
Books," that shun the search of men ; 
Books, that, far from every eye, 
In " swelter'd venom sleeping" lie,) 
Stick them in between the two. 
Proud Pea-hen and Old Cuckoo. 
Now you have the triple feather, 
Bind the kindred stems together, 
With a silken tie, whose hue 
Once was brilliant BufF and Blue ; 
Sullied now — alas, how much ! 
Only fit for Y — rm — th's touch. 

There — enough — thy task is done ; 

Present, worthy G ge's Son ; 

Now, beneath, in letters neat. 
Write "I SERVE," and all's complete. 



EXTRACTS 

FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN. 

Wednesday. 
Through M — nch — st — r Square took a canter 

just now — 
Met the old yellow chariot,^ and made a low 

bow. 
This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and 

civil. 
But got such a look — O 'twas black as the 

devil ! 
How unlucky ! — incog, he was trav'Uing 

about, 
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out. 

Mem.— when next by the old yellow chariot I 

ride, 
To remember there is nothing princely inside. 

Thursday. 
At Levee to-day made another sad blunder — 
What can be come over me lately, I wonder ? 



1 p_rc_v-l. 

« In allusion to " the Book " which created such a sensa- 
tion at that period. 

3 The incng. vehicle of the Pr — ce. 

< Baron Geramb, the rival of his R. H. in whiskers. 

6 England is not the only country where merit of this 
kind is noticed and rewarded. " I remember," says Taver- 
nier, "to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, 
whose mustaches were so long that he could tie them bo- 
hind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension." 



The Pr — ce was as cheerful, as if, all his life, 
He had never been troubled with Friends or a 

Wife — 
" Fine weather," says he — to which I, who must 

prate. 
Answered, " Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of 

late." 
He took it, 1 fear, for he look'd somewhat gruff, 
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough. 
That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd 

come off. 
And then. Lord, how Geramb * would triumph- 
antly 6cofF! 

Mem. — to buy for son Dicky some unguent or 
lotion 

To nourish his whiskers — sure road to pro- 
motion ; * 

Saturday. 
Last night a Concert — vastly gay — 
Given by Lady C — stl — r — gh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know, 
Has "two strings always to his bow."' 
In choosing songs, the R — g — t nam'd 
" Had I a heart for falsehood f ram' d," — 
While gentle H — rtf — d begg'd and pray'd 
For " Young I am, and sore afraid," 



EPIGRAM. 

What news to-day? — '< O, worse and worse — 
" Mac ' is the Pr — ce's Privy Purse ! " — 
The Pr — ce's Purse ! no, no, you fool, 
You mean the Pr — ce's Ridicule. 



KING CRACK* AND HIS IDOLS. 

Ik 
WRITTEN after THE LATE NEGOTIATION FOR A 
NEW M N STRY. 

King Crack was the best of all possible Kings, 
(At least, so his Courtiers would swear to yon 
gladly,) 



6 A rhetorical figure ased by Lord C — stl — r — gh, in one 
of his speeches. 

1 Colonel M— cm — h — n. 

8 One of those antediluvian Princes, with whom Manetho 
and Whiston seem so intimately acquainted. If we had 
the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled hia 
History, we should find, I dare say, that Orack was only a 
Regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Typhon, who (a« 
Whiston says) was the last King of the Antediluvian Dy- 
nasty. 



i98 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS fOEMS. 



But Crack now and then would do het'rodox 
things, 
And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly. 

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been 
plac'd 
In his father's old Cabinet, pleas'd him so much, 
That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though — 
such was his taste ! — 
They were monstrous to look at, and rotten 
to touch. 

And these were the beautiful Gods of King 
Crack ! — 
But his People, disdaining to worship such 
things. 
Cried aloud, one and all, " Come, your Godships 
must pack — 
" You'll not do for tis, though you may do for 
Kings." 

Then, trampling these images under their feet. 
They sent Crack a petition, beginning " Great 
Cajsar ! 
" We're willing to worship ; but only entreat 
" That you'll find us some decanter Godheads 
than these are." 

"I'll try," says King Crack — so they furnish'd 
him models 
Of better shap'd Gods, but he sent them all 
back ; 
Some were chisell'd too fine, some had heads 
'stead of noddles. 
In short, they were all mtich too godlike for 
Crack. 

So he took to his darling old Idols again, 

And, just mending their legs and new bronz- 
'*ing their faces. 
In open defiance of Gods and of man. 

Set the monsters up grinning once more in 
their places. 



WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? 

Quest. Why is a Pump like V — sc — nt C — stl- 



1 Edward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of the Irish 
Tatholics. 

2 The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or 
Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. 9, v. 138. — Plutarch. 



Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood, 
That up and down its awkward arm doth 

sway. 
And coolly spout and spout and spout away, 

In one weak, washy, everlasting flood .' 



EPIGRAM. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND 

HIS R Y L H GHN SS THE D E OP 

C — B L D. 

Said his Highness to Ned,* with that grim face 
of his, 
" Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic 
Neddy ? " 
" Because, Sir," said Ned, looking full in his 
phiz, 
"Yon' re forbidding enough, in all conscience, 
already ! " 

WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS. 

AN ANACREONTIC. 

Hither, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Haste thee from Old Brompton's bowers — 
Or, (if sweeter that abode) 
From the King's well-odor'd Road, 
Where each little nursery bud 
Breathes the dust and quaff's the mud. 
Hither come and gayly twine 
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine 
Into wreaths for those, who rule us. 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us — 
Flora, sure, will love to please 
England's Household Deities !* 

First you must then, willy-nilly, 
Fetch me many an orange lily — 
Orange of the darkest dye 
Irish G — ft' — rd can supply ; — 
Choose me out the longest sprig, 
And stick it in old Eld — n's wig. 

Find me next a Poppy posy. 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Garland gaudy, dull and cool. 
To crown the head of L — v — rp — 1, 
'Twill console his brilliant brows 
For that loss of laurel boughs, 



too, tells us that Household Gods were fl>en, as th-^ 
now, "much given to War and Penal Statutes " — een 
itts Kat Trotft/iovs Sai/tovai. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 199 


Wliicn they suffer'd (what a pity !) 




On the road to Paris City. 


HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. IL 


Next, our C— stl— r— gh to crown, 


FREELY TRANSLATED BY THE PR— CE R— G— T.' 


Bring me from the County Down, 


* Come, Y— rm— th, my boy, never troublo 


Wither' d Shamrocks, which have been 


your brains. 


Gilded o'er, to hide the green — 


About what your old crony. 


(Such as H — df — t brought away 


The Emperor Boney, 


From Pall Mall last Patrick's Day') 


Is doing or brewing on Muscovy's, plains ; 


Stitch the garland through and through 




"With shabby threads of every hue ; — 


* Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our gran- 


And as, Goddess ! — entre nous — 


aries : 


His Lordship loves (though best of men) 


Should there come famine, 


A little torture, now and then, 


Still plenty to cram in 


Crimp the leaves, thou first of Sirens, 


You always shall have, my dear Lord of tho 


Crimp them with thy curling irons. 


Stannaries. 


That's enough — away, away — 


Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ; 


Had I leisure, I could say 


* For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away 


How the oldest rose that grows 


And then people get fat. 


Must be pluck'd to deck Old Rose — 


And infirm, and — all that. 


How the Doctor's ' brow should smile 


^ And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits. 


Cro\vn'd with wreaths of camomile. 


That it frightens the little Loves out of their 


But time presses — to thy taste 


wits ; 


I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste ! 






* Thy whiskers, too, Y— rm— th ! — alas, even 




they. 




Though so rosy they burn, 


EPIGRAM. 


Too quickly must turn 


DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND HER MAID 


(What a heart-breaking change for thy whis- 


ON THE NIGHT OF LORD Y— RM— TH's FETE. 


kers!) to Grey. 


" I WANT the Court Guide," said my lady, " to 


' Then why, my Lord Warden, 0, why should 


look 


you fidget 


" K the House, Seymour Place, be at 30, or 


Your mind about matters you don't under- 


20." — 


stand ? 


" We've lost the Court Guide, Ma'am, but here's 


Or why should you write yourself down for 


the Red Book, 


an idiot. 


"Where you'll find, I dare say, Seymour 


Because " you," forsooth, «< have the pen in 


Places in plenty ! " 


your hand!" 




Think, think how much better 




Than scribbling a letter. 


Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock which are 


5 Nee trepides in usura 




Poscentis asvi pauca. 




Patrick's Day. 




2 The s. brlqutl given to Lord SIdmouth. 


8 Fiigit retro 


3 This and the following are extracted from a Work, 


Levis juventas et decor. 


which may, some time or other, meet the eye of the Public 


' Pellente lascivos amores 


— entitled " Odes of Horace, done into English by several 


Canitle. 


Persons of Fashion." 






' Neque lino Luna rt<i«7u nitet 


< auid bel'icosus Cantaber, et Scythes, 


Vultu. 


Hirpine anincti, cogitet, Hadria 




Pivlsiis (ibjecto, remittas 


» Guid Bternis minonm 


auterere. 


Consiliis animum fatigaa > 



200 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



(Which both j'ou and I 
Should avoid by the by,) 
How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust 
Of old Charley," my friend here, and drink 
like a new one ; 
While Charley looks sulky, and frowns at me, 
just 
As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at 
Don Juan. 

' To crown us, Lord Warden, 
In C — mb — rl — nd's garden 
Grows plenty of monk's hood in venomous 
sprigs : 
While Otto of Roses 
Refreshing all noses 
Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and 
wigs. 

What youth of the Household will cool our 
Noyau 
In that streamlet delicious. 
That down 'midst the dishes, 
All full of gold fishes. 
Romantic doth flow ? — 

* Or who will repair 

Unto M ch r Sq e. 

And see if the gentle Marchesa be there? 

Go — bid her haste hither, 

• And let her bring with her 



1 Cur not! sub alta vel platano, vel hac 

Pinu jacentes sic temere. 
» Charles Fox. 

• 1tos3l 
Canos odorati capillos, 

Dum licet, Assyriaque nardo 
Potamus uncti. 

• Quis puer ociua 
Restinguet ardentis Falerni 

Pocula pratereunte lympka ? 

» duis eliciet domo 

Lyden ? 

• Eliuma, die age, cum lyra (qu. liar-a) 
Maturet. 

T Incomtam Laciente 

More coiiiam religata nodo. 

• Integer vita scelerisque purus. 

• Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu, 
Nee venenatis gravida sagittis, 

Fusee, pharetra. 

JO Sive per Syrtes iter aestuosas, 
Sive facturus per itiliospitalem 
Oaucasum, vel qua loca Tabulosus 
Lainbit Ilvdaspes, 



The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going — 
^ O, let her come, with her dark tresses flowing, 
AU gentle and juvenile, curly and gay. 
In the manner of — Ackermann's Dresses for 
May! 

HORACE, ODE XXH. LIB. L 

FEEELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD — N. 

' The man who keeps a conscience pure, 
(If not his own, at least his Prince's,) 
Through toil and danger walks secure. 
Looks big and black, and never winces. 

' No want has he of sword or dagger, 
Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geramb ; 
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger, 
He doesn't care one single d-mn. 

'" Whether midst Irish chairmen going. 
Or through St. Giles's alleys dim, 
'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing, 
No matter, 'tis all one to him. 

" For instance, I, one evening late, 
Upon a gay vacation sally. 
Singing the praise of Church and State, 
Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne Alley, 

When lo ! an Irish Papist darted 

Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big — 



The Noble Translator had, at first, laid the scene of these 
imagined dangers of his Man of Conscience among the Pa- 
pists of Spain, and had translated the words " qu<E loca/niu- 
lustts lambit Hydaspes " tlius — " The fabling S|)aiiiard licka 
the French ; " but, recollecting that it is our interest just 
now to be respectful to Spanish Catholics (though there is 
certainly no earthly reason for our being even commonly 
civil to Irish ones), he altered the passage as it stands at 
present. 
U Namque me silvSl lupus in SabinSl, 

Dum nieam canto Lalagen, et ultra 
Terminum curis vagor expeditis, 
Fugit inermem. 

I cannot help calling the reader's attention to the peculiai 
ingenuity with which these lines are paraphiased Not to 
mention tlie happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist, 
(seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, tliat Rome 
was founded by Romulus, and that the Po|)e has always 
reigned at Rome,) there is something particularly neat in 
supposing " zdtra (erminum " to mean vacation time ; and 
then the modest consciousness with which the Nohle and 
Learned Translator has avoided touching upon the words 
" curis expeditis," (or, as it has been otherwise read, " causU 
expeditis,") and the felicitous idea of his being " iiiermls" 
when " without his wig," are altogether the most delectable 
specimens of paraphrase in our language. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



201 



I did but frown, and off he started, 
Scar'd at me, even without my wig. 

' Tet a more fierce and raw-bon'd dog 
Goes not to Mass in Dublin city, 
Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog, 
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee. 

• O, place me midst O'Rourkes, O'Tooles, 

The ragged royal blood of Tara ; 
Or place me where Dick M — rt — n rules 
The houseless wilds of Connemara ; 

» Of Church and State I'll warble still, 

Though ev'n Dick M — rt — n's self should 
grumble ; 
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and Jill, 

♦ So lovingly upon a hill — 

Ah ! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble ! 



NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS. 

Nova monstra creavit. 

Ovid. Metamorph. 1. i. v. 437. 

Having sent off the troops of brave Major 

Camac, 
With a swinging horsetail at each valorous back. 
And such helmets, God bless us ! as never 

deck'd any 
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni — 
"Let's see," said the R — g — t, (like Titus, per- 
plexed 
With the duties of empire,) •' whom shall I 
dress next ? " 



1 Quale porfentum neque militaris 

Daunias latis alit asculetis, 
Nee Jubie telliis general leonum 
Arida niitrix. 
t Pone me pigris ubi nulla cainpia 

Arbor aestiva recreatur aura : 
Quod latus mundi, nebulae, malusque 
Jupiter urget 

I must here remark, that the said Dick M — rt — n being a 
very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a " malus 
Jupiter " of him 

» Uulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 

Dulce loquentem. 
* There cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of 
the inseparHhility of Church and State, and their (what is 
called) " standing and falling together," than this ancient 
26 



He looks in the glass — but perfection is there, 
Wig, whiskers, and chin tufts all right to a 

hair ; '' 
Not a single ex-curl on his forehead he traces — 
For curls are like Ministers, strange as the 

case is. 
The falser they are, the more firm in their places. 
His coat he next views — but the coat who 

could doubt ? 
For his Y — rm — th's own Frenchified hand cut 

it out ; 
Every pucker and seam were made matters of 

state. 
And a Grand Household Council was held on 

each plait. 

Then whom shall he dress ? shall he new rig 
his brother. 

Great C — mb — rl — d's Duke, with some kick- 
shaw or other ? 

And kindly invent him more Christian-like 
shapes 

For his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory capes. 

Ah ! no — here his ardor would meet with 
delays, 

For the Duke had been lately pack'd up in new 
Stays, 

So complete for the winter, he saw very plain 

'Twould be deviUsh hard work to Mwpack him 



So, what's to be done ? — there's the Minis- 
ters, bless 'era ! — 

As he made the puppets, why should't he dress 
'em ? 

"An excellent thought! — call the tailors — 
be nimble — 

"Let Cum bring his spyglass, and H— rtf— d 
her thimble ; 



apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the 
State in this ingenious little Allegory. 

Jack fell down. 

And broke his Crovm, 
And Jill came tumbling after 

6 That model of Princes, the Emperor Commodus, was 
particularly luxurious in the dressing and ornamenting of 
his hair, flis conscience, however, would not suffer him 
to trust himself with a barber, and he used, accordingly, to 
bum off his beard — " timore tonsoris," says Lampridius. 
(Hist. Jlu^st. Scriptor.) The dissolute ^,lius Verus, too, 
was equally attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See 
Jul. Capitolin.) — Indeed, this was not the only princely 
trait in the character of Verus, as he had likewise a most 
hearty and dignified contempt for his Wife. — See his in- 
sulting answer to her in Spartianus. 



802 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Wliile Y — rm— th shall give us, in spite of 

aU quizzers, 
'• The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scis- 
sors." 

bo saying, he calls C — stl — r — gh, and the rest 
Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be 

dress' d. 
While Y — rm — th, with snip-like and brisk ex- 
pedition, 
Cuts up, all at once, a large Cath'lic Petition 
In long tailors' measures, (the P — e crying 

"Well done!") 
And first pitfs in hand my Lord Chancellor 
Eld— n. 



CORRESPONDENCE 
BETWEEN A LADY AND GENTLEMAN, 

UPON THE ADVANTAGE OF (WHAT IS CALLED) 
«' HAVING LAW * ON ONE's SIDE." 

The Gentleman's Proposal. 

" Legge aiirea, 
S'ei place, ei lice." 

Come, fly to these arms, nor let beauties so 
bloomy 
To one frigid owner be tied ; 
Your prudes may revile, and your old ones look 
gloomy, 
But, deatest, we've Law on our side. 

O, think the delight of two lovers congenial, 

Whom no dull decorums divide ; 
Their error how sweet, and their raptures how 
venial. 

When once they've got Law on their side. 

'Tis a thing, that in every King's reign has been 
done, too : 
Then why should it now be decried ? 
If the Father has done it, why shouldn't the 
Son, too ? 
For so argues Law on our side. 

And, ev'n should our sweet violation of duty 

By cold-blooded jurors be tried, 
They can but bring it in " a misfortune," my 
beauty, 

As long as we've Law on our side. 

1 In allusion to Lord Ell— nb— gh. 



The Lady's Answer. 

Hold, hold, my good Sir, go a little more slowly ; 

For, grant me so faithless a bride. 
Such sinners as we, are a little too loroli/, 

To hope to have Law on our side. 

Had you been a great Prince, to whose star 
shining o'er 'em 
The People should look for their guide. 
Then your Highness (and welcome !) might kick 
down decorum — 
You'd always have Law on your side. 

Were you ev'n an old Marquis, in mischief 
grown hoary. 

Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To the pleasures of vice, is alive to its fflortj — 

\''ou still would have Law on your side. 

But for you, Sir, Crim. Con. is a path full of 
troubles ; 
By my advice therefore abide. 
And leave the pursuit to those Princes and 
Nobles 
Who have such a Law on their side. 



OCCASIONAL ADDRESS 

FOR THE OPENING OP THE NEW THEATRE 
OF ST. ST— PH— N, 

intended to have been spoken b\ the peo- 
prietob in full costume, on the 24th of 
november, 1812. 

This day a New House, for your edification. 
We open, most thinking and right-headed 

nation ! 
Excuse the materials — though rotten and bad, 
They're the best that for money just now could 

be had ; 
And, if echo the charm of such houses should be, 
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T. 

As for actors, we've got the old Company yet, 
The same motley, odd, tragi-comical set ; 
And consid'ring they all were but clerks t'othci 

day, 
It is truly surprising how well they can play. 
Our Manager,'' (he, who in Ulster was nurs'd 
And sung Erin go Brah for the galleries first. 

« Lord C— stl— r— gh. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



203 



But, on finding Pi"«-interest a much better thing, 
Chang'd his note of a sudden, to God save the 

King,) 
Still wise as he's blooming, and fat as he's clever, 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever, 
Here offers j'ou still the full use of his breath. 
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death. 

You remember last season, when things went 

perverse on, 
We had to engage (as a block to rehearse on) 
One Mr. V — ns — tt — t, a good sort of person, 
Who's also employ'd for this season to play, 
In "Raising the Wind," and "the Devil to 

Pay." ' 
We expect too — at least we've been plotting 

and planning — 
To get that great actor from Liverpool, C — n- 

n— g; 
And, as at the Circus there's nothing attracts 
Like a good single combat brought in 'twixt the 

acts, 
If the Manager should, with the help of Sir 

P— ph— m, 
Get up new diversions, and C — nn — g should 

stop 'em. 
Who knows but we'll have to announce in the 

papers, 
" Grand fight — second time — with additional 

capers." 

Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or 

sad, 
There is plenty of each in this House to be had. 
Where our Manager ruleth, there weeping will 

be, 
For a dead hand at tragedy always was he ; 
And there never was dealer in dagger and cup. 
Who so smilingly got all his tragedies up. 
His powers poor Ireland will never forget. 
And the widows of Walcheren weep o'er them 

yet. • 

So much for the actors ; — for secret ma- 
chinery, 
Traps, and deceptions, and shifting of scenery, 
Y — rm — th and Cum are the best we can find, 
To transact all that trickery business behind. 
The former's employ'd too to teach us French 

Keep the whiskers in curl, and look after the 
wigs. 

1 He had recently been appointed Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer 



In taking my leave now, I've only to say, 
A few Seats in the House, not as yet sold away. 
May be had of the Manager, Pat C — stl — r — p^h. 



THE SALE OF THE TOOLS. 

Instrunienta regni. — Tacitus. 

Here's a choice set of Tools for you, Ge'minen 

and Ladies, 
They'll fit you quite handy, tvhatevcr your 

trade is ; 
(Except it be Cabinet making ; — no doubt, 
In that delicate service they're rather worn out ; 
Though their owner, bright youth ! if he'd had 

his own wiU, 
Would have bungled away with them joyously 

still.) 
You can see they've been pretty well hack'd - 

and alack ! 
What tool is there job after job will not hack ? 
Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess' d. 
And their temper, Hke E nb'r h's, none 

of the best ; 
But you'll find them good hard-working Tools, 

upon trying, 
Wer't but for their brass, they are well worth 

the buying ; 
They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and 

screens, 
And are, some of them, excellent turning ma- 
chines. 

The first Tool I'll put up (they call it a Chan 

cellar) 
Heavy concern to both purchaser and seller. 
Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis, 
'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice.''^ 
Who bids ? Gentle buyer ! 'twUl turn as thou 

shapest ; 
'TwUl make a good thumbscrew to torture a 

Papist ; 
Or else a crampiron, to stick in the wall 
Of some church that old women are fearful will 

faU; 
Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at ran- 
dom,) 
A heavy drag chain for some Lawyer's old JUn- 

dcm. 
Will nobody bid ? It is cheap, I am sure. Sir, 
Once, twice, — going, going, — thrice, gone ! — 

it is yours. Sir. 

2 An allusion to Lord Eld— n's lachrymose tendencies 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



To pay ready money you sha'n't be distress' d, 
As a bill at lone/ date suits the Chancellor best. 

Come, Where's the next Tool ? — O, 'tis here 

in a trice — 
This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was a Vice ; 
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let 
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get ;) 
But it since has received a new coating of Tin, 
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in. 
Come, what shall we say for it ? briskly ! bid on, 
We'll the sooner get rid of it — going — quite 

gone. 
God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knock'd 

down. 
Might at last cost their owner — how much? 

why, a Crown ! 

The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had hand- 
sel or 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor — 
Such dull things as these should be sold by the 

gross ; 
Yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to shave close, 
And like other close shavers, some courage to 

gather, 
This blade first began by a flourish on leather.^ 
You shall have it for nothing — then, marvel 

with me 
At the terrible tinkering work there must be, 
Where a Tool such as this is (I'U leave you to 

judge it) 
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the Budget ! 



LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL. 

A BALLAD. 

To the tune of " TTiere teas a little man, and he woo'd a little 

maid." 
DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CH RL S ABB — T. 

Arcades ambo 
Et cont-are pares. 

1813. 
There was a little Man, and he had a little Soul, 
And he said, " Little Soul, let us try, try, try, 
" Whether it's within our reach 
*' To make up a little Speech, 
" Just between little you and little I, I, I, 
" Just between little you and little I ! " 



1 " Of the taxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, that princi- 
pally opposed in Parliament was the additional duty on 
leather" — Jinn. Register. 



Then said his little Soul, 
Peeping from her little hole, 
" I protest, little Man, you are stout, stout, stout, 
" But, if it's not uncivil, 
" Pray tell me what the devU 
" Must our little, little speech be about, 1 i>ut, 
bout, 
" Must our little, little speech be about ? " 

The little Man look'd big, 
With the assistance of his wig, 
And he call' d his little Soul to order, order, order, 
Till she fear'd he'd make her jog in 
To jail, like Thomas Croggan, 
(As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward her, 
ward her, ward her, 
As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her. 

The little Man then spoke, 
" Little Soul, it is no joke, 
" For as sure as J — cky F — 11 — r loves a sup, 
sup, sup, 
" I will tell the Prince and People 
" "What I think of Church and Steeple, 
" And my little patent plan to prop them up, 
up, up, 
" And my little patent plan to prop them up." 

Away then, cheek by jowl, 
Little Man and little Soul 
Went and spoke their little speech to a tittle, 
tittle, tittle. 
And the world all declare 
That this priggish little pair 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so little, little, 
little. 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so little ! 



REENFCfRCEMENTS FOR LORD 
WELLINGTON. 

Suosqne tibi commendat Troja Penates 
Hos cape fatorum comites. Vihcil. 

1813. 
As recruits in these times are not easily got. 
And the Marshal must have them — pray, why 

should we not. 
As the last, and, I grant it, the worst of our loans 

to him, 
Ship off the Ministry, body and bones to him ? 
There's not in all England, I'd venture to swear. 
Any men ive could half so conveniently spare ; 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And, though they've been helping the French 

for j'ears past, 
We may thus make them useful to England at 

last. 
C — stl — r — gh in our sieges might save some 

disgraces, 
Being us'd to the taking and keeping of places ; 
And Volunteer C — nn — g, still ready for joining. 
Might show off his talent for sly undermining. 
Could the Household but spare us its glory and 

pride. 
Old H— df— t at horn works again might be tried, 
And the Ch — f J — st — e make a bold charge at 

his side : 
While V — ns— tt— t could victual the troops 

xipo7i tick. 
And the Doctor look after the baggage and sick. 

Nay, I do not see why the great R — g — t 

himself 
Should, in times such as these, stay at home on 

the shelf; 
Though through narrow defiles he's not fitted 

to pass, 
Yet who could resist, if he bore down en masse f 
And though oft, of an evening, perhaps he might 

prove. 
Like our Spanish confed'rates, "unable to 

move," ' 
Yet there's one thing in war of advantage un- 
bounded. 
Which is, that he could not with ease be sur- 

rvunded. 

In my next I shall sing of their arms and 
equipment ; 
At present no more, but — good luck to the 
shipment ! 



HORACE, ODE L LIB. IH. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Odi profanura vulgus et arceo ; 
Favete Unguis : carmina non prius 
Audita Musarum sacerdos 
Vlrginibus puerisque canto. 
Regum timendorum in proprios greges, 
Reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis. 

1 The character given to the Spanish soldier, in Sir John 
Murray's memoralile despatch. 

2 The literal closeness of the version here cannot but be 
admired. The Translator has added a long, erudite, and 
flowery note upon Roses, of which I can merely give a spe- 
cimen at present. In the first place, he ransacks the Rosa- 
rium Politieum of the Persian poet Sadi, with the hope of 



1813. 
I HATE thee, O, Mob, as ray Lady hates delf ; 
To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps and thy 
hisses. 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself. 
And, like G — dw — n, write books for young 
masters and misses. 
O, it is not high rank that can make the heart 
merry, 
Even monarchs themselves are not free from 
mishap : 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must quake 
before Jerry, 
Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap. 



HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB. I. 

A FEAOMENT. 

Persicos odi, puer, adparatus ; 
Displicent nexje philyra coronae ; 
Mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum 



TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, WHILE WAIT- 
ING DINNER FOR THE RIGHT HON. G RGE R — SE. 

Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all knickknack- 

eries. 
Fricassees, vol au vents, puffs, and gimcrack- 

eries — 
Six by the Horse Guards ! — old Georgy is 

late — 
But come — lay the tablecloth — zounds ! do 

not wait, 
Nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying, 
At which of his places Old R — e is delaying ! '■^ 



IMPROMPTU. 

UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT 
PARTY, FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES 

TO DRESS FOR DINNER IN. 

1810. 
Between Adam and me the great difference is, 
Though a paradise each has been forc'd to 
resign, 

finding some Political Roses, to match the gentleman in the 
text— but in vain: he then tells us that Cicero accused 
Verres of reposing upon a cushion " Melitensi rosli fartum," 
which, from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to be a 
kind of Irish Bed of Roses, like Lord Castlereagh'a. The 
learned Clerk next favors us with some remarks upon a 
well known punning epitaph on fair Rosamond, and ex- 



206 



miSII MELODIES. 



That he never wore breeches, till turn'd out 
of his, 
While, for want of my breeches, I'm banish'd 
from mine. 



LORD WELLINGTON AND THE 
MINISTERS. 

]8ia 
So gently in peace Alcibiades smil'd. 

While in battle he shone forth so terribly 
grand, 



presses a most loyal hope, that, if " Rosa munda " mean 
" a Rose with clean liands," it may be found applicable to 
the Right Honorable Rose in question. He then dwells at 
some length upon the " Rosa aurea," which, though descrip- 
tive, in one sense, of the old Treasury Statesman, yet, as 
being consecrated and worn by the Pope, must, of course, 



That the emblem they grav'd on his seal, was 
a child 
With a thunderbolt plac'd in its innocent 
hand. 

O Wellington, long as such ^Ministers ^vield 
Your magnificent arm, the same emblem 
will do ; 
For while they're in the Council and you in the 
Field, 
We've the habies in them, and the thunder in 
you! 



not be brought into the same atmosjjhere wilh him. Lastly, 
in reference to the words " old Rose," he winds up with the 
pathetic lamentation of the Poet " conseniiisse Rosas." 
The wliole note indeed shows a knowledge of Roses, that 
is quite edifying. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



DEDICATION. 

TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF 
DONEGAL. 

It is now many years since, in a Letter pre- 
fixed to the Third Number of the Irish Melo- 
dies, I had the pleasure ©f inscribing the Poems 
of that work to your Ladyship, as to one whose 
character reflected honor on the country to 
■\^hich they relate, and whose friendship had 
long been the pride and happiness of their 
Author. With the same feeKngs of aff'ection 
and respect, confirmed if not increased by the 
experience of every succeeding year, I now 
place those Poems in their present new form 
under your protection, and am, 

With perfect sincerity. 
Your Ladyship's ever attached friend, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



PREFACE. 

Though an edition of the Poetry of the Irish 
Melodies, separate from the Music, has long 
been called for, j'et, having, for many reasons, 
a strong objection to this sort of divorce, I 
should with difficidty have consented to a dis- 



union of the words from the airs, had it de- 
pended solely upon me to keep them quietly 
and indissolubly together. But, besides the 
various shapes in which these, as well as my 
other lyrical writings, have been published 
throughout America, they are included, of 
course, in all the editions of my works printed 
on the Continent, and have also appeared, in a 
volume full of typographical errors, in Dublin. 
I have therefore readUy acceded to the wish 
expressed by the Proprietor of the Irish Melo- 
dies, for a revised and complete edition of the 
poetry of the Work, though Avell aware that 
my verses must lose even more than the 
" anim<P ditnidium " in being detached from the 
beautiful airs to which it was their good fortune 
to be associated. 

The Advertisements which were prefixed tc 
the diff'crent numbers, the Prefatory Letter 
upon Music, &c. will be found in an Appendix 
at the end of the Volume. 



GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 

Go where glory waits thee ; 
But, while fame elates thee. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



207 



0, still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

O, then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee. 

Sweeter far may be ; 
But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

O, then remember me ! 

When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the star thou lovest, 

O, then remember me. 
Think, when home returning, 
Bright we've seen it burning, 

0, thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes. 
When thine eye reposes 
On its ling'ring roses. 

Once so lov'd by thee, 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them, 

0, then remember me. 

When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leaves are lying, 

O, then remember me. 
And, at night, when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing, 

O, still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing, 

Draw one tear from thee ; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I us'd to sing thee, — 

0, then remember me. 



WAR SONG. 

REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE 
BRAVE.i 

Remember the glories of Brian the brave, 
Though the days of the hero are o'er ; 

1 Brien Boromhe, the great monarch of Ireland, who was 
killed at the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the 11th 
century, after having defeated the Danes in twenty-five 
engagements. 

2 Munster. 

3 The palace of Brien. 

* This alludes to an Interesting circumstance related of 
the Dalgais, the favorite troops of Brien, when they were 
interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by 



Though lost to Mononia^ and cold in the grave. 

He returns to Kinkora ' no more. 
That star of the field, which so often hath pour'd 

Its beam on the battle, is set ; 
But enough of its glory remains on each sword. 

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononia ! when Nature embellish' d the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair. 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print 

The footstep of slavery there ? 
No ! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, 

Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 
That 'tis SAveeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine. 

Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood * 

In the day of distress by our side ; 
While the moss of the valley grew red with their 
blood. 

They stirr'd not, but conquer'd and died. 
That sun which now blesses our arms with his 
light. 

Saw them fall upon Ossory's plain ; — 
O, let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night. 

To find that they fell there in vain. 



ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE SMILE 
IN THINE EYES. 

Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes. 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies ! 
Shining through sorrow's stream. 
Saddening through pleasure's beam. 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam. 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, 

Till, like the rainbow's light. 

Thy various tints unite. 

And form in heaven's si^t 
One arch of peace ! 



Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossory. The wounded men entreat- 
ed that they might be allowed to fight with the rest. — " Let 
staket (Ihey said) be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of 
us, tied to and supported bij one uf these stakes, to be placed in 
his rank by the side of a sound 7n/in." " Between seven and 
eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran) pale, ema- 
ciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with 
the foremost of the troops ; — never was such another sight 
exhibited." — History of Ireland, book xii. chap. i. 



208 



IRISH MELODIEI: 



O, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 

O, BREATHE not his name, let it sleep in the 

shade, 
Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid : 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, 
As the night dew that falls on the grass o'er his 

head. 

But the night dew that falls, though in silence 

it weeps. 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he 

sleeps ; 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it 

rolls, 
ShaU long keep his memory green in our souls. 



WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE. 

When he, who adores thee, has left but the 
name 

Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
O, say, wilt thou weep when they darken the 
fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign' d ? 
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 

Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine ; 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above. 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
O, blest are the lovers and friends who shall 
live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can 
give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH 
TARA'S HALLS. 

TnElharp that once through Tara's halls 

The soul of music shed, 
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, 

As if that soul were fled. — 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, that once beat high for praise, 

Now fed that pulse no more. 



No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone, that breaks at night. 

Its tale of ruin teUs. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

The only throb she gives, 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 



FLY NOT YET. 

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour 
When pleasure, like the midnight flow«» 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

And maids who love the moon. 
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

O, stay, — O, stay, — 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-night, that, O, 'tis pain 

To break its links so soon. 

Fly not yet, the fount that play'd 

In times of old through Ammon's shade,' 

Though icy cold by day it ran. 

Yet stiU, like souls of mirth, began 

To burn when night was near. 
And thus, should woman's heart and looks 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning, 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 

0, stay, — O, stay, — 
When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 

As those that sparkle here ? 



O, THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE AL- 
WAYS AS LIGHT. 

O, THINK not my spirits are always as light. 
And as free from a pang as they seem to you 
now; 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to- 
night 
Will return with to-morrow to brighten my 
brow. 
No : — life is a waste of wearisome hours. 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; 

1 Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon 



IRISH MELODIES. 



209 



And the heart that is soonest awake to the 
flowers, 
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. 
But send round the bowl, and be happy a while ; 
May we never meet worse ia our pilgrimage 
here, 
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a 
smile, 
And the smile that compassion can turn to a 
tear. 

The thread of our life would be dark. Heaven 
knows ! 
If it were not with friendship and love in- 
tertwin'd ; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, 
When these blessings shall cease to be dear 
to my mind. 
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest, 
Too often have wept o'er the dream they be- 
liev'd ; 
And the heart that has slumber' d in friendship 
securest, 
Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd. 
But send round the bowl ; while a relic of truth 
Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be 
mine, — 
That the sunshine of love may illumine our 
youth. 
And the moonlight of friendship console our 
decline. 



THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN 
WITH SORROW I SEE. 

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I 

see. 
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me ; 
In exile thy bosom shall still be my home. 
And thine eyes make my climate wherever we 

roam. 

1 " In the twenty-eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII. 
an Act was made respecting the habits, and dress in gen- 
eral, of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained from 
being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing 
Glibbes, or Coulins (long locks), on their heads, or hair on 
their upper lip, called Crommeal. On this occasion a song 
was written by one of our bards, in whicli an Irish virgin is 
made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or the youth 
with the flowing locks) to all strangers (by which the Eng- 
lish were meant), or those who wore their habits. Of this 
song, the air alone has reached us, and is universally ad- 
mired." — Walker's Historical Memoirs of Irish Bards, p. 134. 
Mr. Walker informs us also, that, about the same period, 
there were some harsh measures taken against the Irish 
Minstrels. 

27 



To the gloom of some desert or cold rocky 
shore. 

Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no 
more, 

I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough 
wind 

Less rude than the foes we leave frowning be- 
hind. 

And I'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it 

wreathes. 
And hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it 

breathes ; 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear 
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that 

hair.' 



RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS 
SHE WORE.'' 

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ; 

But O, her beauty was far beyond 

Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand 

" Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray, 

" So lone and lovely through this bleak way ? 

" Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

"As not to be tempted by woman or gold?" 

" Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, 
" No son of Erin wUl offer me harm : — 
"For though they love woman and golden 

store, 
" Sir Knight ! they love honor and virtue more ! " 

On she went, and her maiden smUe 
In safety lighted her round the green isle ; 
And blest forever is she who relied 
Upon Erin's honor and Eria's pride. 



2 This ballad is founded upon the 'bllowing anecdote ; — 
" The people were inspired with such a spirit of honor, vir- 
tue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his 
excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are in- 
formed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jew- 
els and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one 
end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her 
hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great 
value ; and such an impression had the laws and govern- | 
ment of this Monarch made on the minds of all the people 
that no attempt was made upon her honor, nor was she | 
robbed of her clotiies or jewels." — Warner's H.sturu of /♦•« i 
land, vol i book x 



miSH MELODIES. 



AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE 
WATERS MAY GLOW. 

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness 

below, 
So the cheek may be ting'd with a warm sunny 

smile, 
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the 

while. 

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes, 
To which life nothing darker or brighter can 

bring. 
For which joy has no balm and aiBiction no 

sting — 

O, tliis thought in the midst of enjoyment will 

stay, 
Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's 

bright ray ; 
The beams of the warm sun play around it in vain. 
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not agam. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.' 

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters 

meet ; * 
O, the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my 

heart. 

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ; 
'Twas 7wt her soft magic of streamlet or hill, 
O, no, it was something more exquisite still. 

'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, 

were near. 
Who made every dear scene of enchantment 

more dear. 
And who felt how the best charms of nature 

improve, 
Wlien we see them reflected from looks that we 

love. 

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love 
best, 

1 "The Meeting of the Waters" fonns a part of that 
Deautiful scenery which lies between Rathdmm and Ark- 
low, in the county of Wicklow, and these lines were sug- 



Where the storms that we feel in this cold world 

should cease, 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in 



1 
V 

HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. 

How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, 
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea ; 

For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to 
thee. 

And, as I watch the line of light, that plays 
Along the smooth wave toward the burning 
west, 
I long to tread that golden path of rays, 

And think 'twould lead to some bright isl« 
of rest. 



TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 

WRITTEN- ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. 

Take back the virgin page, 

White and unwritten still ; 
Some hand, more calm and sage. 

The leaf must fill. 
Thoughts come, as pure as light, 

Pure as even yoii require ; 
But, O, each word I write 

Love turns to fire. 

Yet let me keep the book : 

Oft shall my heart renew. 
When on its leaves I look. 

Dear thoughts of you. 
Like you, 'tis fair and bright ; 

Like you, too bright and fail 
To let wUd passion write 

One wrong wish there. 

Haply, when from those eyes 

Far, far away I roam. 
Should calmer thoughts arise 

Towards you and home ; 
Fancy may trace some line, 

Worthy those eyes to meet. 
Thoughts that not burn, but shine, 

Pure, calm, and sweet. 

gested by a visit to this romantic spot, in the summer of th« 
year 1807. 
2 The rivers Avon and Avoca. 



IRISH MELODIES. 211 


And as, o'er ocean far, 


Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth ; 


Seamen their records keep, 


Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth ; 


Led by some hidden star 


Long may the fair and brave 


Through the cold deep ; 


Sigh o'er the hero's grave. 


So may the words I -write 




Tell through what storms I stray — 


We're fall'n upon gloomy days ! * 


You still the unseen light, 


Star after star decays. 


Guiding my way. 


Every bright name, that shed 




Light o'er the land, is fled. 


J 


Dark falls the tear of him who moumeth 


Lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth ; 


THE LEGACY. 


But brightly flows the tear. 


When in death I shall calmly recline. 


Wept o'er a hero's bier. 


0, bear my heart to my mistress dear ; 




Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine 


Quench'd are our beacon lights — 


Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here. 


Thou of the Hundred Fights ! ' 


Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 


Thou, on whose burning tongue 


To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 


Truth, peace, and freedom hung ! * 


But balmy drops of the red grape borrow. 


Both mute, — but long as valor shineth, 


To bathe the relic from morn tUl night. 


Or mercy's soul at war repineth. 




So long shall Erin's pride 


When the light of my song is o'er, 


Tell how they liv'd and died. 


Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; 


/ 


Hang it up at that friendly door. 


•J 


Where weary travellers love to call.* 


WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS 


Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 


WORLD. 


Revive its soft note in passing along. 


We may roam through this world, like a child 


0, let one thought of its master waken 


at a feast, 


Your warmest smile for the child of song. 


Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the 


Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 


rest ; 
And, when pleasure begins to grow duU in the 


To grace your revel, when I'm at rest ; 


east, 


Never, 0, never its balm bestowing 


We may order our wings and be off to the 


On lips that beauty hath seldom blest. 


west ; 


But whep some warm devoted lover 


But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile. 


To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 


Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, 


Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 


We never need leave our own green isle, 


And hallow each drop that foams for him. 


For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. 




Then remember, wherever your goblet is 




crown'd. 


HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. 


Through this world, whether eastward or 




westward you roam. 


How oft has the Benshee cried. 


When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes 


How oft has death untied 


round, 


Bright links that Glory wove, 


0, remember the smile which adorns her at 


Sweet bonds entwin'd by Love ! 


home. 


1 " In every house was one or two harps, free to all trav- 


8 This designation, which has heen before applied to Lord 


ellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled 


Nelson, is the title given to a celebrated Irish Hero, in a 


in music."— G'Halloran. 


Poem by O'Guive, the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in 


2 I have endeavored here, without losing that Irish char- 


the " Philosophical Survey of the South of Ireland," page 


acter, wliich it is my object to preserve throughout this 


433. "Con, of the Hundred Fights, sleep in thy grass- 


work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality, hy which 


grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy vic- 


England has been deprived of so many great and good men. 


tories " 


at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent 


* Fox, " Romanorum ultimus." 


and integrity. 





^12 



IRISH MELODIES. 



In England the garden of Beauty is kept 

By a dragon of prudery placed within call ; 
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, 
That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after 
aU. 
O, they want the wild sweet-briery fence, 

Which round the flowers of Erin dwells ; 
Which warns the touch, while winning the 
sense. 
Nor charms us least when it most repels. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is 
crown' d, 
Through this world, whether eastward or 
westward you roam, 
When a cup to the smUe of dear woman goes 
round, 
O, remember the smile that adorns her at 
home. 

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, 

On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, 
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 

But just pilots her off, and then bids her 
good by. 
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 

Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
Through billows of woe, and beams of joy, 

The same as he look'd when he left the shore, 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is 
crown' d, 
Through this world, whether eastward or 
westward you roam. 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes 
round, 
0, remember the smile that adorns her at 
home. 



EVELEEN'S BOWER. 

0, WEEP for the hour. 

When to Eveleen's bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false tows came ; 

The moon hid her light 

From the heavens that night. 
And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's 
shame. 



1 " This brought on an encounter between Malachi (the 
monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in 
which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he 
encountered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of 
gold from the neck of one, and carrj'ing off the sword of 
the other, as trophies of his victory." — fVarner''s History of 
Ireland, vol. i. book ix. 

2 " Military orders of knights were very early established 
in Ireland : long bjr^rethe birth of Christ we find an hered- 



The clouds pass'd soon 

From the chaste cold moon. 
And heaven smil'd again with her vestal flame ; 

But none will see the day, 

AVhen the clouds shall pass away. 
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's 
fame. 

The white snow lay 
On the narrow pathway. 
When the Lord of the Valley cross' d over the 
moor ; 
And many a deep print 
On the wlute snow's tint 
Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's 
door. 

The next sun's ray 

Soon melted away 
Every trace on the path where the false Lord 
came ; 

But there's a light above, 

"WTiich aione can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 



LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS 
OF OLD. 

Let Erin remember the days of old. 

Ere her faithless sons betray' d her ; 
When Malachi wore the collar of gold,' 

Which he won from her proud invader, 
When her kings, with standard of green un-, 
furl'd, 

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger ;»— 
Ere the emerald gem of the western world 

Was set in the crown of a stranger. 

On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman 
strays. 

When the clear cold eve's declining. 
He sees the round towers of other days 

In the wave beneath him shining ; 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over ; 



itary order of Chivalry in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Crat- 
obhe ruadh, or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their 
chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace of the Ulste' 
kings, called Teagh na Craiobhe ruadh, or the Academy of 
the Red Branch ; and contiguous to which was a large hoepi- 
tal, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bronb- 
hearg, or the House of the Sorrowful Soldier." — 0' Hallo- 
Tan's Introduction, ^c, part i. chap. 5. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



2U 



Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time 
For the long-faded glories they cover.* 



THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.* 

SiLEXT, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water, 

Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, 
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely 
daughter 

Tells to the night star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death note singing. 

Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd ? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 

CaU my spirit from this stormy world ? 

Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter wave weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away ; 
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping. 

Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. 
When will that daystar, mildly springing. 

Warm our isle with peace and love ? 
When win heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 

Call my spirit to the fields above ? 



COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. • 

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of 
belief 
To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools ; 
This moment's a flower too fair and brief, 
To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the 
schools. 
Your glass may be purple, and mine may be 
blue. 
But, while they are fiU'd from the same bright 
bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for difference of hue, 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the 
so\il. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my 
side 
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree ?^ 

1 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that 
I.nugh Neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sud- 
den overflovving the country vvas inundated, and a whole 
region, like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He says 
tiiat the fishermen, in clear weather, used to point out to 
stranfiers the tall ecclesiastical lowers under the water. 
PUcotore.'i aqiue illius turres ccclesiasticas, qum mure patria 
arcLe sunt et altm, necnon et rntundiB, sub undis manifeste 
spreno tempore coiispiciuitt, et extraneis traiiseuntibas, reique 
eausas admirantibus, frequenter ostendunt. — Topogr. Hib. 
dist. 2, c. 9. 

2 To make this story intelligible in a song would require a 



Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried 
If he kneel not before the same altar with me ? 

From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly. 
To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss ? 

No ! perish the hearts, and the laws that try 
Truth, valor, oi love, by a standard like this ' 



SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 

Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke. 
And grand was the moment when Spaniards 



Into life and revenge from the conqueror's 
chain. 
O, Liberty ! let not this spirit have rest. 
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the 

west — 
Give the light of your look to each sorrowing 

spot. 
Nor, 0, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot 

While you add to your garland the Olive of 
Spain ! 

If the fame of our fathers, bequeath'd with their 

rights. 
Give to country its charm, and to home its 

delights, 
If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain. 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the 

same ! 
And O, may his tomb want a tear and a name. 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into \ietory's breath. 
For the Shemrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers 

to find 
That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd 

for in vain. 
Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you 

light. 
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as bright, 

much greater number of verses than any one is authorized to 
inflict upon an audience at once ; the reader must therefore 
be content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the daughter 
of Lir, was, by some supernatnral power, transformed into 
a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, 
over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of 
Christianity, when the first sound of the mass bell was to 
be the signal of her rele;ise. — I found this fanciful fiction 
among some manuscript translations from the Irish, which 
were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of 
Ireland, the late Countess of Moira. 



^14 



IRISH MELODIES. 



And forgive even Albion while blushing she 

draws, 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted 

cause 
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain ! 

God prosper the cause ! — O, it cannot but thrive, 
"While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive. 

Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain ; 
Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will 

die ! 
The linger of Glory shall point where they lie ; 
While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their 

grave 
Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of 

Spain ! 



BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEAR- 
ING YOUNG CHARMS. 

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day. 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my 
arms. 

Like fairy gifts fading away. 
Thou wouldst stiU be ador'd, as this moment 
thou art, 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 

Would intwine itself verdantly stiU. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own. 

And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear. 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known. 

To which time will but make thee more dear ; 
No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets. 

But as truly loves on to the close. 
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, 

The same look which she turn'd when he rose. 



J 



ERIN, O ERIN. 



Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's 
holy fane,' 
And burn'd through long "iges of darkness 
and storm. 



1 The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare 
rvhich Giraldus mentions :—" Apiid Kildari.im occurrit 
Ignis SanctJE, Brigidte, qiiem inextingiiihilem vocant ; non 
quod extingui non possil, sed nxod 'J^m solicite moniales et 
sanctEe mulieres igne n, siippetente materia, fovent et nutri- 



Is the heart that sorrows have frown'd on in vain. 
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading and 
warm. 
Erin, O Erin, thus bright through the tears 
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, 
Thy sun is but rising, Avhen others are set ; 
And though slavery's cloud o'er thy morning 

hath hung. 
The full noon of freedom shall beam round 

thee yet. 
Erin, O Erin, though long in the shade, 
Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall 

fade. 

Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind, 
The lily lies sleeping through winter's cold 
hour, 
Till Spring's light touch her fetters unbind. 
And daylight and liberty bless the young 
flower." 
Thus Erin, O Erin, thy winter is past. 
And the hope that Uv'd through it shall blos- 
som at last. 



DRINK TO HER. 

Drink to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 
O, woman's heart was made 

For minstrel hands alone ; 
By other fingers play'd. 

It yields not half the tone. 
Then here's to her, who long 

Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

At Beauty's door of glass. 

When Wealth and Wit once stood, 
They ask'd her, •' which might pass ? " 

She answer' d, " he, who could." 
With golden key Wealth thought 

To pass — but 'twould not do : 
While Wit a diamond brought. 

Which cut his bright way through. 



unt, ut a tempore virginis per tot annonim curricula semper 
mansit inextinctus." — Oirald. Camb. de Mirubil. Iftbern. 
dist. 2, c. 34. 

2 Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the Lily, has 
applied this image to a still more important object. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



215 



So here's to her, who long 
Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 

The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth or grandeur shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome, 

That dwells in dark gold mines. 
But O, the poet's love 

Can boast a brighter sphere ; 
Its native home's above, 

Though woman keeps it here. 
Then drink to her, who long 

Hath wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 



0, BLAME NOT THE BARD,' 

0, BLAME not the bard, if he fly to the bowers, 
Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at 
Fame ; 
He was born for much more, and in happier 
hours 
His soul might have burn'd with a holier 
flame. 
The string, that now languishes loose o'er the 
lyre. 
Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's 
dart ; " 
And the lip, which now breathes but the song 
of desire, 
Might have pour'd the full tide of a patriot's 
heart. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone 

by, 

And that spirit is broken, which never would 
bend ; 
O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, 

For 'tis treason to love her, and death to de- 
fend. 



1 We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by 
one of those wandering bards, whom Spenser so severely, 
and, periiaps, truly, describes in his State of Ireland, and 
whose poems, he tells us, " were sprinkled with some pretty 
flowers of their natural device, which have good grace and 
comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see 
abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with 
good usage, would servo to adorn and beautify virtue." 

2 It is conjectured by Wormius, that the name of Ireland 



Unpriz'd are her sons, till they've learned to 
betray ; 
Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame not 
their sires ; 
And the torch, that would light them through 
dignity's way, 
Must be caught from the pile, where their 
coul^try expires. 

Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft 
dream. 
He should try to forget, what he never can 
heal : 
O, give but a hope — let a vista but gleam 
Through the gloom of his country, and mark 
how he'U feel ! 
That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay 
down 
Every passion it nurs'd, every bliss it lulor'd ; 
While the myrtle, now idly intwin'd with his 
crown. 
Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover 
his sword.' 

But though glory be gone, and though hope 
fade away. 
Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs ; 
Not ev'n in the hour, when his heait is most 

gay. 

Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy 
wrongs. 
The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains ; 
The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the 
deep. 
Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy 
chains. 
Shall pause at the song of their captive, and 
weep ! 



WHILE GAZING ON THE 
LIGHT. 



u\x)N' 



While gazing on the moon's light, 
A moment from her smile I turn'd, 

To look at orbs, that, more bright, 
In lone and distant glory burn'd. 



is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which 
weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivation 
is certainly more creditable to us than the following: " So 
that Ireland, called the land of Ire, from the constant broils 
therein f(>r4U0 years, was now become the land of concord." 
Lloyd's State fVorViies, art. The L rd Oraiidison. 

3 See the Hymn, attributed to Alcaeus, Ei/ jivprov nXaSi 
TO fii^of ipoiiriTio — "I will carry my sword, hidden in 
myrtles, like Harmodius, and Aristogiton," &.c. 



216 



IKISH MELODIES. 



But too far 

Each proud star, 
For me to feel its warming flame ; 

Much more dear 

That mild sphere, 
Which near our planet smiling came ; * 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own ; 

"SV^hile brighter eyes unheeded play, 
I'll love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my way. 

The day had sunk in dim showers. 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
lUumin'd all the pale flowers. 

Like hope upon a mourner's cheek. 
I said (while 
The moon's smile 
Play'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) 
" The moon looks 
" On many brooks, 
•' The brook can see no moon but this ; " ' 
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, 

For many a lover looks to thee, 
While O, I feel there is but one. 
One Mary in the world for me. 



ILL OMENS. 

When daylight was yet sleeping under the bil- 
low, 
And stars in the heavens still lingering shone. 
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her 

pillow. 
The last time she e'er was to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasured her heart 
and her soul in. 
Had promised to link the last tie before noon ; 
And when once the young heart of a maiden is 
stolen. 
The maiden herself will steal after it soon. 

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er 



Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, 

A butterfly,^ fresh from the night-flower's kisses, 

Flew over the mirror and shaded her view. 



1 " Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the sun except- 
ed, the single moon, as despicable as it is in comparison to 
ninst (if the others, is much more beneficial than they all put 
together." — fVhiston's Theory, Sfc. 

In the Entretiens d'^riste, among other ingenious em- 
blems, we find a starry sky without a moon, with these 
words. JVon mill/', quod absens. 



Enrag'd with the insect for hiding her graces, 

She brush' d him — he fell, alas ! never to rise : 
" Ah ! such," said the girl, ♦♦ is the pride of our 

faces, 
" For which the soul's innocence too often dies." 

While she stole through the garden, where 
heartsease was growing, 
She cull'd some, and kiss'd off' its night-fall- 
en dew ; 
And a rose, farther on, looked so tempting and 
glowing, 
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it 
too: 
But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning. 
Her zone flew in two, and the heartsease was 
lost: 
" Ah ! this means," said the girl (and she sigh'd 
at its meaning,) 
'• That love is scarce worth the repose it will 
cost ! " 



BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

By the hope within us springing. 

Herald of to-morrow's strife ; 
By that sun, whose light is bringing 

Chains or freedom, death or life — 

O, remember life can be 
No charm for him, who lives not free : 

Like the daystar in the wave, 

Sinks a hero in his grave. 
Midst the dewfall of a nation's tears. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing shine 
And light him down the steep of years : — 
But O, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on victory's breast ! 

O'er his watchfire's fading embers 
Now the foeman's cheek turns white, 

When his heart that field remembers. 
Where we tamed his tyrant might. 

Never let him bind again 

A chain, like that we broke from then. 



« This image was suggested by the following though^ 
which occurs somewhere in Sir William Jones's works 
" The moon looks upon many night flowers, the night flow 
er sees but one moon." 

3 An emblem of the soul. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Hark ! the horn of come i' calls — 
Ere the golden evening faila, 
May we pledge that horn in triumph round ! 

Many a heart that now beats high, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 
Nor waken even at victory's sound : — 
But O, how blest that hero's sleep, 
O'er whom a wond'ring world shall weep ! 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Night clos'd around the conqueror's way, 

And lightnings show'd the distant hill. 
Where those who lost that dreadful day. 

Stood few and faint, but fearless still. 
The soldier's hope, the patriot's zealj 

Forever dimm'd, forever cross'd — 
0, who shall say what heroes feel. 

When all but life and honor's lost ? 

The last sad hour of freedom's dream, 

And valor's task, moved slowly by, 
While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam 

Should rise and give them light to die. 
There's yet a world, where souls are free. 

Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ; — 
If death that world's bright opening be, 

O, who would live a slave in this ? 



•TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove. 
We are sure to find something bUssfuJ and 
dear. 
And that, when we're far from the lips we love. 
We've but to make love to the lips we are 
near."'' 
The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling. 

Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, 

But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing, 

It can twine with itself, and make closely its 

own. 

Then 0, what pleasure, where'er we rove, 

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, 



1 " The Irish Ooma was not entirely devoted to martial 
purposes. In the heroic ages, our ancestors quaffed Meadh 
out of them, as tlie Danish hunters do their beverage at this 
day." — IValker. 

- I believe it is Marmontel who says, " Quand on ri'apas 

ce qne Von aime, il faut aimer ce que Von a." — Tliere are so 

many inatter-of-t'act people, who take such jeux d'csprit as 

tliis defence of inconstancy, to be the actual and genuine 

28 



And to know, when far from the lips we love. 
We've but to make love to the lips we are near 

'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise. 
To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't 
there ; 
And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 
'Twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. 
Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike. 
They are both of than bright, but they're 
changeable too. 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike. 
It will tincture Love's plume with a different 
hue. 
Then O, what pleasure, where'er we rove. 

To be sure to find something, still, that is dear. 
And to know, when far from the lips we love, 
We've but to make love to the lips we are 
near. 



THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS.* 

Through grief and through danger thy smile 

hath cheer'd my way. 
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that 

round me laj^ ; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure 

love burn'd. 
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was 

turn'd ; 
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt 

free, 
And bless' d even the sorrows that made me 

more dear to thee. 

Thy rival was honor' d, while thou wert wrong' d 

and scom'd, 
Thy crown was of briers, wliile gold her brows 

adorn'd ; 
She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid 

in caves, 
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! 

were slaves ; 
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would 

rather be. 
Than wed what I lov'd not, or turn one thought 

from thee. 



sentiments of him who writes them, that they compel one, 
in self-defence, to be as matter-of-fact as themselven, and to 
remind them, that Democritus was not the worse pl)ysiolo- 
gist, for having playfully contended that snow was black; 
nor Erasmus, in any degree, the less wise, for having writ- 
ten an ingenious encomium of foi'.y. 
8 Meaning, allegorically, the ancient Church of Ireland 



J18 



IRISH MELODIES. 



They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are 

frail — 
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had 

look'd less pale. 
They say, too, so long thou hast worn those 

lingering chains, 
That deep in thy heart they have printed their 

servile stains — 
O, foul is the slander, — no chain could that 

soul subdue — 
Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth 

too!' 



ON MUSIC. 

Whex through life unblest we rove, 

Losing all that made life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
O, how welcome breathes the strain ! 

Wakening thoughts that long have slept ; 
Kindling former smiles again 

In faded eyes that long have wept. 

Like the gale, that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowers, 
Is the grateful breath of song. 

That once was heard in happier hours ; 
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on. 

Though the flowers have sunk in death ; 
So, when pleasure's dream is gone. 

Its memory lives in Music's breath. 

Music, O how faint, how weak, 

Language fades before thy spell f 
Why should Feeling ever speak, 

"When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? 
Friendship's balmy words may feign, 

Love's are ev'n more false than they ; 
0, 'tis only music's strain 

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray. 



IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOISIENT 
SHED.« 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 

"When the cold turf has just been laid o'er 
him. 
That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's 
fled. 
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 

1 " Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." — 
Si. Paul, 2 Corin kians, iii. 17. 



'Tis the tear, through many a long day wept, 

'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, 

"When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light, 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them. 
For worth shaU look fairer, and truth more 
bright. 

When we think how he liv'd but to love them. 
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 

Where buried saints are lying. 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom 

From the image he left there in dying ! 



THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'Tis believ'd that this Harp, which I wake now 

for thee, 
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, through the bright 

waters rov'd. 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she 

lov'd. 

But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep, 
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to 

steep ; 
Till heav'n look'd with pity on true Jove so 

warm. 
And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's 

form. ' 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks 

smil'd the same — 
While her sea beauties gracefully form'd the 

light frame ; 
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it 

fell, 
Was chang'd to bright chords utt'ring melody's 

spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath 

been known 
To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad 

tone ; 
Till thou didst divide them, and teach the fond 

lay 
To speak love when I'm near thee, and grief 

when away. 



2 These lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near 
nd dear relative, who had died lately at Madeira. 



IRISH MELODIES. 219 


LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 


And hope has en wreath' d it round with 
flowers. 


0, THE days are gone, when Beauty bright 


There comes a new link 


My heart's chain wove ; 


Our spirits to sink — 


"When my dream of life, from morn till night, 


0, the joy that we taste, like the light of the 


Was love, still love. 


poles, 


New hope may bloom, 


Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay ; 


And days may come, 


But, though 'twere the last little spark in our 


Of milder, calmer beam, 


souls. 


But there's nothing half so sweet in life 


We must light it up now, on our Prince's Day 


As love's young dream : 




No, there's nothing half so sweet in life 


Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal ! 


As love's young dream. 


Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you 




are true ; 


Though the bard to purer fame may soar, 


And the tribute most high to a head that is 


When wild youth's past ; 


royal. 


Though he win the wise, who frown'd before, 


Is love from a heart that loves liberty too- 


To smile at last ; 


While cowards, who blight 


He'll never meet 


Your fame, your right. 


A joy so sweet, 


Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array. 


In all his noon of fame, 


The Standard of Green 


As when first he sung to woman's ear 


In front would be seen, — 


His soul-felt flame. 


0, my life on your faith ! were you summon'd 


And, at every close, she blush'd to hear 


this minute. 


The one lov'd name. 


You'd cast every bitter remembrance away. 




And show what the arm of old Erin has in it, 


No, — that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot 


When rous'd by the foe, on her Prince's Day. 


Which first love trac'd : 




Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 


He love's the Green Isle, and his love is recorded 


On memory's waste. 


In hearts, which have suffer'd too much to 


'Twas odor fled 


forget ; 


As soon as shed ; 


And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment 


'Twas morning's mnged dream ; 


rewarded. 


'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again 


And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. 


On life's dull stream : 


The gem may be broke 


0, 'twas light that ne'er can shine again 


By many a stroke. 


On life's dull stream. 


But nothing can cloud its native ray ; 




Each fragment will cast 




A light, to the last, — 




And thus, Erin, my country, though broken thou 


THE PRINCE'S DAY.' 


art, 
There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er wiL 


Though dark are our sorrows, to-day we'E for- 


decay. 


get them. 


A spirit, which beams through each suffering part, 


And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam 


And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's D -ly 


in showers : 




There never were hearts, if our rulers would 




let them. 
More form'd to be grateful and blest than ours. 


WEEP ON, WEEP ON. 


But just when the chain 


Weep on, weep on, your hour is past ; 


Has ceas'd to pain, 


Your dreams of pride are o'er ; 




The fatal chain is round you cast. 


« rhis sons; was written for a (ete in honor of the Prince 
of Wales's Birthday, given by my friend. Major Bryan, at 


And you are men no more. 
In vain the hero's heart hath bled ; 


his seat in the county of Kilkenny. 


The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain ; — 



220 IRISH MELODIES. 


0, Freedom ! once thy flame hath fled, 


Lesbia hath a wit refin'd, 


It never lights again. 


But, when its points are gleaming round us, 




Who can tell if they're design'd 


Weep on — perhaps in after days, 


To dazzle merely, or to wound us? 


They'll learn to love your name ; 


Pillow' d on my Nora's heart. 


When many a deed may wake in praise 


In safer slumber Love reposes — 


That long hath slept in blame. 


Bed of peace ! whose roughest part 


And when they tread the ruin'd isle, 


Is but the crumpling of the roses. 


Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, 


0, my Nora Creina dear. 


Tliey'U wondering ask, how hands so vile 


My mild, my artless Nora Creina ! 


Could conquer hearts so brave ? 


Wit, though bright. 




Hath no such light, 


" 'Twas fate," they'll say, " a wayward fate 


As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina, 


" Your Aveb of discord wove ; 




" And while your tyrants join'd in hate, 




"You never join'd in love. 


I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL 


" But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, 


PRIME. 


"And man profan'd what God had given; 




'♦ Till some were heard to curse the shrine. 


I SAW thy form in youthful prime. 


" Where others knelt to heaven ! " 


Nor thought that pale decay 




Would steal before the steps of Time, 




And waste its bloom away, Mary ! 


LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 


Yet still thy features wore that light, 




Which fleets not with the breath ; 


Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 


And life ne'er look'd more truly bright 


But no one knows for whom it beameth ; 


Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 


Right and left its arrows fly. 




But what they aim at no one dreameth. 


As streams that run o'er golden mines, 


Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon 


Yet humbly, calmly glide. 


My Nora's lid that seldom rises ; 


Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 


Few its looks, but every one. 


Within their gentle tide, Mary ! 


Like unexpected light, surprises ! 


So veil'd beneath the simplest guise. 


0, my Nora Creina, dear. 


Thy radiant genius shone. 


My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, 


And that, which charm'd all other eyes, , 


Beauty lies 


Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary ! 


In many eyes. 




But Love in yours, my Nora Creina. 


If souls could always dwell above. 




Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere ; 


Lesbia wears a robe of gold. 


Or could we keep the souls we love, 


But all so close the nymph hath lac'd it. 


We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary ! 


Not a charm of beauty's mould 


Though many a gifted mind we meet, 


Presumes to stay where nature plac'd it. 


Though fairest forms we see, 


0, my Nora's gown for me. 


To live with them is far less sweet, 


That floats as wild as mountain breezes. 


Than to remember thee, Mary ! ' 


Leaving every beauty free 




To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. 




Yes, my Nora Creina, dear. 


BY THAT LAKE, AVHOSE GLOOMY 


My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 


SHORE.'' 


Nature's dress 




Is loveliness — 


By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 


The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 


Skylark never warbles o'er,' 


1 I liave here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite 


Glendalongh, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the court 


inscription of Shenstone's, " Hen ! qiianto minus est cum 


ty of Wick low. 


rcliqMis versari qiiam tiii meminisse ! " 


s There are many other curious traditions concerning this 


2 This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories re- 


Lake, which may be found in Giraldus, Colgan, &c 


lated of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to he seen at 





IRISH MELlDIES. 221 


Where the cliff hangs high and steep, 


Ah ! little they think who delight in her strains, 


Young Saint Ke-v^n stole to sleep. 


How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. 


" Here, at least," he calmly said. 




" Woman ne'er shall find my bed." 


He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, 


Ah ! the good Saint little knew 


They were all that to life had intwin'd him ; 


What that wily sex can do. 


Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 




Nor long will his love stay behind him. 


'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew, — 




Eyes of most unholy blue ! 


0, make her a grave where the sunbeams rest. 


She had lov'd him well and long, 


When they promise a glorious morrow ; 


Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. 


They'U shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from 


Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, 


the West, 


Still he heard her light foot nigh ; 


From her own lov'd island of sorrow. 


East or west, where'er he turn'd, 




Still her eyes before him burn'd. 






NAY, TELL ME NOT, DEAR. 


On the bold cliff's bosom cast, 




Tranquil now he sleeps at last ; 


Nat, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns 


Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er 


One charm of feeling, one fond regret ; 


Woman's smile can haunt him there. 


Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns 


But nor earth nor heaven is free 


Are all I've sunk in its bright wave yet. 


From her power, if fond she be : 


Ne'er hath a beam 


Even now, while calm he sleeps. 


Been lost in the stream 


Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. 


That ever was shed from thy form or soul ; 




The spell of those eyes, 


Fearless she had track' d his feet 


The balm of thy sighs. 


To this rocky, wild retreat ; 


Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl. 


And when morning met his view, 


Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 


Her mild glances met it too. 


One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 


Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts ! 


Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 


Sternly from his bed he starts. 


The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 


And with rude, repulsive shock, 




Hurls her from the beetling rock. 


They tell us that Love in his fairy bower 




Had two blush roses, of birth divine ; 


Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 


He sprinkled the one -with a rainbow's shower, 


Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ! 


But bath'd the other with mantling wine. 


Soon the saint (yet ah ! too late,) 


Soon did the buds 


Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. 


That drank of the floods 


When he said, "Heav'n rest her soul !" 


Distill'd by the rainbow, decline and fade ; 


Round the Lake light music stole ; 


While those which the tide 


And her ghost was seen to glide. 


Of ruby had dy'd 


Smiling o'er the fatal tide. 


All blush'd into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! 




Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal 




One blissful dream of the heart from me ; 




Like founts, that awaken the pilgrim's zeal. 




The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 


SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 




Shb is far from the land where her young hero 




sleeps, 


AVENGING AND BRIGHT. 


And lovers are round her, sighing : 


Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin ' 


But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps. 


On him who the brave sons of Usna betray 'd ! 


For her heart in his grave is lying. 






1 The words of this song were suggested by the very an- 


She sings the -wild song of her dear native plains. 


cient Irish story called " Deirdri, or the Lamentable File 


Every note which he lov'd awaking ; — 


of the Sons of Usnach," which has been translated literally 



222 



IRISH MELODIES. 



For ev'ry fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in, 
A drop from his heart wounds shall weep o'er 
her blade. 

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark 
dwelling,' 
"When Ulad's * three champions lay sleeping 
in gore — 
By the billows of war, which so often, high 
swelling, 
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joy shall be 
tasted. 
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 
Our halls shall be mute and our fields shall lie 
wasted. 
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's 
head. 

Yes, monarch I though sweet are our home rec- 
ollections, 

Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness 
fall; 

Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, 
our affections, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all ! 



WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. 

He. — What the bee is to the floweret, 
Wlien he looks for honey dew. 
Through the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, I'U be to you. 

She, — What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
Is to waves that wander near. 
Whispering kisses, while they're going. 
That I'll be to you, my dear. 



fram the Gaelic, by Mr. O'Flanagan (see vol. i. of Transae- 
tiiins of the Oaelic Society of Dublin), and upon which it ap- 
pears that the " Darthula of Macpherson " is founded- The 
treachery of Conor, King of Ulster, in putting to death the 
(liree sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war 
apainst Ulster, which terminated in the destniction of 
Etnan. "This story (says Mr. O'Flanagan) has been, from 
time immemorial, held in high repute as one of the three 
tragic stories of the Irish. These are, ' The death of the 
children of Toiiran ;' ' The death of the cliildren of Lear ' 
(both regarding Tuatha de Danans) ; and this, ' The death 
of the children of Usnach,' which is a Milesian story." It 
will be recollected, that in the Second Number of these Mel- 



She. — But they say, the bee's a rover, 

Who will fly, when sweets are gone; 
And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brooks will wander on. 

He. — Nay, if flowers will lose their looks, 
K sunny banks will wear away, 
'Tis but right, that bees and brooks 
Should sip and kiss them, while they 
may. 



LOVE AND THE NOVICE. 

" Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

" Where angels of light o'er our orisons bend ; 
" Where sighs of devotion and breathings of 
flowers 
" To heaven in mingled odor ascend. 
" Do not disturb our calm, O Love ! 
" So like is thy form to the cherubs abovo, 
" It well might deceive such hearts as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listen' d, 

And Love is no novice in taking a hint ; 
His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glisten'd ; 
His rosy wing turn'd to heaven's own tint. 
" Who would have thought," the urchin 

cries, 
" That Love could so well, so gravely dis- 
guise 
" His wandering wings, and wounding eyes ? " 

Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping, 
Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise. 
He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping. 
He brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. 
Love is the Saint enslirin'd in thy breast, 
And angels themselves would admit such a 
guest. 
If he came to them cloth'd in Piety's vest. 



odi'es, there is a ballad upon the story of the children of Lear 
or Lir; " Silent, O Movie ! " &c. 

Whatever may be thought of those sanguine claims to 
antiquity, which Mr. O'Flanagan and others advance for 
the literature of Ireland, it would he a lastiug reproach 
upon our nationality, if the Gaelic researches of this gentle- 
man did not meet with all the liberal encouragement they 
60 well merit. 

1 " O Nasi ! view that cloud that I here see in the sky ! I 
see over Eman Green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red.' 
— Deirdri's Song, 

a Ulster. 



IRISH MELODIES. 224 


THIS LIFE IS ALL CHECKER'D WITH 
PLEASURES AND WOES. 


Shoots up, with dewdrops streaming, 
As softly green 
As emeralds seen 


Thts life is all checker'd with pleasures and woes, 


Through purest crystal gleaming. 


That chase one another like waves of the 


the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 


deep, — 


Chosen leaf 


Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, 


Of Bard and Chief, 


Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 


Old Erui's native Shamrock ! 


So closely our whims on our miseries tread. 




That the laugh is awak'd ere the tear can be 


Says Valor, « See, 


dried ; 


" They spring for me, 


And, as fast as the raindrop of Pity is shed. 


" Those leafy gems of morning ! " — 


The goose plumage of Folly can turn it aside. 


Says Love, " No, no, 


But pledge me the cup — if existence would cloy. 


'• For me they grow. 


With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, 


" My fragrant path adorning." 


Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 


But Wit perceives 


And the light, brilliant Folly that flashes and 


The triple leaves, 


dies. 


And cries, •• 0, do not sever 




" A type, that blends 


When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, 


" Three godlike friends, 


Through fields full of light, and with heart 


" Love, Valor, Wit, forever ! " 


full of play. 


the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 


Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, 


Chosen leaf 


And neglected his task for the flowers on the 


Of Bard and Chief, 


way.' 


Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


Thus many, like me, who in youth should have 




tasted 


So firmly fond 


The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine. 


May last the bond, 


Theii- time with the flowers on the margin have 


They wove that morn together, 


wasted. 


And ne'er may fall 


And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 


One drop of gall 


But pledge me the goblet ; — while Idleness 


On Wit's celestial feather. 


weaves 


May Love, as twine 


These flowerets together, should Wisdom but 


His flowers divine, 


see 


Of thorny falsehood weed 'em ; 


One bright drop or two that has fall'n on the 


May Valor ne'er 


leaves 


His standard rear 


From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. 


Against the cause of Freedom ! 




the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock ! 




Chosen leaf 




Of Bard and Chief, 


THE SHA3IR0CK. 


Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


Through Erin's Isle, 




To sport a while. 




As Love and Valor wander' d. 


AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 


With Wit, the sprite. 




Whose quiver bright 


At the mid hour of night, when stars are weep- 


A thousand arrows squander'd. 


ing, I fly 


Where'er they pass, 


To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm 


A triple grass* 


in thine eye ; 


1 Propnsito florem prcBtulit officio. 


Shamrock ; and hence, perhaps, the Island of Saints adopted 


PnopERT. lib. i. eleg. 20. 


this plant as her national emblem. Hope, among the ancients. 


« It is said that St. Patrick, when preaching the Trinity to 


was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing 


Ihe Pagan Irish, used to illustrate his subject by reference to 


upon tiptoes, and a trefoil or three-colored grass in her 


that species of trefoil called in Ireland by tlie name of the 


hand. 



224 



IRISH MELODIES. 



And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the 

regions of air, 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt 

come to me there, 
And tell me our love is remember' d, even in the 

sky. 

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleas- 
ure to hear ! 

When our voices commingling breath'd, like 
one, on the ear ; 
And, as Echo far off though the vale my sad 

orison rolls, 
I think, O my love ! 'tis thy voice from the 
Kingdom of Souls,' 

Faintly answering still the notes that once were 
so dear. 



ONE BUMPER AT PARTING. 

One bumper at parting ! — though many 

Have circled the board since we met, 
The fullest, the saddest of any 

Remains to be crown' d by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, 

Is always so slow to come forth, 
That seldom, alas, till the minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come, — may our life's happy measure 

Be aU of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause and inhabit a while 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 

That 'mid the dull wilderness smile ! 
Bat Time, like a pitiless master. 

Cries " Onward ! " and spurs the gay hours - 
Ah, never doth Time travel faster, 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
But come — may our Hfe's happy measiure 

Be all of such moments made up ; 
They're born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

They die 'midst the tears of the cup. 

e saw how the sun look'd in sinking, 
The waters beneath hun how bright ; 



1 "Thervj are countries," says Montaigne, " where they 
uelieve the souls of the happy live in all manner of liberty, 
in delightful fields ; and that it is those souls, repeating the 
words we utter, which we call Echo." 

2 " Steals silently to IVIorna's prove " — See, in Mr. Bunt- 



And now, let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that farewell of light. 
You saw how he finish'd, by darting 

His beam o'er a deep billow's brim — 
So fill up, let's shine at our parting. 

In full liquid glory, like him. 
And 0, may our life's happy measure 

Of moments like this be made up, 
'Twas born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

It dies 'mid the tears of the cup. 



'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'Tis the last rose of summer 

Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred. 

No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! 

To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed. 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may / follow. 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wither' d, 

And fond ones are flown, 
O, who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? 



THE YOUNG MAY MOON. 

The young May moon is beaming, love, ^ 
The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love. 
How sweet to rove 
Through Morna's grove,* 
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! 



ing's collection, a poem translated from the Irish, by the late 
John Brown, one of my earliest college companions ana 
friends, whose death was as singularly melancholy and un- 
fortunate as his life had been amiable, honorable, and e.^tem- 
plaiy. 




TKE [L£ST ffSOSE ©\F SyrafflEl 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear, 
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days, 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear ! 

How all the world is sleeping, love. 

But the Sage, his star watch keeping, love, 

And I, whose star. 

More glorious far. 
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear. 
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear. 

Or, in watching the flight 

Of bodies of Ught, 
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear. 



THE MINSTREL BOY. 

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone. 

In the ranks of death you'll find liim ; 
His father's sword he has girded on. 

And his wild harp slung behind him. — 
" Land of song ! " said the warrior bard, 

«' Though all the world betrays thee, 
" One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, 

" Oiie faithful harp shall praise thee ! " 

The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chaia 

Could not bring his proud soul under ; 
The harp he lov'd ne'er rpoke again. 

For he tore its chords asunder ; 
And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 

" Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
" Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 

" They shall never sound in slavery." 



THE SONG OF O'RUARK, 

PRINCE OF BREFFNI.' 

The valley lay smiling before me, 
Where lately I left her behind ; 

1 These stanzas are founded upon an event of most mel- 
ancholy importance to Ireland ; if, as we are told by our 
Iiish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of 
profiting by our divisions and subduing us. The following 
are the circumstances, as related by O'Halloran : — " The 
king of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for 
Dearbhorgil, daughter to the king of Meath, and though she 
had been for some time married to O'Ruark, prince of 
Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried 
on a private correspondence, and she informed him that 
O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage (an act of piety 
frequent ir> llmse days), and conjured him to embrace that 
29 



Yet I trembled, and something hung o'er me, 
That saddened the joy of my mind. 

I look'd for the lamp which, she told me. 
Should shine, when her Pilgrim return'd ; 

But, though darkness began to infold me. 
No lamp from the battlements burn'd ! 

I flew to her chamber — 'twas lonelj', 

As if the lov'd tenant lay dead ; — 
Ah, would it were death, and death only ! 

But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss ; 
While the hand, that had wak'd it so often, 

Now throbb'd to a proud rival's kiss. 

There was a time, falsest of women, 

When Breffni' s good sword would have sought 
That man, through a million of foemen. 

Who dar'd but to wrong thee in thought ! 
While now — O degenerate daughter 

Of Erin, how fall'n is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and slaughter, 

Our country shall bleed for thy shame 

Akeady, the curse is upon her. 

And strangers her valleys profane ; 
They come to divide, to dishonor. 

And tyrants they long will remain. 
But onward ! — the green banner rearing, 

Go, flesh every sword to the hilt ; 
On our side is Virtue and Erin, 

On theirs is the Saxon and GuUt. 



0, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLJi 
OF OUR OWN. 

0, HAD we some bright little isle of our own. 
In a blue summer ocean, far off" and alone, 
Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming 

bowers, 
And the bee banquets on through a whole year 

of flowers ; 

opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested 
to a lover she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed 
the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of 
Ferns." — The monarch Roderick espoused the cause of 
O'Ruark, while Mac Murchad fled to England, and obtained 
the assistance of Henry II. 

" Such," adds Giraldus Canibrensis (as I find him in an 
old translation), " is the variable and fickle nature of wo- 
man, by whom all mischief in the world (for the most part) 
do happen and come, as may appear by Marcus Ant 
and by the destruction of Troy." 



22 5 



IRISH MELODIES. 



"\Miere the sun loves to pause 

With so fond a delay, 
That the night only draws 
A thin veil o'er the day ; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we 

live, 
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. 

Tlicre, with souls ever ardent and pure as the 

clime, 
We should love, as they lov'd in the first golden 

time ; 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
AVould steal to our hearts, and make all sum- 
mer there. 

With affection as free 

From decline as the bowers, 
And, with hope, like the bee, 
Living always on flowers. 
Our life should resemble a long day of light. 
And our death come on, holy and calm as the 
night. 



FAREWELL!— BUT WHENEVER YOU 
WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Fakewell ! — but whenever you welcome the 

hour, 
That awakens the night song of mirth in your 

bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd 

it too. 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain 
Of the few that have brighten'd his pathway 

of pain. 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision, that 

threw 
Its enchantment around him, while ling'ring 

with you. 

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills np 
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each 

cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright. 
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that 

night ; 
ohall join in your revels, your sports, and your 

wiles, 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with your 

smiles — 
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer. 
Some kind voice had murmiu-'d, "I M'ish he 

were here ! " 



Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot 

destroy ; 
Which come in the nighttime of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that joy used to 

wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories 

fiU'd ! 
Like the vase, in which roses have once been 

distill' d — 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, it 

you will. 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it 

still. 



0, DOUBT ME NOT. 

O, DOUBT me not — the season 

Is o'er, when FoUy made me rove, 
And now the vestal. Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love, 
Although this heart was early bloAvn, 

And fairest hands disturb'd the tree. 
They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly made me rove. 
And now, the vestal. Reason, 

Shall watch the fire awak'd by Love. 

And though my lute no longer 

May sing of Passion's ardent spell. 
Yet, trust me, all the stronger 

I feel the bliss I do not tell. 

The bee through many a garden roves, 

And hums his lay of courtship o'er, 

But when he finds the flower he loves. 

He settles there, and hums no more. 

Then doubt me not — the season 

Is o'er, when Folly kept me free. 
And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall guard the flame awak'd by thee. 



YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.' 

Y'ou remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride. 
How meekly she blessed her humble lot, 

When the stranger, William, had made her his 
bride, 
And love was the light of their lowly cot. 

1 This ballad was suggested by a well-known and inter 
esting story told of a certain noble family in England. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Together they toil'd through winds and rains, 
Till William, at length, in sadness said, 

" We must seek our fortune on other plains ; " — 
Tlien, sighing, she leffher lowly shed. 

They roam'd a long and a weary way, 

Nor much was the maiden's heart at case, 
When now, at close of one stormy day. 

They see a proud castle among the trees. 
" To-night," said the youth, " we'll shelter there ; 

" The wind blows cold, the hour is late : " 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air. 

And the Porter bow'd as they pass'd the gate. 

" Now, welcome, Lady," exclaim'd the youth, — 

" This castle is thine, and these dark woods 
all ! " 
She believ'd him crazed, but his words were 
truth, 

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall ! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

What William the stranger woo'd and wed ; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 



I'D MOURN THE HOPES. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me too ; 
I'd weep when friends deceive me, 

If thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I've thee before me, 

With heart so warm and eyes so bright, 
No clouds can linger o'er me. 

That smile turns them all to light. 

'Tis not in fate to harm me. 

While fate leaves thy love to me ; 
'Tis not in joy to charm me, 

Unless joy be shared with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a long, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee. 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And though the hope be gone, love. 

That long sparkled o'er our way, 
O, we shall journey on, love. 

More safely, without its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I've yet to roam : — 
The mind that burns within me. 

And pure smiles from thee at home 



Thus, when the lamp that lighted 

The traveller at first goes out. 
He feels a while benighted. 

And looks round in fear and doubt. 
But soon, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 



COME O'ER THE SEA. 

Come o'er the sea, 

Maiden, ■with me. 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ; 

Seasons may roll. 

But the true soul 
Bums the same, where'er it goes. 
Let fate frown on, so we love and part not ; 
'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death where thou 
art not. 

Then come o'er the sea. 

Maiden, with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 

Was not the sea 
Made for the Free, 
Land for courts and chains alone .' 
Here we are slaves, 
But, on the waves. 
Love and Liberty's all our own. 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us — 
Then come o'er the sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ; 
Seasons may roll. 
But the true soul 
Bums the same, where'er it goes. 



HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS 
SHADED. 

Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 

As clouds o'er the morning fleet? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 

That, even in sorrow, were sweet ? 
Does Time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear ? — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I'U weep with thee, tear for tear. 



228 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Has love to that soul, so tender, 

Been like our Lagenian mine,' 
Where sparkles of golden splendor 

AU over the surface shine — 
But, if in pursuit we go deeper, 

Allur'd by the gleam that shone. 
Ah ! false as the dream of the sleeper, 

Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 

Has Hope, like the bird in the story,' 

That flitted from tree to tree 
With the talisman's glittering glory — 

Has Hope been that bird to thee ? 
On branch after branch alighting. 

The gem did she still display, 
And when nearest and most inviting. 

Then waft the fair gem away ? 

If thus the young hours have fleeted. 

When sorrow itself looked bright ; 
If thus the fair hope hath cheated. 

That led thee along so light ; 
If thus the cold world now wither 

Each feeling that once was dear ; — 
Oome, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I'll weep with thee, tear for tear. 



NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. 

No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear. 
When half awaking from fearful slumbers. 

He thinks the full quire of heaven is near, — 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken. 

This heart long had sleeping lain. 
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken 

To such benign, blessed sounds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort ! 'twas like the stealing 

Of summer wind through some wreathed 
shell — 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 

Of all ray soul echoed to its spell. 
Twas whisper'd balm, 'twas sunshine spoken ! 

I'd live years of grief and pain 
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 

By such benign, blessed sounds again. 



1 Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse alludes, 
Jeserve, I fear, but too well the character here given of them. 

2 " The bird, having got its prize, settled not far off with 



WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. 

When first I met thee, warm and young. 

There shone such truth about thee. 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 

I did not dare to doubt thee. 
I saw thee change, yet still relied, 
Still clung with hope the fonder. 
And thought, though false to all beside. 
From me thou couldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver ! go. 

The heart, whose hopes could make it 
Trust one so false, so low. 
Deserves that thou shouldst break it. 

When every tongue thy follies nam'd, 

I fled the unwelcome story ; 
Or found, in ev'n the faults they blam'd. 

Some gleams of future glory. 
I still was true, when nearer friends 

Conspired to wrong, to slight thee ; 
The heart that now thy falsehood rends, 
Would then have bled to right thee. 
But go, deceiver ! go, — 

Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken 
From pleasure's dream, to know 
The grief of hearts forsaken. 

Even now, though youth its bloom haf 
shed. 
No lights of age adorn thee : 
The few, who lov'd thee once, have fled. 

And they who flatter scorn thee. 
Thy midnight cup is pledg'd to slaves. 

No genial ties inwreathe it ; 
The smiling there, like light on graves. 
Has rank cold hearts beneath it. 

Go — go — though worlds were thine, 

I would not now surrender 
One taintless tear of mine 
For aU thy guilty splendor ! 

And days may come, thou false one ! yet, 

When even those ties shall sever ; 
When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 

On her thou'st lost forever ; 
On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 

With smiles had still receiv'd thee. 
And gladly died to prove thee all 

Her fancy first believ'd thee. 



the talisman in his mouth. Tlie prince drew near it, hoping 
it would drop it ; but, as he approached, tlie bird took wing 
I and settled again," &-C. — Arabian JViglUs. 



IRISH MELODIES. 229 


Go — go — 'tis vain to curse, 




'Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 


THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING. 


Hate cannot wish thee worse 

Than guilt and shame have made thee. 


The time I've lost in wooing. 
In watching and pursuing 




The light, that lies 




In woman's eyes, 


WHILE HISTORY'S MUSE. 


Has been ray heart's undoing. 




Though Wisdom oft has sought me, 


While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 


I scorn'd the lore she brought me. 


Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, 


My only books 


Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping. 


Were woman's looks, 


For hers was the story that blotted the leaves. 


And folly's all they've taught me. 


But 0, how the tear in her eyelids grew bright. 




When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 


Her smile when Beauty granted, 


She saw History write, 


I hung with gaze enchanted, 


With a pencil of light 


Like him the Sprite,' 


That illum'd the whole volume, her Wellington's 


Whom maids by night 


name. 


Oft meet in glen that's haunted. 




Like him, too. Beauty won me, 


•' Hail, Star of my Isle ! " said the Spirit, all 


But while her eyes were on me, 


sparkling 


If once their ray 


With beams, such as break from her own 


Was turn'd away. 


dewy skies — 


0, winds could not outrun me. 


" Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 




"I've watch'd for some glory like thine to 


And are those follies going ? 


arise. 
"Fbr, though Heroes I've number'd, unblest 


And is my proud heart growing 
Too cold or wise 


was their lot. 


For brilliant eyes 


"And unhallow'd they sleep in the crossways 


Again to set it glowing ? 


of Fame ; — 


No, vain, alas ! th' endeavor 


"But 0, there is not 


From bonds so sweet to sever ; 


" One dishonoring blot 


Poor Wisdom's chance 


" On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's 


Against a glance 


name. 


Is now as weak as ever. 


" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining. 




" The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet 


' - 


known ; 




" Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 
chaining. 


WHERE IS IHE SLAVE. 


" Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of 


0, WHERE s the Si'ave so lowly. 


thy owTi. 


Condemn d tf' chains unholy, 


"At the foot of that throne, for whose weal 


Who, jould he burst 


thou hast stood. 


His bonds at first. 


" Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy 


Would pine beneath them slowly ? 


fame. 


What soul, whose wrongs degrade it. 


"And, brig'ht o'er the flood 


Would watt till time decay'd it, 


" Of her tears and her blood. 


When thus its wing 


" Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's 


At once may spring 


name ! " 


To the throne of Him who made it ? 


1 This alludes to a kind of Irish fairv. whicj is to be met 


was the sprite which we call tne Leprechaun ; but a high 


with, they say, in the fields at dusk. As long as you keep 


authority upon such subjects. Lady Morgan, (in a note upon 


your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in your or wer ; — but 


her national and interesting n.>vel, O'Uonnel,) has given ■ 


the moment you look away (and he is ingenious ii furnishing 


very different account of that golilin. 


some inducement) he vanishes. I had though, that this 





IRISH MELODIES. 



Farewell, Erin, — farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 

Less clear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch'd and blowing. 

Than that, whose braid 

Is pluck'd to shade 
The brows with victory glowing. 
"We tread the land that bore us, 
Her green flag glitters o'er us, 

The friends we've tried 

Are by our side. 
And the foe we hate before us. 

Farewell, Ersi, — farewell, all. 
Who live to weep our fall ! 



COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. 

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer. 
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home 

is still here ; 
Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, 
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. 

0, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same 
Through joy and through torment, through 

glory and shame ? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, 
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. 

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of 

bliss, 
And thy Angel I'll be, 'mid the horrors of this, — 
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to 

pursue. 
And shield thee, and save thee, — or perish 

there too ! 



'TIS GONE, AND FOREVER. 

'Tis gone, and forever, the light we saw breaking 

Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the 

dead — 

When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, 

Look'd upward, and bless'd the pure ray, ere 

it fled. 

'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning 

But deepen the long night of bondage and 

mourning, 
Ihat dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning. 
And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. 



For high was thy hope, when those glcties were 
darting 
Around thee, through all the gross clouds of 
the world ; 
"WTien Truth, from her fetters indignantly 
starting. 
At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurl'd.' 
O, never shall earth see a moment so splendid ! 
Then, then — had one Hymn of Deliverance 

blended 
The tongues of all nations — how sweet had 
ascended 
The first note of Liberty, Erin, from thee ! 

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the 
blessing ! 
And shame on the light race, unworthy its 
good. 
Who, at Death's reeking altar, like furies, ca- 
ressing 
The young hope of Freedom, baptiz'd it in 
blood. 
Then vanish'd forever that fair, sunny vision. 
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's 

derision. 
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and 
elysian, 
As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 



I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 

I SAW from the beach, when the morning was 
shining, 
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 
I came when the sun o'er that beach was de- 
clining, 
The bark was still there, but the waters were 
gone 

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 

So passing the springtide of joy we have 

known ; 

Each wave, that we danc'd on at morning, ebbs 

from us. 

And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning 
The close of our day, the calm eve of our 
night ; — 



1 "The Sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the 
ancient Irish to the Royal Banner. 



IRISH MELODIES. 231 


Give me back, give me back the vi^ild freshness 


Took nor urn nor cup 


of Morning, 


To hide the pilfer'd fire in. — 


Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's 


But his joy, when, round 


best light. 


The halls of Heaven spying. 




Among the stars he found 


0, who would not welcome that moment's re- 


A bowl of Bacchus lying ! 


turning. 




When passion first wak'd a new life through 


Some drops Avere in that bowl. 


his frame. 


Remains of last night's pleasure. 


And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious 


With which the Sparks of Soul 


in burning, 


Mix'd their burning treasure. 


Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 


Hence the goblet's shower 




Hath such spells to win us ; 




Hence its mighty power 


FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 


O'er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 


Fill the bumper fair ! 


Every drop we sprinkle 


Every drop we sprinkle 


O'er the brow of Care 


O'er the brow of Care 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 


Smooths away a wruikle. 




Wit's electric flame 




Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
As when through the frame 


DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 


It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 


Dear Harp of my Country I in darkness I found 
thee. 


Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 


The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee 
long,' 
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I un- 


Smooths away a wrinkle. 




bound thee. 


Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 


And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, 
and song ! 


And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions : — 


The warm lay of love and the light note of 
gladness 


So we. Sages, sit, 


Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; 


And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the Heaven of Wit 


But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of 
sadness. 


Draw down all its lightning. 


That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee 


Wouldst thou know what first 


stiU. 


Made our souls inherit 


Dear Harp of my country ! farewell to thy 


This ennobling thirst 


numbers, 


For wine's celestial spirit ? 


This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall 


It chanc'd upon that day, 


twine ! 


When, as bards inform us, 


Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy 


Prometheus stole away 


slumbers. 


The living fires that warm us : 


Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than 




mine; 


The careless Youth, when up 


If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 


To Glory's fount aspiring. 


Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone ; 


1 In that rebellious but beautiful sonp, " When Erin first 


celebrated contention fur precedence between Finn and 


rose," there is, if I recollect right, the following line : — 


Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, where the attending 


"The dark chain of Silence was thrown o'er the deep." 


Bards, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostili- 
ties, shook the chain of Silence, and flung fheni^^clves 


The chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure of 


among the ranks." See also the Ode. to Oanl, the Hon of 


metoric among the ancient Iri>=h. VV.illcer tells us nf " a 


Murni, in Miss Brooke's Retiques of Irish Puetnj. 



232 



IRISH MELODIES. 



I was biU as the wind, passing heedlessly over, 
And all the wild sweetness I w-ak'd was thy 
own. 



PREFACE 



TO THE FOURTH VOLUME. 

The recollections connected, in my mind, with 
that early period of my life, when I first thought 
of interpreting in verse the touching language 
of my country's music, tempt me again to ad- 
vert to those long past days ; and, even at the 
risk of being thought to indulge overmuch in 
what CoUey Gibber calls " the great pleasure of 
writing about one's self all day," to notice briefly 
some of those impressions and influences under 
which the attempt to adapt words to our ancient 
Melodies was for some time meditated by me, 
and, at last, undertaken. 

There can oe no doubt that to the zeal and 
industry of Mr. Bunting nis country is indebted 
for the preservation of i)er old national airs. 
During the prevalence of the Penal Code, the 
music of Ireland was made to share in the 
fate of its people. Both were alike shut out 
from the pale of civilized life ; and seldom any 
where but in the huts of the proscribed race 
could the sweet voice of the songs of other days 
be heard. Even of that class, the itinerant 
harpers, among whom for a long period our 
ancient music had been kept alive, there re- 
mained but few to continue the precious tra- 
dition ; and a great music meeting held at 
Belfast in tne year 1792, at which the two or 
three still remaining of the old race of wander- 
ing harpers assisted, exiiibited the last public 
effort made by the lovers of Irish music, to pre- 
serve to their country the only grace or orna- 
ment left to her, out of the wrecK of all her 
liberties and hopes. Thus what the fierce 
legislature of the Pale had endeavored vainly 
through so many centuries to effect, — the 'jtter 
extinction of Ireland's Minstrelsy, — the deadly 
pressure of the Penal Laws had nearly, at 
the close of the eighteenth century, accom- 
plished ; and, but for the zeal and intelligent 
research of Mr. Bunting, at that crisis, the 
greater part of our musical treasures would 
probably have been lost to the world. It was 
in the year 1796 that this gentleman published 
his first volume ; and the national spirit and 
hope then wakened in Ireland, by the rapid 



spread of the democratic principle throughout 
Europe, could not but insure a most cordial 
reception for such a work ; — flattering as it 
was to the fond dreams of Erin's early days, 
and containing in itself, indeed, remarkable testi- 
mony to the truth of her claims to an early date 
of civilization. 

It was in the year 1797 that, through the 
medium of Mr. Bunting's book, I was first made 
acquainted with the beauties of our native 
music. A young friend of our family, Edward 
Hudson, the nephew of an eminent dentist of 
that name, who played with much taste and 
feeling on the flute, and, unluckily for him- 
self, was but too deeply warmed with the pa- 
triotic ardor then kindling around him, was the 
first who made known to me this rich mine of 
our country' s melodies ; — a mine, from the 
working of which my humble labors as a poet 
have since derived their sole lustre and value. 
About the same period I formed an acquaint- 
ance, which soon grew into intimacy, with 
young Robert Emmet. He was my senior, I 
think, by one class, in the university ; for 
when, in the first year of my course, I became 
a member of the Debating Society, — a sort of 
nursery to the authorized Historical Society — 
I found him in full reputation, not only for 
nis learning and eloquence, but also for the 
Lilamelessness of his life, and the grave suavity 
of nis manners. 

Of the political tone of this minor school 
of oratory, w/.ich was held weekly at the 
rooms oi lifterent resident members, some 
notion may je formed from the nature of the 
questions proposed for discussion, — one of 
which, I recollect, was, " Whether an Aris- 
tocracy or a Democracy is most favorable to 
the advancement ot sconce and literature ? " 
while another, bearing even more pointedly 
on the relative position of the government and 
the people, at this crisis, was thus significantly 
propounded : — " W lother a soldier was bound, 
on all occasions, to ccey the orders of his com- 
manding officer?" Or\ the former of these 
questions, the effect of Emmet's eloquence upon 
his young auditors was, 1 recollect, most striking. 
The pror.ibition against touching upon modern 
politics, wnich it was suosequently found neces- 
sary to enforce, had not yet been introduced ; 
and Emmet, who took oi course ardently the 
side of democracy in the debate, after a brief 
review of the reput^.ics of antiquity, showing 
how much they had a. ' done for the advance 
ment of science and tht arts, proceeded, lastly 



IRISH MELODIES. 



233 



to the grand and perilous example, then passing 
before all eyes, the young Republic of France. 
Referring to the circumstance told of Caesar, 
that, in swimming across the Rubicon, he con- 
trived to carry -with him his Commentaries and 
his sword, the young orator said, " Thus France 
wades through a sea of storm and blood ; but 
while, in one hand, she wields the sword against 
her aggressors, with the other she upholds the 
glories of science and literature unsuUied by the 
ensanguined tide through which she struggles." 
In another of his remarkable speeches, I remem- 
ber his saying, " When a people advancing rap- 
idly in knowledge and power, perceive at last 
how far their government is lagging behind 
them, what then, I ask, is to be done in such a 
case ? What, but to pull the government up to 
the people ? " 

In a few months after, both Emmet and my- 
self were admitted members of the greater and 
recognized institution, called the Historical So- 
ciety ; and, even here, the political feeling so 
rife abroad contrived to mix up its restless 
spirit with all our debates and proceedings ; 
notwithstanding the constant watchfulness of 
the college authorities, as well as of a strong 
party within the Society itself, devoted adher- 
ents to the policy of the government, and taking 
invariably part with the Provost and Fellows in 
all their restrictive and inquisitorial measures. 
The most distinguished and eloquent of these 
supporters of power were a young man named 
Sargent, of whose fate in after days I know 
nothing, and Jebb, the late Bishop of Limerick, 
who was then, as he continued to be through 
life, much respected for his private worth and 
learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, the chief 
champion and ornament was Robert Emmet ; 
and though every care was taken to exclude 
from the subjects of debate all questions ver- 
ging towards the politics of the day, it was 
always easy enough, by a side wind of digres- 
sion or allusion, to bring Ireland and the pros- 
pects then opening upon her within the scope 
of the orator's \'iew. So exciting and powerful, 
in this respect, were Emmet's speeches, and 
so little were even the most eloquent of the 
adverse party able to cope with his powers, 
that it was at length thought advisable, by 
the higher authorities, to send among us a 
man of more advanced standing, as well as be- 
longing to a former race of renowned speakers, 
jn that Society, in order that he might answer 
UHe speeches of Emmet, and endeavor to ob- 
30 



viate the mischievous impression they were 
thought to produce. The name of this mature 
champion of the higher powers it is not neces- 
sarj' here to record ; but the object of his mis- 
sion among lis was in some respect gained ; as 
it was in replying to a long oration of his, 
one night, that Emmet, much to the mortifi- 
cation of us who gloried in him as our leader, 
became suddenly embarrassed in the middle of 
his speech, and, to use the parliamentary phrase, 
broke down. Whether from a momentary con- 
fusion in the thread of his argument, or possibly 
from diffidence in encountering an adversary so 
much his senior, — for Emmet was as modest as 
he was high minded and brave, — he began, in 
the full career of his eloquence, to hesitate and 
repeat his words, and then, after an effort or 
two to recover himself, sat down. 

It fell to my own lot to be engaged, about the 
same time, in a brisk struggle with the domi- 
nant party in the Society, in consequence of a 
burlesque poem which I gave in, as candidate 
for the Literary Medal, entitled " An Ode upon 
Nothing, with Notes, by Trismegistus Rusti- 
fustius, D. D." &c. &c. For this squib against 
the great Dons of learning, the medal was 
voted to me by a triumphant majority. But 
a motion was made in the following week to 
rescind this vote ; and a fierce contest between 
the two parties ensued, which I at last put an 
end to by voluntarily withdrawing my compo- 
sition from the Society's Book. 

I have already adverted to the period when 
Mr. Bunting's valuable volume first became 
known to me. There elapsed no very long 
time before I was myself the happy proprietor 
of a copy of the work, and, though never regu- 
larly instructed in music, could play over the 
airs with tolerable facility on the piano forte. 
Robert Emmet used sometimes to sit by me, 
when I was thus engaged ; and I remember 
one day his starting up as from a revery, when 
I had just finished playing that spirited tune 
called the Red Fox,' and exclaiming, " O that 
I were at the head of twenty thousand men, 
marching to that air ! " 

How little did I then think that in one of 
the most touching of the sweet airs I used to 
play to him, his o^vn dying words would find an 
interpreter so worthy of their sad, but proud 
feeling ; ^ or that another of those mournful 
strains ^ would long be associated, in the hearts 

1 " Let Erin remember the days of old." 

2 " O, breathe not his name." 

3 " She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps." 



234 



IRISH MELODIES. 



of his countrymen, with the memory of her' 
■who shared with Ireland his last blessing and 
prayer. 

Though fully alive, of course, to the feelings 
which such music could not but inspire, I had 
not yet undertaken the task of adapting words 
to any of the airs ; and it was, I am ashamed 
to say, in dull and tiu-gid prose, that I made my 
first appearance in print as a champion of the 
popular cause. Towards the latter end of the 
year 1797, the celebrated newspaper called 
"The Press " was set up by Arthur O'Connor, 
Thomas Addis Emmet, and other chiefs of the 
United Irish conspiracy, with the view of pre- 
paring and ripening the public mind for the 
great crisis then fast approaching. This mem- 
orable journal, according to the impression I at 
present retain of it, was far more distinguished 
for earnestness of purpose and intrepidity, than 
for any great display of literary talent ; — the 
bold letters written by Emmet (the elder), un- 
der the signature of "Montanus," being the 
only compositions I can now call to mind, as 
entitled to praise for their literary merit. It 
required, however, but a small sprinkling of 
talent to make bold writing, at that time, pal- 
atable; and, from the experience of my own 
home, I can answer for the avidity with which 
every line of this daring journal was devoured. 
It used to come out, I think, twice a week, and, 
on the evening of publication, I always read it 
aloud to our small circle after supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what with 
my ardor for the national cause, and a growing 
consciousness of some little turn for authorship, 
I was naturally eager to become a contributor 
to those patriotic and popular columns. But 
the constant anxiety about me which I knew 
my own family felt, — a feeling more wakeful 
far than even their zeal in the public cause, — 
withheld me from hazarding any step that might 
cause them alarm. I had ventured, indeed, 
one evening, to pop privately into the letter box 
of The Press, a short Fragment in imitation of 
Ossian. But this, though inserted, passed off 
quietly ; and nobody was, in any sense of the 



1 Miss Curran. 

2 So thought also higher authorities ; for among the ex- 
tracts from The Press brought forward by the Secret Com- 
•flittee of the House of Commons, to show how formidable 
had been the designs of the United Irishmen, there are two 
or tliree paragraphs cited from this redoubtable Letter. 

3 Of the depth and extent to wliich Hudson had involved 
himself in the conspiracy, none of our family had harbored 
ihe leas-', notion ; till, on the seizure of the thirteen Leinster 



phrase, the wiser for it. I was soon tempted, 
however, to try a more daring flight. Without 
communicating my secret to any one but Ed- 
ward Hudson, I addressed a long Letter, in 
prose, to the ***** of * * * *, in which 
a profusion of bad flowers of rhetoric was in- 
wreathed plentifully with that weed wliich 
Shakspeare calls " the cockle of rebellion," and, 
in the same manner as before, committed it 
tremblingly to the chances of the letter box. 1 
hardly expected my prose would be honored 
with insertion, when, lo, on the next evening 
of publication, when, seated as usual in my lit- 
tle corner by the fire, I unfolded the paper for 
the purpose of reading it to my select auditory, 
there was my own Letter staring me full in the 
face, being honored with so conspicuous a place 
as to be one of the first articles my audience 
would expect to hear. Assuming an outward 
appearance of ease, while every nerve within 
me was trembling, I contrived to accomplish 
the reading of the Letter without raising in 
either of my auditors a suspicion that it was my 
own. I enjoyed the pleasure, too, of hearing 
it a good deal praised by them ; and might have 
been tempted by this to acknowledge myself 
the author, had I not found that the language 
and sentiments of the article were considered 
by both to be " very bold." ^ 

I was not destined, however, to remain long 
undetected. On the following day, Edward 
Hudson,^ — the only one, as I have said, in- 
trusted with my secret, called to pay us a morn- 
ing visit, and had not been long in the room, 
conversing with my mother, when looking sig- 
nificantly at me, he said, " Well, you saw " 

Here he stopped ; but the mother's eye had fol- 
lowed his, with the rapidity of lightnir,g, to 
mine, and at once she perceived the whole truth. 
" That letter was yours, then ? " she asked of 
me eagerly ; and, without hesitation, of course, 
I acknowledged the fact ; when in the most 
earnest manner she entreated of me never again 
to have any connection with that paper ; and, 
as every wish of hers was to me law, I readilj 
pledged the solemn promise she required. 



delegates, at Oliver Bond's, in the month of March, 1796 
we found, to our astonishment and sorrow, that lie was ont 
of the number. 

To tliose unread in the painful history of this period, it i3 
right to mention that almost aU the leaders of tlie United 
Irish conspiracy were Protestants. Among those compan- 
ions of my own alluded to in these pages, I scarcely reniem 
ber a single Catholic 



IRISH MELODIES. 



235 



Though well aware how easily a sneer may- 
be raised at the simple details of this domestic 
scene, I have yet ventured to put it on record, 
as affording an instance of the gentle and wo- 
manly watchfulness, — the Providence, as it 
may be caUed, of the little world of home, — 
by which, although placed almost in the very 
current of so headlong a movement, and living 
familiarly with some of the most daring of those 
who propelled it, I yet was guarded from any 
participation in their secret oaths, counsels, or 
plans, and thus escaped all share in that wild 
struggle to which so many far better men than 
myself fell victims. 

In the mean while, this great conspiracy was 
hastening on, with fearful precipitancy, to its 
outbreak ; and vague and shapeless as are now 
known to have been the views, even of those 
who were engaged practically in the plot, it 
is not any wonder that to the young and unin- 
itiated like myself it should have opened pros- 
pects partaking far more of the wild dreams of 
poesy than of the plain and honest prose of real 
life. But a crisis was then fast approaching, 
when such self-delusions could no longer be 
indulged ; and when the mystery which had 
hitherto hung over the plans of the conspira- 
tors was to be rent asunder by the stern hand 
of power. 

Of the horrors that foreran and followed the 
frightful explosion of the year 1798, I have 
neither inclination, 'nor, luckily, occasion to 
speak. But among those introductory scenes, 
which had somewhat prepared the public mind 
for such a catastrophe, there was one, of a pain- 
ful description, which, as having been myself an 
actor in it, I may be allowed briefly to notice. 

It was not many weeks, I think, before this 
crisis, that, owing to information gained by the 
college authorities of the rapid spread, among 
the students, not only of the principles but the 
organization of the Irish Union,' a solemn Vis- 
itation was held by Lord Clare, the vice chan- 
cellor of the University, with the view of in- 
quiring into the extent of this branch of the 
plot, and dealing summarily with those engaged 
in it. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed the pol- 



1 In the Report from the Secret Committee of the Irish 
House of Lords, this extension of the plot to the College is 
noticed as " a desperate project of the same faction to cor- 
rnpt the youth of the country by introducing their organized 
system of treason into the University." 

2 One of these brothers has long been a general in the 
French army ; having taken a part in all those great enter- 



icy of thus setting up a sort of inquisitorial 
tribunal, armed with the power of examining 
witnesses on oath, and in a place devoted to the 
instruction of youth, I cannot but confess that 
the facts which came out in the course of the 
evidence, went far towards justifying even this 
arbitrary proceeding ; and to the many wh^), 
like myself, were acquainted only with the gen- 
eral views of the Union leaders, without even 
knowing, except from conjecture, who those 
leaders were, or what their plans or objects, it 
was most startling to hear the disclosures which 
every succeeding witness brought forth. There 
were a few, — and among that number, poor 
Robert Emmet, John Brown, and the two 
****** gi whose total absence from the 
whole scene, as well as the dead silence tliat, 
day after day, followed the calling out of their 
names, proclaimed how deep had been their 
share in the unlawful proceedings inquired into 
by this tribunal. 

But there was one young friend of mine, 
******* ^ whose appearance among the 
suspected and examined as much surprised as 
it deeply and painfully interested me. He and 
Emmet had long been intimate and attached 
friends ; — their congenial fondness for mathe- 
matical studies having been, I think, a far more 
binding sympathy between them than any aris- 
ing out of their political opinions. From his 
being called up, however, on this day, when, 
as it appeared afterwards, all the most important 
evidence was brought forward, there could be 
little doubt that, in addition to his intimacy 
with Emmet, the college authorities must have 
possessed some information which led them to 
suspect him of being an accomplice in the con- 
spiracy. In the course of his examination, 
some questions were put to him which he re- 
fused to answer, — most probably from their 
tendency to involve or inculpate others ; and 
he was accordingly dismissed, with the melan- 
choly certainty that his future prospects in life 
were blasted ; it being already known that the 
punishment for such contumacy was not merely 
expulsion from the University, but exclusion 
from all the learned professions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of this whole day 



prises of Napoleon which have now become matter of histo- 
ry. Should these pages meet the eye of General ******, 
they will call to his mind the days we passed together in 
Normandy, a few summers since ; — more especially our ex 
cursion to Bayeux, when, as we talked on the way of old 
college times and friends, all the eventful and stormy scenes 
he had passed through since seemed forgotten. 



236 



IRISH MELODIES. 



had been such as to send me to my home in the 
evening with no very agreeable feelings or pros- 
pects. I had heard evidence given affecting 
even the lives of some of those friends whom I 
had long regarded with admiration as well as 
affection ; and what was still worse than even 
their danger, — a danger ennobled, I thought, 
by the cause in which they suffered, — Avas the 
shameful spectacle exhibited by those who had 
appeared in evidence against them. Of these 
witnesses, the greater number had been them- 
selves involved in the plot, and now came for- 
ward either as voluntary informers, or else were 
driven by the fear of the consequences of re- 
fusal to secure their own safety at the expense 
of companions and friends. 

I well remember the gloom, so unusual, that 
hung over our family circle on that evening, as, 
talking together of the events of the day, we 
discussed the likelihood of my being among 
those who would be called up for examination 
on the morrow. The deliberate conclusion to 
which my dear honest advisers came, was that, 
overwhelming as the consequences were to all 
their plans and hopes for me, yet, if the ques- 
tions leading to criminate others, which had 
been put to almost all examined on that day, 
and which poor ******* alone had re- 
fused to answer, I must, in the same manner, 
and at all risks, return a similar refusal. I am 
not quite certain whether I received any inti- 
mation, on the following morning, that I was to 
be one of those examined in the course of the 
day ; but I rather think some such notice had 
been conveyed to me ; — and, at last, my awful 
turn came, and I stood in presence of the for- 
midable tribunal. There sat, with severe look, 
the vice chancellor, and, by his side, the mem- 
orable Doctor Duigenan, — memorable for his 
eternal pamphlets against the Catholics. 

The oath was proffered to me. "I have an 
objection, my Lord," said I, "to taking this 
oath." " What is your objection ? " he a.sked 
sternly. " I have no fears, my Lord, that any 
thing I might say would criminate myself; but 
it might tend to involve others, and I despise 

1 There had been two qiiestions put to all those examined 
on the first day, — "Were you ever asked to join any of 
these societies ? " — and " By whom were you asked ? " — 
which I should have refused to answer, and must, of course, 
have abided the consequences. 

2 For the correctness of the above report of this short ex- 
amination, I can pretty confidently answer. It may amuse, 
therefore, my readers, — as showing the manner in which 
biographers make the most of small facts, — to see an ex- 
tract or two from another account of this afTalr, published 



the character of the person who could be led, 
under any such circumstances, to inform against 
his associates." 

This was aimed at some of the revelations of 
the preceding day ; and, as I learned after- 
wards, was so understood. " How old are you, 
Sir ? " he then asked. " Between seventeen 
and eighteen, my Lord." He then turned to 
his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged a few 
words with him, in an undertone of voice. 
" We cannot," he resumed, again addressing 
me, " suffer any one to remain in our Univer- 
sity, who refuses to take this oath." " I shall 
then, my Lord," I replied, " take the oath, — 
still reserving to myself the power of refusing 
to answer any such questions as I have just de- 
scribed." " W^e do not sit here to argue with 
you. Sir," he rejoined sharply; upon which I 
took the oath, and seated myself in the wit- 
nesses' chair. 

The following are the questions and answers 
that then ensued. After adverting to the 
proved existence of United Irish Societies in 
the University, he asked, " Have you ever be- 
longed to any of these societies ? " " No, my 
Lord." " Have you ever known of any of the 
proceedings that took place in them?" "No, 
my Lord." "Did you ever hear of a proposal 
at any of their meetings, for the purchase of 
arms and ammunition ? " " Never, my Lord." 
" Did you ever hear of a proposition made, in 
one of these societies, with respect to the expe- 
diency of assassination r " " O no, my Lord." 
He then turned again to Duigenan, and, after a 
few words with him, said to me : — " When such 
are the answers you are able to give,' pray what 
was the cause of your great repugnance to 
taking the oath ? " "I have already told your 
Lordship my chief reason ; in addition to which, 
it was the first oath I ever took, and the hesi- 
tation was, I think, natural." " 

I was now dismissed without any further 
questioning ; and, however trying had been 
this short operation, was amply repaid for it by 
the kind zeal with which my young friends and 
companions flocked to congratulate me ; — not 

not many years since by an old and zealous friend of our 
family. .After stating with tolerable correctness one or two 
of my answers, the writer thus proceeds: — " Upon tliii<. 
Lord Clare repeated the question, and young Moore made 
such an appeal, as caused his lordship to relax, austere and 
rigid as he was. The words I cannot exactly remsniber; 
the substance was as follows : — that he entered coMet-e to 
receive the education of a scholar and a gentleman , ti.-at ^e 
knew not how to compromise these characters by ir\fi:rnilng 
against his college companions ; that his own speeches la 



IRISH MELODIES. 



237 



so much, I was inclined to hope, on my acquit- 
tal by the court, as on the manner in which 
I had acquitted myself. Of my reception, on 
returning home, after the fears entertained of 
80 very different a result, I wiU not attempt 
any description ; — it was all that such a home 
alone could furnish. 

I have been induced thus to continue down 
to the very verge of the warning outbreak of 
1798, the slight sketch of my early days which 
I ventured to commence in the First Volume of 
this Collection : nor could I have furnished the 
Irish Melodies with any more pregnant illustra- 
tion, as it was in those times, and among the 
events then stirring, that the feeling which 
afterward found a voice in my country's music, 
waa born and nurtured. 

I shall now string together such detached 
notices and memoranda respecting this work, 
as I think may be likely to interest my readers. 

Of the few songs written with a concealed 
political feeling, — such as "When he who 
adores thee," and one or two more, — the most 
successful, in its day, was " When first I met 
thee warm and young," which alluded, in its 
hidden sense, to the Prince Regent's desertion 
of his political friends. It was Httle less, I own, 
than profanation to disturb the sentiment of so 
beautiful an air by any connection with such a 
subject. The great success of this song, soon 
after I wrote it, among a large party staj'ing at 
Chatsworth, is thus alluded to in one of Lord 
Byron's letters to me : — "I have heard from 
London that you have left Chatsworth and all 

there full of ' entusymusy ' and, in 

particular, that • When first I met thee ' has 
been quite overwhelming in its eff'ect. I told 
you it was one of the best things you ever 
wrote, though that dog * * * * wanted you 
to omit part of it." 

It has been sometimes supposed that " O, 
breathe not his name," was meant to allude to 
Lord Edward Fitzgerald : but this is a mistake ; 
the song having been suggested by the well- 
known passage in Robert Emmet's dying 

the debating society had been ill construed, when the worst 
that could be said of them was, if truth had been spoken, 
that they were patriotic .... that he was aware of the 
high-minded nobleman he had the honor of appealing to, 
and if his lordship could for a moment condescend to step 
from his high station and place himself in his situation, then 
say how he would act under such circumstances, — it would 
be his guidance." — Herbert's Irish Varieties. London, 
1836. 

1 " When, in consequence of the compact entered into 
between government aiid the chief leaders of the conspiracy, 



speech, " Let no man write my epitaph 

let my tomb remain uninscribed, till other 
times and other men shall learn to do justice to 
my memory." 

The feeble attemjit to commemorate the glory 
of our great Duke — " When History's Muse," 
&c. — is in so far remarkable, that it made up 
amply for its want of poetical spirit, by an out- 
pouring, rarely granted to bards in these days, 
of the spirit of prophecy. It was in the year 
1815 that the following lines first made their 
appearance : — 

And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining. 
The grandest, the purest, ev'n thou hast yet known ; 

Though proud was tliy task, other nations unchaining, 
Far prouder to heal tlie deep wounds of thy own. 

At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood. 
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, &c. 

About fourteen years after these lines were 
written, the Duke of Wellington recommended 
to the throne the great measure of Catholic 
Emancipation. 

The fancy of the " Origin of the Irish Harp," 
was (as I have elsewhere acknowledged ') sug- 
gested, by a drawing made under peculiarly 
painful circumstances, by the friend so often 
mentioned in this sketch, Edward Hudson. 

In connection with another of these matchless 
airs, — one that defies all poetry to do it justice, 
— I find the following singular and touching 
statement in an article of the Quarterly Review. 
Speaking of a young and promising poetess, Lu- 
cretia Davidson, who died very early from ner- 
vous excitement, the Reviewer says, " She was 
particularly sensitive to music. There was one 
song (it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) to 
which she took a special fancy. She wished to 
hear it only at twilight, — thus (with that same 
perilous love of excitement which made her 
place the ^olian harp in the window when she 
was composing), seeking to increase the effect 
which the song produced upon a nervous sys- 
tem, already diseasedly susceptible ; for it is 
said that, whenever she heard this song, she 
became cold, pale, and almost fainting ; yet it 



the State Prisoners, before proceeding into exile, were al- 
lowed to see their friends, I paid a visit to Edward Hudson, 
in the jail of Kilmainham, where he had then lain immured 
for four or five months, hearing of friend after friend being 
led out to death, and expecting every week his own turn to 
come. I found that to amuse his solitude he had made a 
large drawing with charcoal on the wall of his prison, repre- 
senting that fancied origin of the Irish Harp which, some 
years after, I adopted as the subject of one of the ' IMelo- 
dies.' " — Life and Death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, vol. i. 



238 



IRISH MELODIES. 



■was her favorite of all songs, and gave occasion 
to those verses addressed in her fifteenth year 
to her sister." ' 

With the Melody entitled '< Love, Valor, and 
Wit," an incident is connected, which awakened 
feelings in me of proud, but sad pleasure, to 
think that my songs had reached the hearts of 
some of the descendants of those great Irish 
families, who found themselves forced, in the 
dark days of persecution, to seek in other lands 
a refuge from the shame and ruin of their own ; 

— those, whose story I have thus associated 
with one of their country's most characteristic 
airs : — 

Ye Blakes and O'Donnels, wliose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 
That repose which at home they had sigh'd for in vain. 

From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction, 

— whose names, could I venture to mention 
them, would lend to the incident an additional 
Irish charm, — I received, about two years since, 
through the hands of a gentleman to whom it 
had been intrusted, a large portfolio, adorned 
inside with a beautiful drawing, representing 
Love, Wit, and Valor, as described in the song. 
In the border that surrounds the drawing are 
introduced the favorite emblems of Erin, the 
harp, the shamrock, the mitred head of St. 
Patrick, together with scrolls containing each, 
inscribed in letters of gold, the name of some 
favorite melody of the fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the follow- 
ing letter from the lady herself; and her Irish 
race, I fear, is but too discernible in the gener- 
ous indiscretion with which, in this instance, she 
allows praise so much to outstrip desert : — 

"Le 25 Aoiit, 1836. 

"Monsieur, 

" Si les poetes n'fetoient en quelque sorte 
une propriete intellectuelle dont chacun prend sa 
part a raison de la puissance qu'ils exercent, je 
ne saurois en verite comment faire pour justifier 
mon courage ! — car il en falloit beaucoup pour 
avoir ose consacrer mon pauvre talent d' amateur 
k vos delicieuses pofisies, et plus encore pour en 
renvoyer le p<ile reflet k son veritable auteur. 

" J'espere toutefois que ma sympathie pour 
VIrlande vous fera juger ma foible production 
avec cctte heureuse partialite qui impose silence 
a la critique : car, si je n'appartiens pas a I'lle 

1 (Quarterly Review, vol. xli. p. 294. 



Verte par ma naissance, ni mes relations, je puis 
dire que je m'y interesse avec un coeur Irian- 
dais, et que j'ai conserve plus que le nom de 
mes peres. Cela seul me fait esp6rer que men 
petits voyageurs ne subiront pas le triste novi- 
ciat des etrangers. Puissent-ils remplir leur 
mission sur le sol natal, en agissant conjointe- 
ment et toujom-s pour la cause Irlandaise, et 
amener enfin une ere nouvelle pour cette he- 
rolque et malheureuse nation : — le moyen de 
vaincre de tels adversaires s'ils ne font qu'un ? 

" Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux moments 
que je dois a vos ouvrages ? ce seroit r6pfeter 
une fois de plus ce que vous entendez tous les 
jours et de tous les coins de la terre. Aussi j'ai 
garde de vous ravir un tems trop precieux par 
I'echo de ces vieilles verites. 

" Si jamais mon 6toile me conduit en Irlande, 
je ne m'y croirai pas etrangere. Je sais que le 
passfe y laisse de longs souvenirs, et que la con- 
formite des dosirs et des esperances rapproche 
en depit de I'espace et du tems. 

" Jusque-la, recevez, je vous prie, 1' assurance 
de ma parfaite consideration, avec laquelle j'ai 
I'honnevir d'etre, 

" Monsieur, 
" Votre tres-humble servante, 

" La Comtesse * * * * *." 

Of the translations that have appeared of the 
Melodies in different languages, I shall here 
mention such as have come to my knowledge. 

Latin. — " Cantus Hibernici," Nicholas Lee, 
Torre, London, 1835. 

Italian. — G. Tlechia, Torino, 1836. — Adele 
Custi, Milano, 1836. 

French. — Madame Belloc, Paris, 1823. — 
Loeve Veimars, Paris, 1829. 

Russian. — Several detached Melodies, by the 
popular Russian poet Kozlof. 

Polish. — Selections, in the same manner, by 
Niemcewich, Kosmian, and others. 

I have now exhausted not so much my own 
recollections, as the patience, I fear, of my read- 
ers on this subject. We are told of painters 
calling those last touches of the pencil which 
they give to some favorite picture the " ultima 
basia ; " and with the same sort of affectionate 
feeling do I now take leave of the Irish Melo- 
dies, — the only work of my pen, as I very sin- 
cerely believe, whose fame (thanks to the sweet 
music in which it is embalmed) may boast a 
chance of prolonging its existence to a day 
much beyond our own. 



IRISH MELODIES. 239 




Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny 
prime. 
But affection is truest when these fade away. 


MY GENTLE HARP. 


My gentle Harp, once more I waken 


The sweetness of thy slumbering strain ; 




In tears our last farewell was taken, 


When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, 


And now in tears we meet again. 


Like a leaf on the stream that will never re- 


No light of joj' hath o'er thee broken, 


turn; 


But, like those Harps whose heav'nly skill 


When our cup, which had sparkled with pleas- 


Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, 


ure so high. 


Thou hang'st upon the willows still. 


First tastes of the other, the dark-flovnng urn , 




Then, then is the time when affection holds sway 


And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 


With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ; 


An hour of peace and triumph came. 


Love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, 


And many an ardent bosom bounded 


But the Love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is 


With hopes — that now are turn'd to shame ! 


true. 


Yet even then, while Peace was singing 




Her halcyon song o'er land and sea. 


In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the 


Though joy and hope to others bringing, 


flowers. 


She only brought new tears to thee. 


Their sighs have no freshness, their odor no 
worth ; 
'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of 


Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, 


My drooping Harj), from chords like thine ? 


showers, 


Alas, the lark's gay morning measure 


That call the fresh spirit of fragrancy forth. 


As ill would suit the swan's decline ! 


So it is not 'mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, 


Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee. 


That the depth of Love's generous spirit ap- 


Invoke thy breath for Freedom's strains, 


pears ; 


^Mien e'en the wreaths in which I dress thee. 


To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its 


Are sadly mix'd — half flowers, half chains ? 


birth, 




But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by 


But come — if yet thy frame can borrow 


tears. 


One breath of joy, 0, breathe for me, 




And show the world, in chains and sorrow, 


'v 


How sweet thy music still can be ; 


AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 


How gayly, e'en 'mid gloom surrounding. 


As slow our ship her foamy track 


Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill — 


Against the wind was cleaving, 


Like Memnon's broken image sounding. 


Her trembling pennant still look'd back 


':Mid desolation tuneful stiU ! '■ 


To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 




So loath we part from all we love. 





From all the links that bind us ; 




So turn our hearts as on we rove, 


IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. 


To those we've left behind us. 


In the morning of Hfe, when its cares are un- 


AVhen, round the bowl, of vanish' d years 


known, 


We talk, Avith joyous seeming, — 


And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin. 


With smiles that might as well be tears. 


When we live in a bright-beaming world of our 


So faint, so sad their beaming ; 


own. 


W^hile mem'ry brings us back again 


And the light that surrounds us is all from 


Each early tie that twined us. 


withm ; 


0, sweet's the cup that circles then 


0, 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time 


To those we've left behind us. 


We can love, as in hours of less transport we 




may; — 


And when, in other climes, we meet 




Some isle, or vale enchanting. 


1 Dimidio magicje resonant ubi Memnone chorim. — Juve- 


Where all looks flow'ry, wild, and sweet, 


nal 


And nought but love is wanting ; 



£40 



IRISH MELODIES. 



We think how great had been our bliss, 
If Heav'n had but assign'd us 

To live and die in scenes like this, 
With some we've left behind us ! 

As trav'llers oft look back at eve. 

When eastward darkly going, 
To gaze upon that light they leave 

Still faint behind them glowing, — 
So, when the close of pleasure's day 

To gloom hath near consign'd us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 



WHEN COLD IN THE EAUTH. 

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast 
loved. 
Be his faults and his foUies forgot by thee 
then ; 
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed. 

Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. 
And O, if 'tis pain to remember how far 

From the pathways of light he was tempted 
to roam. 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star 
That arose on his darkness, and guided him 
home. 

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came 
The revealings, that taught him true love to 
adore. 
To feel the bright presence, and turn him with 
shame 
From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. 
O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and 
wild, 
Thou cam'st, like a soft golden calm o'er the 
sea; 
And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled 
On his ev'ning horizon, the light was from 
thee. 

And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly 
might rise. 
And though falsehood again would allure him 
to stray. 
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those 
eyes, 
And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanish'd 
away. 
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew 
dim, 
A*: the daybeam alone could its lustre repair. 



So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him. 
He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there. 



REMEMBER THEE. 

Remember thee ? yes, while there's life in thig 

heart. 
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy 

showers. 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. 

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, 

and free, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier 

brow, 
But 0, could I love thee more deeply than now ? 

No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs. 
But make thee more painfuUy dear to thy sons — 
Whose hearts, like the young of the desert bird'* 

nest, 
Drink love in each lifedrop that flows from thy 

breast. 



WREATHE THE BOWL. 

Wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul. 

The brightest Wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heaven to-night. 

And leave dull earth behind us. 
Should Love amid 
The wreaths be hid. 

That Joy th' enchanter, brings ua, 
No danger fear. 
While wine is near, 

We'U drown him if he stings us. 
Then, wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us ; 
We'll take a flight 
Towards heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind u». 

'Twas nectar fed, 

Of old, 'tis said. 
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 

And man may brew 

His nectar too, 
Th? rich receipt's as follows - 



IRISH MELODIES. 241 


Take wine like this, 
Let looks of bliss 


IF THOU'LT BE MINE. 


Around it well be blended, 


If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air. 


Then bring "Wit's beam 


Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet ; 


To warm the stream, 


Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair. 


And there's 3'our nectar, splendid ! 


Or in Hope's SAveet music sounds most sweet. 


So wreathe the bowl 


Shall be ours — if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


With flowers of soul. 




The brightest Wit can find us ; 


Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove. 


We'll take a flight 


A voice divine shall talk in each stream ; 


Towards heaven to-night, 


The stars shall look like worlds of love. 


A.nd leave dull earth behind us. 


And this earth be all one beautiful dream 




In our eyes — if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


Saj', whj' did Time 




His glass sublime 


And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high. 


Fill up with sands unsightly. 


Like streams, that come from heavenward luUs, 


When wine, he knew, 


Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie 


Runs brisker through, 


To be bathed by those eternal rills, 


And sparkles far more brightly ? 


Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love ! 


0, lend it us. 




And, smiling thus, 


AU this and more the Spirit of Love 


The glass in two we'll sever, 


Can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells ; 


Make pleasure glide 


That heaven which forms his home above. 


In double tide, 


He can make on earth, wherever he dweUs, 


And fill both ends forever ! 


As thou'lt own, — if thou wilt be mine, love 1 


Then wreathe the bowl 




With flowers of soul 




The brightest Wit can find us ; 




We'll take a flight 
Towards heaven to-night. 


TO LADIES' EYES. 


And leave dull earth behind us. 


To Ladies' eyes around, boy. 




We can't refuse, we can't refuse, 




Though bright eyes so abound, boy. 




'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. 




For thick as stars that lighten 


WHKNE'ER I SEE THOSE SMILING 
EYES. 


Yon airy bow'rs, yon airy bow'rs. 
The countless eyes that brighten 




This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 


Whene'er I see those smiling eyes. 


But fill the cup — where'er, boy. 


So full of hope, and joy, and light. 


Our choice may fall, our choice may faU, 


As if no cloud could ever rise. 


We're sure to find Love there, boy. 


To dim a heav'n so purely bright — 


So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 


I sigh to think how soon that brow 




In grief may lose its every ray. 


Some looks there are so holy. 


And that light heart, so joyous now. 


They seem but giv'n, they seem but giv'n. 


Almost forget it once was gay. 


As shining beacons, solely. 




To light to heav'n, to light to heav'n. 


For time will come with aU its blights. 


While some — 0, ne'er believe them — 


The ruined hope, the friend unkind. 


With tempting ray, with tempting ray. 


And love, that leaves, where'er it lights. 


Would lead us (God forgive them !) 


A chill'd or burning heart behind : — 


The other way, the other way. 


While youth, that now like snow appears. 


But fiU the cup — where'er, boy. 


Ere sullied by the dark'ning rain. 


Our choice may fall, our choice may fall. 


When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears 


We're sure to find Love there, boy. 


Can never shine so bright again. 
31 


So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 



242 



lETSH MELODIES. 



In some, as in a mirror, 

Love seems portray'd, Love seems portray'd. 
But shun the flatterinj; error, 

'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. 
Himself has fix'd his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips — but this is telling — 

So here they go ! so here they go ! 
Fill up, fill up — where'er, boy. 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 



FORGET NOT THE FIELD. 

Forget not the field where they perish' d, 

The truest, the last of the brave, 
All gone — and the bright hope we cherish'd 

Gone with them, and quench' d in their grave ! 

O, could we from death but recover 
Those hearts as they bounded before, 

In the face of high heav'n to fight over 
That combat for freedom once more ; — 

Could the chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us then, 

No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 

Lut 'tis past — and, though blazon'd in story 

The name of our Victor may be, 
Accurs'd is the march of that glory 

Which treads o'er the hearts of the free. 

F cir dearer the grave or the prison, 

Illumed by one patriot name. 
Than the trophies of all, who have risen 

On Liberty's ruins to fame. 



i'HEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. 

I'het may rail at this life — from the hour I 
began it, 
I found it a life full of kindness and bliss ; 
And, until they can show me some happier 
planet. 
More social and bright, I'll content me wth 
this. 



1 Tous les habitana de Mercure sont vifs. — Pluralite des 
Mondes, 

2 La Terre pourra Stre pour V^nus I'ftoile du berger et la 



As long as the world has such lips and such 
eyes. 
As before me this moment enraptured I see, 
They may say what they will of their orbs in 
the skies. 
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and 
me. 

In Mercury's star, where each moment can 
bring them 
New sunshine and wit from the fountain on 
h=gh, 
Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to 
sing them,' 
They've none, even there, more enamour'd 
than I. 
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd to love, 

And that eje its divine inspiration shall be. 
They may talk as they will of their Edens above. 
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and 



In that star of the west, by whose shado-wj' 
splendor. 
At twilight so often we've roam'd through 
the dew. 
There are maidens, perhaps, Avho have bosoms 
as tender, 
And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.' 
But though they were even more bright than 
the queen 
Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, 
As I never those fair young celestials have seen. 
Why — this earth is the planet for you, love, 
and me. 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, 
Where sunshine and smiles must be equally 
rare, 
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that 
station, 
Heav'n knows we have plenty on earth we 
could spare. 
0, think what a world we should have of it 
here. 
If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee. 
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere, 
And leave earth to such spirits as you, lore, 
and me. 



mfere des amours, conime Venus I'est pour nous. — Pluraht, 
des Mondes. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



O FOR THE SWORDS OF FORMER 
TIME ! 

FOR the swords of former time ! 

O for the men who bore them, 
When arm'd for Right, they stood sublime, 

And tyrants crouch' d before them ; 
Wlien free yet, ere courts began 

With honors to enslave him. 
The best honors worn by Man 

Were those which Virtue gave him. 
O for the swords, &c. &c. 

O for the Kings who flourish' d then ! 

O for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of free-bom men 

Were all the ramparts round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms true. 

The throne was but the centre. 
Round which Love a circle drew, 

That Treason durst not enter. 
O for the Kings who flourish'd then ! 

O for the pomp that crown'd them, 
When hearts and hands of free-born men 

Were all the ramparts round them ! 



.ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 

ST. SENANUS.' 

" O, HASTE and leave this sacred isle, 
" Unholy bark, ere morning smile ; 
" For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

*' A female form I see ; 
" And I have sworn this sainted sod 
" Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." 

THE LADY. 

" O, Father, send not hence my bark, 

" Through wintry winds and billows dark : 

" I come with humble heart to share 

" Thy morn and evening prayer ; 
" Nor mine the feet, 0, holy Saint, 
" The brightness of thy sod to taint." 

1 In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is taken from 
»n old Kilkenny MS., and may be found among the Acta 
•Sanctorum Hiberiiue, we are told of his fliglit to the island 
jf Scattery, and liis resolution not to admit any woman of 
the party ; he refused to receive even a sister saint, St. 
Cannera, whom an angel had taken to the island for the ex- 
press purpose of introducing her to him. The following 
was the ungracious answer of Senanus according to his 
poetical biographer: 



The Lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd ; 
The winds blew fresh, the bark return'd 
But legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morning's light delay'd. 
And given the saint one rosy smile. 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 



NE'ER ASK THE HOUR. 

Ne'er ask the hour — what is it to us 

How Time deals out his treasures ? 
The golden moments lent us thus. 

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. 
If counting them o'er could add to their blisses 

I'd number each glorious second : 
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses, 

'Too quick and sweet to be reckon' d. 
Then fill the cup — what is to us 

How Time his circle measures ? 
The fairy hours we call up thus. 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's. 

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours. 

Till Care, one summer's morning. 
Set up, among his smiling flowers, 

A dial, by way of warning. 
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun. 

As long as its light was glowing, 
Than to watch with old Care how the shadow 
stole on. 

And how fast that light was going. 
So fill the cup — what is it to us 

How Time his circle measures ? 
The fairy hours we call up thus. 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's, 



SAIL ON, SAIL ON. 

Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark — 
Wherever blows the welcome wind, 

It cannot lead to scenes more dark. 
More sad than those we leave behind. 

Each wave that passes seems to say, 

" Though death beneath our smile may be 



Cut PrcBsul, quid fceminis 
Commune est cum monachis 7 
JVcc te nee vllam iilUtm 
Admittcmus in insulam. 
See the Acta Sand. Hib., page 610. 

According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was no less a per- 
sonage than the river Shannon ; but O'Connor and othel 
antiquarians deny the metamorphose indignantly. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



•' Less cold we are, less false than they, 

" Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee." 

Sail on, sail on, — through endless space — 

Through calm — through tempest — stop no 
more : 
The stormiest sea's a resting-place 

To him who leaves such hearts on shore. 
Or — if some desert land we meet, 

Where never yet false-hearted men 
Profaned a world, that else were sweet, — 

Then rest thee, bark, but not till then. 



THE PARALLEL. 

Yes, sad one of Sion,' if closely resembling, 
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither' d-up 
heart — 
If drinking deep, deep, of the same '* cup of 
trembling " 
Could make us thy children, our parent 
thou art. 

Like thee doth our nation lie conquer' d and 
broken, 
And fall'n from her head is the once royal 
crown ; 
In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath 
spoken, 
And " while it is day yet, her sun hath gone 
down." ^ 

Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of 
returning. 
Die far from the home it were life to behold ; 
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their 
mourning. 
Remember the bright things that bless'd them 
of old. 

Ah, well may we call her, like thee, " the For- 
saken," ^ 
Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are 
slaves ; 
And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest 
they waken, 
Have tones 'mid their mirth Uke the wind 
over graves ! 

1 These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise 
by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that the Irish were 
originally Jews. 

2 " Her sun is gone down while it was yet day." — Jer. 



3 " Thou shall no more I 



termed Forsaken."— Uaiah. 



Yet hadst thou thy vengeance — yet came there 
the morrow, 
That shines out, at last, on the longest dark 
night. 
When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery 
and sorrow, 
Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight 

When that cup, which for others the proud 
Golden City * 
Had briram'd full of bitterness, drench' d her 
own lips ; 
And the world she had trampled on heard, 
without pity. 
The howl in her halls, and the cry from her 
ships. 

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty 
came over 
Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, 
And, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to 
cover,* 
The Lady of Kingdoms ' lay low in the dust. 



DRINK OF THIS CUP. 

Drink of this cup ; — you'll find there s a 
spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 
Would you forget the dark world we are in, 

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the 
top of it ; 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 

To Immortals themselves, you must drain 
every drop of it ; 
Send round the cup — for there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter form'd with such power 
To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing ; 

Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, 
A harvest of gold in the fields it stood 
lau"hing. 



4 " How hath the oppressor ceased ! the golden city 
ceased ! " — Isaiah, xiv. 4. 

s " Thy pomp is brought down to the grave and 

the worms cover thee." — Isaiah, xiv. 11. 

8 " Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of Kingdoms.' 
— Isaiah, xlvil. 5. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



245 



riuTO having, by Nature's enchantment, been 
mi'd 
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest 
weather, 
This wondeful juice from its core was distill'd 
To enliven such hearts as are here brought 
together. 
Then drink of the cup — you'll find there's a 
spell in 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reaUty. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no 
one — 
Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so 
awful, 
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on, 

Yet 'tis n't less potent for being unlawful. 
And, ev'n though it taste of the smoke of that 
flame, 
Which in silence extracted its virtue for- 
bidden — 
Fill up — there's a fire in some hearts I could 
name, 
Which may work too its charm, though as 
lawless and hidden. 
So drink of the cup — for O there's a spell in 
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of .mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reaKty. 



THE FORTUNE TELLER. 

Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 
And I'll tell you your fortune truly 

As ever 'twas told, by the new moon's light. 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

But, for the world, let no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive me ; 

Such secrets between you and me and the sky 
Should never go farther, believe me. 

If at that hour the heav'ns be not dim. 
My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition, — the image of him 
Whose destiny 'tis to adore you. 

And if to that phantom you'll be kind. 
So fondly around you he'll hover, 

' Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some 
part of Ireland, where the ghosts ol persons who have died 
iu foreign lands walk about and converse with those they 



You'U hardly, my dear, any difference find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He'U kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 

An ardor, of which such an innocent sprite 
You'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

What other thoughts and events may arise, 
As in destiny's book I've not seen them. 

Must only be left to the stars and your eyes 
To settle, ere morning, between them. 



O, YE DEAD! 

O, YE Dead ! O, ye Dead ! ' whom we know by 

the light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you 
move like men who live. 
Why leave you thus your graves, 
In far-off fields and waves. 
Where the worm and the sea bird only know 
your bed. 
To haunt tliis spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
And the hearts that wail'd you, like your own, 
lie dead ? 

It is true, it is true, we are shadows cold and 

wan ; 
And the fair and the bravo whom we lov'd on 
on earth are gone ; 
But still thus ev'n in death, 
So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flow'rs in our youth we 
wander'd o'er. 
That ere, condemn'd, we go. 
To freeze 'mid Hecla's snow. 
We would taste it a while, and think we live 
once more ! 



O'DONOHUE'S MISTRESS. 

Of all the fair months that round the sun 
In light-link'd dance their circles run. 

Sweet May, shine thou for me ; 
For still, when thy earliest beams arise. 
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies. 

Sweet May, returns to me. 

meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return 
to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount 
Hecla, and disappear immediately. 



246 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves 
Its lingering sinile on golden eves, 

Fair Lake thou'rt dearest to me ; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steed ' for him 

Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. 

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, 

White Steed, most joy to thee ; 
Who still, with the first young glance of spring. 
From under that glorious lake dost bring 

My love, my chief, to me. 

While, -white as the sail some bark unfurls. 
When newly launch'd, thy long mane ' curls. 

Fair Steed, as white and free ; 
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers. 
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers, 

Around my love and thee. 

Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, 
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, 

Most sweet that death will be. 
Which, under the next May evening's light, 
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, 

Dear love, I'll die for thee. 



ECHO. 

How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To m.usic at night, 
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, 

Goes answering light. 

Yet Love hath echoes truer far. 

And far more sweet. 
Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, 
Of horn or lute, or soft guitar, 

The songs repeat. 

'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, 
And only then, — 



1 The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Donohue 
and his White Horse, may he found in Mr. Weld's Account 
of Killarney, or more fully detailed in Derrick's Letters. 
For many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is 
supposed to have been seen on tlie morning of May day, 
gliding over the hike on his favorite white horse, to the sound 
of sweet unearthly music, and preceded hy groups of youths 
and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers 
in his lath. 



The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear, 
Is by that one, that only dear. 
Breathed back again ! 



O BANQUET NOT 

O BANQUET not in those shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but come to me : 
For mine's a garden of faded flowers, 

More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feast of tears, 

And many a cup in silence pour ; 
Our gueets, the shades of former years, 

Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 

There, while the myrtle's withering bought 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows. 

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. 
Or, while some blighted laurel waves 

Its branches o'er the dreary spot. 
We'll drink to those neglected graves. 

Where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 



THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE. 

The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, 
The night's long hours still find me thinking 

Of thee, thee, only thee. 
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd. 
And smiles are near, that once enchanted, 
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round. 
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted 
By thee, thee, only thee. 

Whatever in fame's high path could waken 
My spirit once, is now forsaken 
For thee, thee, only thee. 
Like shores, by which some headlong bark 

To th' ocean hurries, resting never. 
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, 
I knoAv not, heed not, hastening ever 
To thee, thee, only thee. 



Among other stories, connected with this Legend of the 
Lakes, it is said that there was a young and beautiful girl 
whose imaginatiim was so impressed with the idea of this 
visionary chieltain, that she laiicied herself in love with 
him, and at last, in a fit of Insanity, on a May morning 
threw herself into the lake. 

2 The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which comu 
on a windy day, crested with foam, " O'Donohuo's white 
horses." 



IRISH MELODIES. 



247 



I have not a joy but of thy bringing, 

And pain itself seems sweet when springing 

From thee, thee, only thee. 
Like spells, that nought on earth can break, 

Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken, 
This heart, howe'er the world may wake 
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken 
By thee, thee, only thee. 



SHALL THE HARP THEN BE SILENT. 

Tjhall the Harp then be silent, when he who 
first gave 
To our country a name, is Avithdrawn from 
all eyes ? 
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave. 
Where the first — where the last of her Pa- 
triots lies ? 

No — faint though the death song may fall from 
his lips, 
Though his Harp, like his soul, may with 
shadows be cross'd. 
Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse. 
And proclaim to the world what a star hath 
been lost ; ' — 

What a union of all the affections and powers 

By which life is exalted, embellish' d, refined. 
Was embraced in that spirit — whose centre 
was ours. 
While its mighty circumference circled man- 
kind. 

O, who that loves Erin, or who that can see, 
Through the waste of her annals, that epoch 
sublime — 

Like a pjTamid raised in the desert — where he 
And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time ; 

That one lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom 

And the madness of ages, when fill'd with his 

soul, 

A Nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom. 

And for one sacred instant, touch'd Liberty's 

goal ? 

Who, that ever hath heard him — hath drank 
at the source 
Of that wonderful eloquence, all Erin's own, 



1 'J'hese lines were written on the death of our great 
patriot, Grattan, in the year 1820. It is only the two first 
verses that are either intended -^r fitted to be sung. 



In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and 
the force, 
And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are 
shown ? 

An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave 

Wander'd free and triumphant, with thought"" 
that shone through, 
As clear as the brook's "stone of lustre," and 
gave. 
With the flash of the gem, its solidity too. 

Who, that ever approach' d him, when free from 
the crowd. 
In a home full of love, he delighted to tread 
'Mong the trees which a nation had giv'n, and 
which bow'd. 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his 
head — 

Is there one, who hath thus, through his orbit 

of life 
But at distance observed him — through glory, 

through blame. 
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, 
Wliether shining or clouded, still high and 

the same, — 

O no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns 
Deep, deep o'er the grave, where such glory 

is shrined — 
O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong 

the urns 
Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind ! 



O, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. 

O, THE sight entrancing. 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing ! 
AVhen hearts are all high beating. 
And the trumpet's voice repeating 

That song, whose breath 

May lead to death. 
But never to retreating. 
0, the sight entrancing. 
When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade. 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancins:- 



248 IRISH MELODIES. 


Yet, 'tis not helm or feather — 


He left its shade, when every tree. 


For ask yon despot, whether 


Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way. 


His plumed bands 




Could bring such hands 


Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! 


And hearts as ours together. 


And all the lovelier for thy tears — 


Leave pomps to those who need 'em — 


For though but rare thy sunny smile, 


Give man but heart and freedom, 


'Tis heaven's own glance whan it appears. 


And proud he braves 




The gaudiest slaves 


Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 


That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. 


But, when ituleed they come, divine — 


The sword may pierce the beaver, 


The brightest Ught the sun e'er threw 


Stone walls in time may sever, 


Is lifeless to one gleam of thine ! 


'Tis mind alone. 




"Worth steel and stone, 




That keeps men free forever. 




0, that sight entrancing, 




"When the morning's beam is glancing, 


'TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.' 


O'er files arraj^'d 


'Twas one of those dreams, that by music are 


With helm and blade, 


brought, 


A.nd in Freedom's cause advancing ! 


Like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's wann 




thought — 




"When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on. 


S"U^EET INNISFALLEN. 


And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. 


Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well. 




May calm and sunshine long be thine ! 


The wild notes he heard o'er the water were 


How fair thou art let others tell, — 


those 


lofeel how fair shall long be mine. 


He had taught to sing Erin's dark bondage and 

woes. 
And the breath of the bugle now wafted them 


Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 


In memory's dream that sunny smUe, 


o'er 


"Which o'er thee on that evening fell, 


From Dinis' green isle, to Ciena's wooded shore. 


"When first I saw thy fairy isle. 






He listen'd — while, high o'er the eagle's rude 


'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one. 


nest. 


Who had to turn to paths of care — 


The lingering sounds on their way loved to 


Through crowded haunts again to run. 


rest; 


And leave thee bright and silent there ; 


And the echoes sung back from their full moun- 




tain quire, 


No more unto thy shores to come, 


As if loath to let song so enchanting expire. 


But on the world's rude ocean toss'd. 




Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 


It seem'd as if ev'ry sweet note, that died here. 


Of sunshine he l^ad seen and lost. 


Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, 




Some heav'n in those hills, where the soul of 


Far better in thy weeping hours 


the strain 


To part from thee, as I do now. 


That had ceased upon earth was awaking again ! 


When mist is o'er thy blooming bowers. 




Like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. 


forgive, if, while listening to music, whose 




breath 


For, though unrivall'd still thy grace, 


Seem'd to circle his name with a charm against 


Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, 


death. 


But thus in shadow, seem'st a place 


He should feel a proud Spirit within him pro- 


Where erring man might hope to rest — 


claim. 




" Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame ; 


Might hope to rest, and find in thee 




A gloom like Eden's on the day 


1 Written during a visit to Lord Kenniare , at Killariiey 



IRISH MELODIES. 



' Even so, though thy memory should now die 

away, 
''Twill be caught up again in some happier 

day, 
• And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, 
'Through the answering Future, thy name and 

thy song." 



FAIREST ! PUT ON A WHILE. 

Fairest ! put on a while 

These pinions of light I bring thee, 
And o'er thy own green isle 

In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel's plume, 

At golden sunset hover 
O'er scenes so full of bloom, 

As I shall waft thee over. 

Fields, where the Spring delays, 

And fearlessly meets the ardor 
Of the warm Summer's gaze, 

With only her tears to guard her. 
Rocks, through myrtle boughs 

In grace majestic frowning. 
Like some bold warrior's brows 

That Love hath just been crowning. 

Islets, so freshly fair. 

That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But from his course through air 

He hath been won down by them ; ' — 
Types, sweet maid, of thee, 

Whose look, whose blush inviting. 
Never did Love yet see 

From Heav'n, without alighting. 

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,* 

And caves, where the gem is sleeping, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

Lets fall in lonely weeping. 
Glens,^ where Ocean comes. 

To 'scape the wild wind's rancor, 
And Harbors, worthiest homes. 

Where Freedom's fleet can anchor. 

Then, if, while scenes so grand, 
So beautiful, shine before thee. 



1 In describing the Skeligs (islands ofthe Barony of Forth), 
Dr. Keating says, " Tliere is a certain attractive virtue in 
the soil which draws down all the birds that attempt to fly 
over it, and obliges them to light upon the roclc." 

a " Neiiiiuis, a British writer of the ninth century, men- 
tions tlie abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he 
32 



Pride for thy own dear land 

Should haply be stealing o'er thee, 

O, let grief come first. 

O'er pride itself victorious — 

Thinking how man hath curs'd 

What Heaven had made so glorious ! 



QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. 

Quick ! we have but a second. 

Fill round the cup, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 

And we must away, away ! 
Grasp the pleasure that's flying. 

For O, not Orpheus' strain 
Could keep sweet hours from dying. 
Or charm them to life again. 

Then, quick ! we have but a second. 

Fill round the cup, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 

See the glass how it flushes, 

Like some young Hebe's lip. 
And half meets thine, and blushes 
That thou shouldst delay to sip . 
Shame, O shame unto thee. 

If ever thou seest that day. 

When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 

And turn untouch'd away ! 

Then quick ! we have but a second. 

Fill round, fill round, while you may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon'd, 
And we must away, away ! 



AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. 

And doth not a meeting like this make amends. 
For all the long years I've been wandering 
away — 
To see thus around me my youth's early friends. 

As smiling and kind as in that happy day ? 
Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er 
mine. 
The snow fall of time may be stealing — what 
then? 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine. 
We'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. 

says, hung them behind their ears : and this we find con- 
firmed by a present made A. C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of 
Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a con- 
siderable quantity of Irish pearls."— O'Halloran. 
* Glengariff. 



250 



IRISH MELODIES. 



What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, 
In gazing on those we've been lost to so long ! 
The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were 
part, 
Still round them, like visions of yesterday, 
throng. 
As letters some hand hath invisibly traced. 
When held to the flame will steal out on the 
sight, 
So many a feeling, that long seem'd effaced. 
The warmth of a moment like this brings to 
Hght. 

And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide. 

To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew. 
Though oft wc may see, looking down on the tide. 

The wreck of full many a hope shining through ; 
Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, 

That once made a garden of all the gay shore. 
Deceived for a moment, we'll think them still 
ours. 

And breathe the fresh air of life's morning 
once more.' 

So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, 
Is all we can have of the few we hold dear ; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 

For want of some heart, that could echo it, 
near. 
Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is 
gone. 
To meet in some world of more permanent 
bliss. 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on. 
Is all we enjoy of each other in this."'' 

But, come, the more rare such delights to the 
heart. 
The more we should welcome and bless them 
the more ; 
They're ours when we meet, — they are lost 
when we part, 
Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 
'tis o'er. 
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere Ave 
drink. 
Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, 
through pain, 

1 Jours charmans, quand je songe k vos heureux instans, 
Je peiise remoiiter le fleuve de ines ans ; 

El moil cffliir, encliaiite sur sa rive Heiirle, 
Respire encore I'air pur du matin de la vie. 

2 The same tliought lias been happily expressed by my 
friend Mr. Washington Irving, in his Bracebridge Hill, vol. 
i. p. yi3. The sincere pleasure which I feel in calling this 



That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, 
Her magic shall send it direct through the 
chain. 

THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. 

In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, 
Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night. 
He was liaunted and watch'd by a Mountain 
Sprite. 

As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er 
The golden sands of that island shore, 
A footprint sparkled before his sight — 
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite ! 

Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 

As bending o'er the stream he lay. 

There pecp'd down o'er him two eyes of light, 

And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite. 

He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird. 

That spirit fled ; — and the youth but heard 

Sweet music, such as marks the flight 

Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. 

One night, stiU haunted by that bright look, 

The boy, bewilder' d, his pencil took, 

And, guided only by memory's light, 

Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. 

" thou, who West the shadow," cried 

A voice, low whisp'ring by his side, 

" Now turn and see," — here the youth's delight 

Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. 

" Of all the Spirits of land and sea," 

Then rapt he murmur'd, " there's none like thee, 

" And oft, O oft, may thy foot thus light, 

" In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite ! " 



AS VANQUISH' D ERIN. 

As vanquish' d Erin wept beside 
The Boyne's ill-fated river, 

gentleman my friend, is much enhanced by the reflection 
that lie is too good an American, to have admitted me sc^ 
readily to such a distinction, if he had not known tliat my 
feelings towards the great and free country thai gave him 
birth, have been long such as every real lover ol the liberty 
and happiness of the human race must entertain. 



IRISH MELODIES. 261 


She saw where Discord, in the tide, 


If you've eyes, look but on her, 


Had dropp'd his loaded quiver. 


And blush while you blame. 


" Lie hid," she cried, " ye venom'd darts. 


Hath the pearl less whiteness 


" Where mortal eye may shun you ; 


Because of its birth ? 


" Lie hid — the stain of manly hearts, 


Hath the violet less brightness 


" That bled for me, is on you." 


For growing near earth ? 


But vain her wish, her weeping vain, — 


No — Man for his glory- 


As Time too well hath taught her — 


To ancestry flies ; 


Each year the Fiend returns again. 


But Woman's bright story 


And dives into that water ; 


Is told in her eyes. 


And brings, triumphant, from beneath 


While the Monarch but traces 


His shafts of desolation, 


Through mortals his line. 


And sends them, wiiig'd with worse than death, 


Beauty, born of the Graces, 


Through all her madd'ning nation. 


Eanks next to Divine ! 


Alas for her who sits and mourns. 




Ev'n now, beside that river — 


THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART. 


Unwearied still the Fiend returns. 




And stored is still his quiver. 


They know not my heart, who believe there 


" When will this end, ye Powers of Good ? " 


can be 


She weeping asks forever ; 


One stain of this earth in its feelings for thcc ; 


But only hears, from out that flood, 


Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young 


The Demon answer, " Never ! " 


hour. 




As pure as the morning's first dew on the flow'r, 




I could harm what I love, — as the sun's wanton 


DESMOND'S SONG.' 


ray 




But smiles on the dewdrop to waste it away. 


By the Feal's wave benighted, 




No star in the skies. 


No — beaming with light as those young fea- 


To thy door by Love lighted, 


tures are, 


I first saw those eyes. 


There's a light round thy heart which is love- 


Some voice whisper'd o'er me, 


lier far : 


As the threshold I cross' d. 


It is not that cheek — 'tis the soul dawning clear 


There was ruin before me. 


Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty 


If I loved, I was lost. 


so dear ; 




As the sky we look up to, though glorious and 


Love came, and brought sorrow 


fair. 


Too soon in his train ; 


Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies 


Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 


there ! 


'Twere welcome again. 





Though misery's full measure 




My portion should be, 


I WISH I WAS BY THAT DIM LAKE. 


I would drain it with pleasure, 




If pour'd out by thee. 


I WISH I was by that dim Lake," 




Where sinful souls their farewell take 


You, who call it dishonor 


Of this vain world, and half way lie 


To bow to this flame, 


In death's cold shadow, ere they die. 


1 " Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had acci- 


liance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded 


dentally been so engaged in the chase, that he was benighted 


this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation 


near Tralee, and obliged to fake shelter at the Abbey of 


of his family." -/../and, vol. ii. 


Feal, in the house of one of his dependants, called Mac 


2 These verses are meant to allude to that ancient naunt 


Cormac. Catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, in- 


of superstition, called Patrick's Purgatory. " In the midst 


Btantlv inspired the Earl with a violent passion, which he 


of these gloomy regions of Donegall (says Dr. Campbell) 


eniild not subdue. He married her, and by this inferior al- 


lay a lake, which was to become the mystic theatre of this 



252 



IRISH MELODIES. 



There, there, far from thee, 
Deceitful world, my home should be ; 
Where, come what might of gloom and pain, 
False hope should ne'er deceive again. 

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 

Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves, qui v' ring o'er my head, 

Like man, unquiet ev'n when dead ! 

These, ay, these shall wean 

My soul from life's deluding scene. 

And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom, 

Like willows, downward towards the tomb. 

As they, who to their couch at night 
Would win repose, first quench the light, 
So must the hopes, that keep this breast 
Awake, be quench' d, ere it can rest. 
Cold, cold, this heart must grow, 
Unmoved by either joj' or woe. 
Like fi-eezing founts, where all that's thrown 
Within their current turns to stone. 



SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 

She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre 

The rosy rays of evening fell. 
As if to feed with their soft fire 

The soul within that trembling shell. 
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek. 

And play'd around those lips that sung 
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak. 

If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. 

But soon the West no longer burn'd. 

Each rosy ray from heav'n withdrew ; 
And, when to gaze again I turn'd, 

The minstrel's form seem'd fading too. 
As if her light and heav'n's were one, 

The glory all had loft that frame ; 
And from her glimmering Ups the tone, 

As from a parting spirit, came.' 



tabled and intermediate state. In the lake were several 
islands; but one of tliem was dignified with that called the 
Mouth of Purgatory, which, during the dark ages, attract- 
ed the notice of all Christendom, and was the resort of 
penitents and pilgrims from almost every country in Eu- 
rope." 

" It was," as the same writer tells us, " one of the most 
dismal and dreary spots in the North, almost inaccessible, 
through deep glens and nigged mountains, frightful with 
impending rocks, and the hollow murnnirs of the western 
Rinds in dark caverns, peopled only with such fantastic be- 



Who ever lov'd, but had the thought 

That he and all he loved must part ? 
Fill'd with this fear, I flew and caught 

The fading image to my heart — 
And cried, " O Love ! is this thy doom ? 

" O light of youth's resplendent day ! 
" Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 

•' And thus, like sunshine, die away ? " 



SING — SING — MUSIC WAS GIVEN. 

Sing — sing — Music was given. 

To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 

By harmony's laws alone are kept moving. 
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, 

But Love from the lips his true archery wings ; 
And she, who but feathers the dart when she 
speaks, 
At once sends it home to the heart when she 
sings. 
Then sing — sing — Music was given, 
To brighten the gay, and kindle the 
loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept mov- 



When Love, rock'd by his mother, 

Lay sleeping as calm as slumber covdd make 
him, 
" Hush, hush," said Venus, " no other 

" Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake 
him." 
Dreaming of music he slumber'd the while 

Till faint from his lip a soft melody broke, 
And Venus, enchanted, look'd on with a smile. 
While Love to his own sweet singing awoke. 
Then sing — sing — Music was given. 
To brighten the gay, and kindle the 
loving; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony's laws alone are kept mov- 
ing. 



ings as the mind, however gay, is, from strange association, 
wont to appropriate to such gloomy scenes." — Strictures on 
the Ecclesiastical and Lit rary History of Ireland. 

1 The thought here was suggested by some beautiful lines 
in Mr. Rogers's Poem of Human Life, beginning — 

"Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows 
Less and less earthly." 

I would quote the entire passage, did I not fear to put my 
own humble imitation of it out of countenance. 



IRISH MELODIES. 253 




Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me ; 
Alike our doom is cast, 


THOUGH HUMBLE THE BANQUET. 


Though humble the banquet to which I invite 


Both lost to all but memory, 


thee, 


We live but in the past. 


Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can 




command : 


How mournfully the midnight air 


Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, 


Among thy chords doth sigh. 


to light thee, 


As if it sought some echo there 


And Love serve the feast with his own willing 


Of voices long gone by ; — 


hand. 


Of Chieftains, now forgot, who secm'd 




The foremost then in fame ; 


And though Fortune may seem to have tum'd 


Of Bards who, once immortal dcem'd. 


from the dwelling 


Now sleep without a name. — 


Of him thou regardest her favoring ray, 


In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 


Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures 


Among thy chords doth sigh ; 


excelling, 


In vain it seeks an echo there 


Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his 


Of voices long gone by. 


way. 






Could'st thou but call those spirits round, 


'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar do- 


Who once, in bower and hall, 


minion 


Sate listening to thy magic sound, 


Can turn from the path a pure conscience 


Now mute and mouldering all ; — 


approves ; 


But, no ; they would but wake to weep 


Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on 


Their children's slavery ; 


the pinion. 


Then leave them in their dreamless sleep. 


Holds upwards its course to the light which 


The dead, at least, are free ! — 


it loves. 


Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary ton©. 




That knell of Freedom's day ; 


'Tis this makes the pride of his hunxble retreat, 


Or, listening to its deathlike moan, 


And, with this, though of all other treasures 


Let me, too, die away. 


bereaved. 




The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet 




Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er re- 




ceived. 


SONG OF THE BATTLE EVE. 


Then, come, — if a board so untempting hath 


Time — THE Ninth Centdbt. 


power 


To-MORROw, comrade, we 


To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be 


On the battle plain must be. 


thine ; 


There to conquer, or both lie low ! 


And there's one, long the light of the bard's 


The morning star is up, — 


happy bower. 


But there's wine still in the cup, 


Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome 


And we'll take another quaif, ere we go, boy, go; 


with mine. 


We'll take another quaff, ere we go. 




'Tis true, in manliest eyes 


SENG, SWEET HARP. 


A passing tear will rise. 




When we think of the friends we leave lone ; 


Sing, sweet Harp, 0, sing to me 


But what can wailing do ? 


Some song of ancient days, 


See, our goblet's weeping too ! 


Whose sounds, in this sad memory, 


With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, 


Long-buried dreams shall raise ; — 


our own ; 


Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame, 


With its tears we'll chase away ovir own. 


Whose light once round us shone ; 




Of noble pride, now tum'd to shame, 


But daylight's stealing on ; — 


And hopes forever gone. — 


The last that o'er us shone 



254 



IRISH MELOUIES. 



Saw our children around us play ; 
The next — ah ! where shall we 
And those rosy urchins be ? 

But — no matter — grasp thy sword and away, 
boy, away ; 

No matter — grasp thy sword and away ! 

Let those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 

Ignobly by their firesides stay ; 
One sigh to home be given, 
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, 

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurrah ! 
hurrah ! hurrah ! 

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurrah ! 



THE WANDERING BARD. 

"What life like that of the bard can be, — 
The wandering bard, who roams as free 
As the mountain lark that o'er him sings. 
And, like that lark, a music brings 
"Within him, where'er he comes or goes, — 
A fount that forever flows ! 
The world's to him like some playground, 
Where fairies dance their moonlight round ; — 
If dimm'd the turf where late they trod, 
The elves but seek some greener sod ; 
So, when less bright his scene of glee. 
To another away flies he ! 

O, what would have been young Beauty's doom, 

Without a bard to fix her bloom ? 

They tell us, in the moon's bright round, 

Things lost in this dark world are found ; 

So charms, on earth long pass'd and gone, 

In the poet's lay live on. — 

Would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim ? 

You've only to give them all to him. 

Who, with but a touch of Fancy's wand, 

Can lend them life, this life beyond, 

And fix them high, in Poesy's sky, — 

Young stars that never die ! 

Then, welcome the bard where'er he comes, — 

I'or, though he hath countless airy homes, 

To which his wing excursive roves, 

Yet still, from time to time, he loves 

To light upon earth and find such cheer 

As brightens our banquet here. 

No matter how far, how fleet he flies. 

You've only to light up kind young eyes. 

Such signal fires as here are given, — 

\nd down he'll drop from Fancy's heaven, 



The minute such call to love or mirth 
Proclaims he's wanting on earth ! 



ALONE IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON. 

Alone in crowds to wander on. 

And feel that all the chai"m is gone 

Which voices dear and eyes beloved 

Shed round us once, where'er we roved — 

This, this the doom must be 

Of all who've loved, and lived to see 

The few bright things they thought would stay 

Forever near them, die away. 

Though fairer forms around us throng. 

Their smiles to others all belong. 

And want that charm which dwells alone 

Round those the fond heart calls its own. 

Where, where the sunny brow ? 

The long-known voice — where are they now ? 

Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain. 

The silence answers all too plain. 

O, what is Fancy's magic worth, 
If all her art cannot call forth 
One bliss like those we felt of old 
From lips now mute, and eyes now cold ? 
No, no, — her spell is vain, — 
As soon could she bring back again 
Those eyes themselves from out the grave, 
As wake again one bliss they gave. 



I'VE A SECRET TO TELL THEE. 

I've a secret to tell thee, but hush ! not here, — 

O, not where the world its vigil keeps : 
I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear. 

Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps ; 
Where summer's wave unmurmuring dies, 

Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush ; 
Where, if but a note her night bird sighs, 

The rose saith, chidingly, " Hush, sweet, 
hush ! " 

There, amid the deep silence of that hoiir, 

When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower. 

Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip : 
Like him, the boy,' who born among 

The flowers that on the Nile stream blush, 
Sits ever thus, — his only song 

To earth and heaven, " Hush, all, hush ! " 

1 The God of Silence, thus pictured by the Egyptians. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



255 



SONG OF INNISFAIL. 

They came from a land beyond the sea, 

And now o'er the western mam 
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly. 

From the sunny land of Spain. 
" O, Where's the Isle we've seen in dreams, 

" Our destin'd home or grave ? " • 
Thus sung they as, by the morning's beams, 

They swept the Atlantic wave. 

And lo, where afar o'er ocean shines 

A sparkle of radiant green. 
As though in that deep lay emerald mines. 

Whose light through the wave was seen. 
" 'Tis Innisfail "■' — 'tis Innisfail ! " 

Rings o'er the echoing sea ; 
While, bending to heav'n, the warriors hail 

That home of the brave and free. 

Tlicn turn'd they unto the Eastern wave, 

Where now their Day God's eye 
A look of such sunny omen gave 

As lighted up sea and sky. 
Nor frown was seen through sky or sea, 

Nor tear o'er leaf or sod. 
When first on their Isle of Destiny 

Our great forefathers trod. 



THE NIGHT DANCE. 

Strike the gay harp ! see the moon is on high, 
And, as true to her beam as the tides of the 
• ocean, 
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of 
her eye, 
Obey the mute call, and heave into motion. 
Then, sound notes — the gayest, the lightest, 
That ever took wing, when heav'n look'd 
brightest ! 

Again ! Again ! 
0, could such heart-stirring music be heard 

In that City of Statues described by romancers. 

So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirr'd. 

And statues themselves all start into dancers ! 

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears. 
And the flower of Beauty's own garden be- 
fore us, — 



1 " Milesius remembered the remarkable prediction of 
the principal Druid, wlio foretold that tlie posterity of Gad- 
elus should obtain the possession of a Western Island (which 
was Ireland), and there inhnbit." — Keatinff. 



While stars overhead leave the song of their 
spheres. 
And list'ning to ours, hang wondering o'er us ? 
Again, that strain ! — to hear it thus sounding 
Might set even Death's cold pulses bounding 
Again ! Again ! 
O, what delight when the youthful and gay, 
Each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a 
feather. 
Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May, 
And mingle sweet song and sunshine together ! 



THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. 

There are sounds of mirth in the night air ring 
ing. 

And lamps from every casement shown ; 
While voices blithe within are singing, 

That seem to say " Come," in every tone. 
Ah ! once how light, in Life's young season. 

My heart had leap'd at that sweet lay ; 
Nor paus'd to ask of greybeard Reason 

Should I the siren call obey. 



And, see — the lamps still livelier glitter, 

The siren lips more fondly sound ; 
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter 

To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms 

Could bend to tyranny's rude control, 
Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms. 

And yield to a smile his free-born soul ? 

Thus sung the sago, while, slyly stealing. 

The nymphs their fetters around him cast. 
And, — their laughing eyes, the while, conceal- 
ing, — 

Led Freedom's Bard their slave at last. 
For the Poet's heart, still proiae to loving. 

Was like that rock of the Druid race,^ 
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving. 

But all earth's power couldn't cast from its base. 



O, ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORR 

0, Arkanmore, loved Arranmore, 

How oft I dream of thee. 
And of those days when, by thy shore, 

I wander'd young and free. 



2 The Island of Destiny, one of the ancient names of 
Ireland. 

3 The Rocking Stones of the Druids, some of which no 
force is able to dislodge from their stations. 



256 



IRISH MELODIES. 



Full many a gath I've tried, since then, 
Through pleasure's flowery maze, 

But ne'er could find the bliss again 
I felt in those sweet days. 

How blithe upon thy breezy cliifs 

At sunny morn I've stood. 
With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along thy flood ; 
Or, when the western wave grew bright 

With daylight's parting wing. 
Have sought that Eden in its Ught 

Which dreaming poets sing ; ' — 

That Eden where th' immortal brave 

Dwell in a land serene, — 
Whose bow'rs beyond the shining wave. 

At sunset, oft are seen. 
Ah dream too full of sadd'ning truth ! 

Those mansions o'er the main 
Are like the hopes I buUt in youth, — 

As sunny and as vain ! 



LAY HIS SWOED BY HIS SIDE. 

Lay his sword by his side,* — it hath served 
him too well 
Not to rest near his pillow below ; 
To the last moment true, from liis hand ere it 
fell, 
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe. 
Fellow-lab'rers in life, let them slumber in death. 
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave, — 
That sword which he loved still unbroke iii its 
sheath, 
And himself unsubdued in his grave. 

Yet pause — for, in fancy, a still voice I hear. 

As if breathed from his brave heart's remains ; 
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear. 
Once sounded the war word, <' Burst your 
chains ! " 
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies 
deep, 
•' Though the day of your Chieftain forever 
hath set, 
•' leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep, 
•' It hath victory's life in it yet ! 



i "The inhabitants of Arranmore are still persuaded that. 
In a clear day, they can see from this coast Hy Brysail, or 
the Enchained Island, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and 
concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories." 
— Beaufort's Ancient Topography of Ireland. 

2 It was the custom of tlie ancient Irish, in the manner 



' Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to 
wield, 
" Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, 
' Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd, 
" Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord. 
' But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd 
the proud use 
" Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle plain, 
' Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let 
loose, 
" Leap forth from thy dark sheath again ! " 



0, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD 
OF OURS. 

0, COULD we do with this world of ours 
As thou dost with thy garden bowers, 
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers. 

What a heaven on earth we'd make it ! 
So bright a dwelling should be our own, 
So warranted free from sigh or frown. 
That angels soon would be coming down, 

By the week or month to take it. 

Like those gay flies that wing through air, 
And in themselves a lustre bear, 
A stock of light, stUl ready there, 

Whenever they wish to use it ; 
So, in this world I'd make for thee. 
Our hearts should all Like fireflies be. 
And the flash of wit or poesy 

Break forth whenever we choose it. 

While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere 
Hath still some shadow hovering near, 
In this new world of ours, my dear, 

Such shadows will all be omitted : — 
Unless they're like that graceful one. 
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun. 
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon 

Each spot where it hath flitted ! 



THE WINE CUP IS CIRCLINC*. 

The wine cup is circling in Almhin's hall,' 
And its Chief, 'mid his heroes reclining. 



of the Scythians, to bury the favorite swords of their heroes 
along with them. 

8 The Palace of Fin Mac-Cumhal (the Fingal of Mac- 
pherson) in Leinster. It was built on the top of the hill, 
which has retained from tlience the name of the Hill of 
Allen, in the county of Kildare. The Fhiians, or Fenii, 



IRISH MELODIES. 



257 



Looks up, with a sigh, to the trophied wall, 
Where his sword hangs idly shining. 
"When, hark ! that shout 
From the vale without, — 
•' Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane is nigh ! " 
Ev'ry Chief starts up 
From his foamiirg cup, 
And, "To battle, to battle ! " is the Finian's 
cry. 

The minstrels have seized their harps of gold. 

And they sing such thrilling numbers, — 
'Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old. 

Breaking forth from their place of slumbers ! 
Spear to buckler rang, 
As the minstrels sang, 
And the Sun-burst ' o'er them floated wide ; 
While rememb'ring the yoke 
Which their fathers broke, 
«< On for liberty, for liberty ! " the Finians 
cried. 

Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, 

O'er the valley of Almhin lowering ; 
WliQe onward moved, in the light of its fame. 
That banner of Erin, towering. 

With the mingling shock 

Rung cliff and rock, 
While, rank, on rank, the invaders die : 

And the shout, that last 

O'er the dying pass'd. 
Was " victory ! victory ! " — the Finian's cry. 



THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS. 

The dream of those days when first I sung thee 
is o'er. 

Thy triumph hath stain'd the charm thy sor- 
rows then wore ; 

And ev'n of the light which Hope once shed 
o'er thy chains, 

Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. 

Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, 

That still the dark brand is there, though chain- 
less thou art ; 

And Freedom's sweet fruit, for wliich thy spirit 
long burn'd, 

Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath 
turn'd ? 

were the celebrated National Militia of Ireland, wliich this 
Chief cciminanded. The introduction of the Danes in the 
above song is an anachronism common to most of the Finian 
and Ossianic legends. 
1 The name given to the banner of the Irish. 
33 



Up Liberty's steep by Truth and Eloquence led, 
With eyes on her temple fix d, how proud was 

thy tread ! 
Ah, better thou ne'er had'st lived that summit 

to gain. 
Or died in the porch, than thus dishonor the 

fane. 

FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE IS 
GIVEN. 

From this hour the pledge is given, 

From this hour my soul is thine : 
Come what will, from earth or heaven, 

Weal or woe, thy fate be mine. 
When the proud and great stood by thee, 

None dared thy rights to spurn ; 
And if now they're false and fly thee, 

Shall I, too, baselj' turn ? 
No ; — whate'er the fires that try thee. 

In the same tliis heart shall burn. 

Though the sea, where thou embarkest, 

Off'ers now no friendly shore. 
Light may come where all looks darkest, 

Hope hath life, when life seems o'er. 
And, of those past ages dreaming. 

When glory deck'd thy brow, 
Oft I fondly think, though seeming 

So fall'n and clouded now, 
Thou'lt again break forth, all beaming, — 

None so bright, so blest as thou ! 



SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS' 

Silence is in our festal halls, — 

Sweet Son of Song ! thy course is o'er ; 
In vain on thee sad Erin calls. 

Her minstrel's voice responds no more i - 
All silent as th' Eolian shell 

Sleeps at the close of some bright day, 
When the sweet breeze, that wak'd its swell 

At sunny morn, hath died away. 

Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long, 
Awak'd by music's spell, shall rise ; 

For, name so link'd with deathless song 
Partakes its charm and never dies : 

And ev'n within the holy fane. 

When music wafts the soul to heaven, 

2 It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader, 
that these lines are meant as a tribute of sincere fViendj-hif 
to the memory of an old and valued colleague in this work 
Sir John Stevenson. 



258 



IRISH MELODIES. 



One thought to him, whose earliest strain 
Was echoed there, shall long be given. 

But, where is now the cheerful day, 

The social night, when, by thy side, 
He, who now weaves this parting lay, 

His skiUcss voice with thine allied ; 
And sung those songs whose every tone, 

When bard and minstrel long have pass'd 
Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 

Embalm'd by fame, undying last. 

Vcs, Erin, thine alone the fame, — 

Or, if thy bard have shared the crown, 
From thee the borrow'd glory came, 

And at thy feet is now laid down. 
Enough, if Freedom still inspire 

His latest song, and still there be, 
As evening closes round his lyre. 

One ray upon its chords from thee. 



APPENDIX: 

CONTAININO 

THE ADVERTISEMENTS 

ORIGINALLY PREFIXED TO THE DIFFERENT 
NUMBERS, 



THE PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH MUSIC. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

PREFIXED TO THE FIRST AND SECOND NUMBERS. 

Pow^ER takes the liberty of announcing to the 
Public a Work which has long been a Desidera- 
tum in this country. Though the beauties of 
the National Music of Ireland have been very 
generally felt and acknowledged, yet it has hap- 
pened, through the want of appropriate English 
words, and of the arrangement necessary to 
adapt them to the voice, that many of the most 
excellent compositions have hitherto remained 
in obscurity. It is intended, therefore, to form 
a Collection of the best Original Irish Melodies, 
with characteristic SjTnphonies and Accompa- 
niments; and with Words containing, as fre- 



1 The writer forgot, when he made this assertion, that 
the public are indehted to Mr. Bunting for a very valuable 
eol'ection of Irish Music; and that the patriotic genius of 



quently as possible, allusions to the manners 
and history of the country. Sir John Steven- 
son has very kindly consented to undertake the 
arrangement of the Airs ; and the lovers of 
Simple National Music may rest secure, that in 
such tasteful hands, the native charms of the 
original melody will not be sacrificed to the 
ostentation of science. 

In the Poetical part. Power has had promises 
of assistance from several distinguished Literary 
Characters ; particularly from Mr. Moore, whose 
lyrical talent is so peculiarly suited to such a 
task, and whose zeal in the undertaking will be 
best understood from the following Extract of a 
Letter which he has addressed to Sir John Ste- 
venson on the subject : — 

" I feel very anxious that a work of this kind 
should be undertaken. We have too long neg- 
lected the only talent for which our English 
neighbors ever deigned to allow us any credit. 
Our National Music has never been properly 
collected ; ' and, while the composers of the 
Continent have enriched their Operas and 
Sonatas with Melodies borrowed from Ireland, — 
very often without even the honesty of ac- 
knowledgment, — we have left these treasures, 
in a great degree, unclaimed and fugitive. Thus 
our Airs, like too many of our countrymen, 
have, for want of protection at home, passed 
into the service of foreigners. But we are come, 
I hope, to a better period of both Politics and 
Music ; and how much they are connected, in 
Ireland at least, appears too plainly in the tone 
of sorrow and depression which characterizes 
most of our early Songs. 

" The task which j'ou propose to me, of adapt- 
ing words to these airs, is by no means easy. The 
Poet, who would follow the various sentiments 
which they express, must feel and understand 
that rapid fluctuation of spirits, that unaccount- 
able mixture of gloom and levitj', which com 
poses the character of my countrymen, and has 
deeply tinged their Music. Even in their live- 
liest strains we find some melancholy note 
intrude, — some minor Third or flat Seventh, — 
which throws its shade as it paiises, and makes 
even mirth interesting. If Burns had been an 
Irishman (and I would willingly give up all our 
claims upon Ossian for him), his heart would 
have been proud of such music, and his genius 
would have made it immortal. 



Miss Owenson has been employed upon some of our fines! 
airs. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



259 



" Another difficulty (which is, however, pure- 
ly mechanical) arises from the irregular struc- 
ture of many of those airs, and the lawless kind 
of metre which it will in consequence be neces- 
sary to adapt to them. In these instances the 
Poet must write, not to the eye, but to the ear ; 
and must be content to have his verses of that 
description which Cicero mentions, ^Quos si 
caiitii sp:)llaveris niida remanebit oratio.' That 
beautiful Air, 'The Twisting of the Rope,' 
which has all the romantic character of the 
Swiss Ban: des Vackes, is one of those wild and 
sentimental rakes which it will not be very easy 
to tie do■^^^^ in sober wedlock with Poetry. 
However, notwithstanding all these difficiilties, 
and the very moderate portion of talent which 
I can bring to surmount them, the design ap- 
pears to me so truly National, that I shall feel 
much pleasure in giving it all the assistance in 
my power. 

" Leicestershire, Feb. 1807." 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE THIRD NUMBEE. 

In presenting the Third Number of this work 
to the Public, Power begs leave to offer his ac- 
knowledgments for the very liberal patronage 
with which it has been honored ; and to express 
a hope that the unabated zeal of those who have 
hitherto so admirably conducted it, will enable 
him to continue it through many future Num- 
bers with equal spirit, variety, and taste. The 
stock of popular Melodies is far from being ex- 
hausted ; and there is still in reserve an abun- 
dance of beautiful Airs, which call upon Mr. 
Moore, in the language he so well understands, 
to save them from the oblivion to which they 
are hastening. 

Power respectfully trusts he will not be 
thought presumptuous in saying, that he feels 
proud, as an Irishman, in even the very subor- 
dinate share which he can claim, in promoting a 
Work so creditable to the talents of the Coun- 
try, — a Work which, from the spirit of nation- 
ality it breathes, will do more, he is convinced, 
towards liberalizing the feelings of society, and 
producing that brotherhood of sentiment which 
>t is so much our interest to cherish, than could 
ever be effected by the mere arguments of well- 
intentioned but uninteresting politicians. 



LETTER 



THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OP DONEGAL, 
PREFIXED TO THE THIRD NUMBER. 

While the publisher of these Melodies very 
properly inscribes them to the Nobility and 
Gentry of Ireland in general, I have much 
pleasure in selecting one from that number, to 
whom mij share of the Work is particularly 
dedicated. I know that, though your Ladyship 
has been so long absent from Ireland, j'ou still 
continue to remember it Avell and warmly, — 
that you have not suffered the attractions of 
English society to produce, like the taste of the 
lotus, any forgetfulness of your own country, 
but that even the humble tribute which I offer 
derives its chief claim upon your interest and 
sympathy from the appeal which it makes to 
your patriotism. Indeed, absence, however 
fatal to some affections of the heart, rather 
tends to strengthen our love for the land where 
•we were born ; and Ireland is the country, of 
aU others, which an exile from it must remem- 
ber with most enthusiasm. Those few darker 
and less amiable traits w'ith which bigotry and 
misrule have stained her character, and which 
are too apt to disgust us upon a nearer inter- 
course, become at a distance softened, or alto- 
gether invisible. Nothing is remembered but 
her virtues and her misfortunes, — the zeal 
with which she has always loved liberty, and 
the barbarous policy which has always withheld 
it from her, the ease with which her generous 
spirit might bo conciliated, and the cruel in- 
genuity which has been exerted to " wring her 
into imdutifulness." ' 

It has been often remarked, and still oftener 
felt, that in our music is found the truest of all 
comments upon our history. The tone of de- 
fiance, succeeded by the languor of despond- 
ency, — a burst of turbulence dying away 
into softness, — the sorrows of one moment lost 
in the levity of the next, — and all that roman- 
tic mixture of mirth and sadness, which is nat- 
urally produced by the efforts of a lively tem- 
perament to shake off, or forget, the wrongs 
which lie upon it. Such are the features of our 
history and character, which we find strongly 



1 A phrase which occurs in a Letter from the Earl of Des- 
mond to the Earl of Orinond, in Elizabeth's time. — Scnnia 
Sacra, as quoted by Curry. 



360 



IRISH MELODIES. 



and faithfully reflected in our music ; and there 
are even many airs, which it is difficult to listen 
to, without recalling some period or event to 
•which their expression seems applicable. Some- 
times, for instance, when the strain is open and 
spii-ited, yet here and there shaded by a mourn- 
ful recollection, we can fancy that we behold 
the brave allies of Montrose,' marching to the 
aid of the royal cause, notwithstanding all the 
perfidy of Charles and his ministers, and re- 
membering just enough of past sufferings to 
enhance the generosity of their present sacri- 
fice. The plaintive melodies of Carolan takes 
us back to the times in which he lived, when 
our poor countrymen were driven to worship 
their God in caves, or to quit forever the land 
of their birth, — like the bird that abandons 
the nest which human touch has violated. In 
many of these mournful songs we seem to hear 
the last farewell of the exile,'* mingling regret 
for the tics which he leaves at home, with san- 
guine hopes of the high honors that await him 
abroad, — such honors as were won on the field 
of Fontenoy, where the valor of Irish Catholics 
turned the fortune of the day, and extorted 
from George the Second that memorable excla- 
mation, " Cursed be the laws which deprive me 
of such subjects ! " 

Though much has been said of the antiquity 
of our music, it is certain that our finest and 
most popular airs are modern ; and perhaps we 
may look no further than the last disgraceful 
century for the origin of most of those wild and 
melancholy strains, which were at once the 



• There are some gratifying accounts of the gallantry 
of these Irish auxiliaries in " The complete History of the 
Wars in Scotland under Montrose " (1660). See particular- 
ly, for the conduct of an Irishman at tlie battle of Aberdeen, 
chap. vi. p. 49 ; and for a tribute tn the bravery of Colonel 
O'Kyan, chap. vii. 55. Clarendon owns that the Marquis 
of Montrose was indebted for much of his miraculous suc- 
cess to the small band of Irish heroes under Macdonnell. 

2 The associations of the Hindu music, though more obvi- 
ous and defined, were far less touching and characteristic. 
They divided their songs according to the seasons of the 
ypar, by which (says Sir William Jones) " they were able 
t(. recall the memory of autumnal merriment, at the close 
of the harvest, or of separation and melancholy during the 

cold months," &;c. ^sialic Transactions, vol. iii. on the 

Musical Modes of the Hindus. — What the Abbe du Bos 
says of the symphonies of Lully, may be asserted, with 
much more probability, of our bold and impassioned airs : — 
" Elles auroient produit de ces effets, qui nous paroissent 
fabuleux dans le recit des anciens, si on les avoit fait en- 
tendre i des honimes d'un naturel aussi vif que les Atheni- 
ens." — Reflex, sur la Peinture, &c. tom. i. sect. 4.5 

3 Dissertation, prefixed to the 2d volume ol iiis Scottish 
Ballads. 



offspring and solace of grief, and were applied 
to the mind as music was formerly to the body, 
" decantare loca dolentia." Mr. Pinkerton is of 
opinion * that none of the Scotch popular airs 
are as old as the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury ; and though musical antiquaries refer us, 
for some of our melodies, to so early a period as 
the fifth century, I am persuaded that there are 
few, of a civilized description, (and by this I 
mean to exclude all the savage Ceanans, Cries,"* 
&c.) which can claim quite so ancient a date as 
Mr. Pinkerton allows to the Scotch. But music 
is not the onlj' subject upon which our taste for 
antiquity has been rather unreasonably indulged ; 
and, however heretical it may be to dissent 
from these romantic speculations, I cannot help 
thinking that it is possible to love our country 
very zealously, and to feel deeply interested 
in her honor and happiness, without believing 
that Irish was the language spoken in Paradise ; ^ 
that our ancestors were kind enough to take the 
trouble of polishing the Greeks,^ or that Abaris, 
the Hyperborean, was a native of the North of 
Ireland.'' 

By some of these zealous antiquarians it has 
been imagined that the Irish were early ac- 
quainted with counterpoint ; ' and they en- 
deavor to support this conjecture by a well- 
known passage in Giraldus, where he dilates, 
with such elaborate praise, upon the beauties of 
our national minstrelsy. But the terms of this 
eulogy are much too vague, too deficient in 
technical accuracy, to prove that even Giraldus 
himself knew any thing of the artifice of coun- 



* Of which some genuine specimens may be found at the 
end of Mr. \Valker's Work upon the Irish bards. Mr. 
Bunting has disfigured his last splendid volume by too many 
of these barbarous rhapsodies. 

5 See Advertisement to the Transactions of the Gaelic 
Society of Dublin. 

6 O'Halloran, vol. i. part iv. chap. vii. 

7 Id. ib. chap. vi. 

8 It is also supposed, hut with as little proof, that they 
understood the diesis, or enharmonic interval. — The Greeks 
seem to have formed their ears to this delicate gradation of 
sound ; and whatever difficulties or objections may lie in the 
way of its practical use, we must agree with Mersenne, 
(Preludes de I'Harmonie, quest. 7,) that the tlieory of Music 
would be imperfect without it. Even in practice, too, as 
Tosi, among others, very justly remarks, (Observations on 
Florid Song, chap. i. sect. 16,) there is no good performer on 
the violin who does not make a sensible difference between 
D sharp and E flat, though, from the imperfection of the 
instrument, they are the same notes upon the piano forte. 
The effect of modulation by enharmonic transitions is alsc 
very striking and beautiful 



IRISH MELODIES. 



2G1 



ieipoint. There are many expressions in the 
(jreek and Latin writers which might be cited, 
with much more plausibility, to prove that they 
understood the arrangement of music in parts ; ' 
and it is in general now conceded, I believe, by 
the learned, that however grand and pathetic 
the melody of the ancients may have been, it 
was reserved for the ingenuity of modern 
Science to transmit the " light of Song " through 
the variegating prism of Harmony. 

Indeed, the irregular scale of the early Irish 
(in which, as in the music of Scotland, the in- 
terval of the fourth was wanting,*) must have 
furnished but wild and refractory subjects to 
the harmonist. It was only when the invention 
of Guido began to be known, and the powers 
of the harp ' were enlarged by additional strings, 
that our airs can be supposed to have assumed 
tlie sweet character which interests us at pres- 
ent ; and while the Scotch persevered in the old 
mutilation of the scale,"* our music became by 
degrees more amenable to the laws of harmony 
and counterpoint. 

While profiting, however, by the improve- 
ments of the moderns, our style still keeps its 
original character sacred from their refinements ; 



1 The woriis voiKiXia iTtpnipMvui, in a passage of Plato, 
and some expressions of Cicero in Fragment, lib. ii. de Re- 
pul)I., induced the Abbe Fraguier to maintain that the ancients 
had a knowledge of counterpoint. M. Burette, however, 
has answered him, 1 think, satisfactorily. (Examen d'un 
Passage de Platon, in the 3d vol. of Histoire de I'Acad.) 
M. Hiiet is of opinion (Pensees Diverses), that what Cicero 
says (if the music of the spheres, in his dream of Scipio, is 
sufficient to prove an acquaintance with harmony ; but one 
of the strongest passages, which I recollect, in favor of this 
supposition, occurs in the Treatise (Ilrpi Koo-^/wi)) attributed 
to Aristotle — M 'tjo-i/c;? (5£ of' 15 njci xai liapti^, k, t. \. 

- Another lawless peculiarity of our music is the frequent 
occurrence of, what composers call, consecutive fifths ; but 
rliis, I must say, is an irregularity which can hardly be 
avoided by persons not conversant with all the rules of com- 
position. If I may venture, indeed, to cite my own wild 
attempts in this way, it is a fault whicli I find myself con- 
tinually committing, and which has even, at tiines, appeared 
so pleasing to my ear, that I have surrendered it to the critic 
with no small reluctance. May there not be a little pedantry 
in adhering too rigidly to this rule .' — I have been told that 
there are instances in Haydn, of an undisguised succession 
of fifths; and Mr. Shield, in his Introduction to Harmony, 
seems to intimate that Handel has been sometimes guilty of 
Ihe same irregularity. 

3 A singular oversight occurs in an Essay upon the Irish 
Uarp, by Mr. Beauford, which is inserted in the Appendix 
10 Walker's Historical Memoirs: — '■ The Irish (says he) 
according to Brompton, in the reign of Henry II had two 
kinds of Harps, ' Hibernici tamen in duobiis musici generis 
iiisiriimeiitis, quamvis priBcipitem et velocem, suavem tainen 
ft jucunduni : the one greatly bold and quick, the other soft 
ind pleasing.'"— How a man of Mr. Beaufurd's learning 



and though Carolan, it appears, had frequent 
opportunities of hearing the works of Gemi- 
niani and other great masters, we but rarely 
find him sacrificing his native simplicity to any 
ambition of their ornaments, or afi'cctation of 
their science. In that curious composition, 
indeed, called his Concerto, it is evident that ho 
labored to imitate Corelli ; and this union of 
manners, so very dissimilar, produces the same 
kind of uneasy sensation which is felt at a 
mixture of diflTerent styles of architecture. In 
general, however, the artless flow of our music 
has preserved itself free from all tinge of foreign 
innovation ; * and the chief corruptions of 
which we have to complain arise from the un- 
skilful performance of our own itinerant musi- 
cians, from whom, too frequently, the airs are 
noted down, encumbered by theii- tasteless dec- 
orations, and responsible for all their ignorant 
anomalies. Though it be sometimes impossible 
to trace the original strain, yet, in most of them, 
" auri per ramos aw-a refulget," ^ the pure gold 
of the melody shines through the ungraceful 
foliage which surrounds it, — and the most deli- 
cate and difficult dtity of a compiler is to en- 
deavor, by retrenching these inelegant super - 



could so mistake the meaning, and mutilate the grammatical 
construction of this extract, is unaccountable. The follow- 
ing is the passage as I find it entire in Bromton ; and it 
requires hut little Latin to perceive the injustice which has 
been done to the words of the old Chronicler : — " Et cum 
Scotia, hujus terrae filia, utatur lyri, tympano et choro, ac 
Wallia cythara, tuhis et choro Hibernici tamen in duobus 
musici generis instrunientis, quamvis praripitem et volocem, 
suavem tamen et jiicuiidam, crispatis modulis et intricatis no- 
tulis, efficiunt liarmoniam." — Hist. Anglic, .''cript. page 1075. 
I should not have thought this error wortn remarking, but 
that the compiler of the Dissertation on the Harp, prefixed to 
Mr. Bunting's last Work, has adopted it implicitly. 

* The Scotch lay claim to some of our best airs, but there 
are strong traits of difl^erence between their melodies and 
ours. They had formerly the same passion for robbing us 
of our Saints, and the learned Dempster was for this offence 
called " The Saint Stealer." It must have been some Irish- 
man, I suppose, who, by the way of reprisal, stole Dempster's 
beautiful wife from him at Pisa. — See this anecdote in the 
Pinacolheca of Erythraeus, part. i. page Sii. 

6 Among other false refinements of the art, our music 
(with the exception perhaps of the air called " Mamma, 
Mamma," and one or two more of the same ludicrous de- 
scription,) has avoided that puerile mimicry of natural 
noises, motions, &c. which disgraces so often the works of 
even Handel himself. D'Alembert ought to have had bett«t 
taste than to become the patron of this imitati\;e affectation. 
Discnurs Preliminuire de V Encyclirped e. The reader may 
find some good remarks on the subject in Avison upon Mu- 
sical Expression ; a worK which, though under the name of 
Avison, was written, it is .said, by Dr. Brown. 

6 Virgil, jEneid, lib. vi. verse 204. 



262 



IRISH MELODIES. 



lluities, and collating the various methods of 
playing or singing each air, to restore the regu- 
larity of its form, and the chaste simplicity of 
its character. 

I must again observe, that in doubting the 
antiquity of our music, my scepticism extends 
but to those polished specimens of the art, which 
it is difficult to conceive anterior to the dawn 
of modern improvement ; and that I would by 
no means invalidate the claims of Ireland to as 
early a rank in the annals of minstrelsy, as the 
most zealous i»»^.tiquary may be inclined to allow 
her. In addition, indeed, to the power which 
music must always have possessed over the 
minds of a people so ardent and susceptible, the 
stimulus of persecution was not wanting to 
quicken our taste into enthusiasm ; the charms 
of song were ennobled with the glories of mar- 
tyrdom, and the acts against minstrels, in the 
reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, were as 
successful, I doubt not, in making my country- 
men musicians, as the penal laws have been in 
keeping them Catholics. 

With respect to the verses which I have writ- 
ten for these Melodies, as they are intended 
rather to be sung than read, I can answer for 
their sound with somewhat more confidence 
than for their sense. Yet it would be affecta- 
tion to deny that I have given much attention 
to the task, and that it is not through any want 
of zeal or industry, if I unfortunately disgrace 
the sweet airs of my country, by poetry alto- 
gether unworthy of their taste, their energy, 
and their tenderness. 

Though the humble nature of my contribu- 
tions to this work may exempt them from the 
rigors of literary criticism, it was not to be ex- 
pected that those touches of political feeling, 
those tones of national complaint, in which the 
poetry sometimes sympathizes with the music, 
would be suffered to pass without censure or 
alarm. It has been accordingly said, that the 
tendency of this publication is mischievous,' 
and that I have chosen these airs but as a ve- 
hicle of dangerous politics, — as fair and precious 
vessels (to borrow an image of St. Augustin),"'' 
from which the wine of error might be admin- 
istered. To those who identify nationality with 
treason, and who see, in every effort for Ireland, 
a system of hostility towards England, — to 

1 See Letters, under the signatures of'Timaeus, &c. in the 
Morning Pout, Pilot, and other papers. 

2 " Non accuso verba, quasi vasa electa atque pretiosa ; 
Bed vinuni ermris quod cum eis nobis propiiiatur." — Lib. i. 
Confess, chap. xvi. 



those, too, who, nursed in the gloom of prejudice, 
are alarmed by the faintest gleam of liberality 
that threatens to disturb their darkness, — like 
that Demophon of old, who, when the sun shone 
upon him, shivered,' — to such men I shall not 
condescend to offer an apology for the too great 
warmth of any political sentiment which may 
occur in the course of these pages. But as there 
are many, among the more wise and tolerant, 
who, with feeling enough to mourn over the 
wrongs of their country, and sense enough to 
perceive all the danger of not redressing them, 
may yet be of opinion that allusions, in the least 
degree inflammatory, should be avoided in a 
publication of this popular description — I beg 
of these respected persons to believe, that there 
is no one who more sincerely deprecates than I 
do, any aj^peal to the passions of an ignorant 
and angry multitude ; but that it is not through 
that gross and inflammable region of society, a 
work of this nature could ever have been in- 
tended to circulate. It looks much higher for 
its audience and readers, — it is found upon the 
piano fortes of the rich and the educated, — of 
those who can afford to have their national zeal 
a little stimulated, without exciting much dread 
of the excesses into which it may hurry them ; 
and of many whose nerves may be, now and 
then, alarmed with advantage, as much more is 
to be gained by their fears, than could ever be 
expected from their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal objec- 
tion, which has been hitherto made to the po- 
etical part of this work, allow me to add a few 
words in defence of my ingenious coadjutor. Sir 
John Stevenson, who has been accused of hav- 
ing spoiled the simplicitj' of the airs by the 
chromatic richness of his symphonies, and the 
elaborate variety of his harmonics. We might 
cite the example of the admirable Haydn, who 
has sported through all the mazes of musical 
science, in his arrangement of the simplest Scot- 
tish melodies ; but it appears to me, that Sir 
John Stevenson has brought to this task an in- 
nate and national feeling, Avhlch it would be 
vain to expect from a foreigner, however taste- 
ful or judicious. Through many of his own 
compositions we trace a vein of Irish sentiment, 
which points him out as peculiarly suited tc 
catch the spirit of his country's music ; and 

3 This emblem of modern bigots was head butler (r/ia-i^o 
-0(05) to Alexander the Great. — Scit. Empir. Pyrrh. Hv' 
path. Lib. 1. 



IRISH MELODIES. 



263 



far from agreeing with those fastidious critics 
who think that his sj'mphonies have nothing 
kindred with the airs which they introduce, I 
would say that, on the contrary, they resemble, 
in general, those illuminated initials of old man- 
uscripts, which are of the same character with 
the writing which follows, though more highly 
colored and more curiously ornamented. 

In those airs, which he has arranged for voices, 
his skill has particularly distinguished itself, 
and, though it cannot be denied that a single 
melody most naturally expresses the language 
of feeling and passion, yet often, when a favor- 
ite strain has been dismissed, as having lost its 
charm of novelty for the ear, it returns, in a 
harmonized shape, with new claims on our in- 
terest and attention ; and to those who study 
the delicate artifices of composition, the con- 
struction of the inner parts of these pieces must 
afford, I think, considerable satisfaction. Every 
voice has an air to itself, a flowing succession 
of notes, which might be heard with pleasure, 
independently of the rest ; — so artfully has the 
harmonist (if I may thus express it) gavelled 
the melody, distributing an equal portion of its 
sweetness to every part. 

If your Ladyship's love of Music were not 
well known to me, I should not have hazarded 
so long a letter upon the subject ; but as, prob- 
ably, I may have presumed too far upon your 
partiality, the best revenge you now can take 
is to write me just as long a letter upon Paint- 
ing ; and I promise to attend to your theory of 
the art, with a pleasure only surpassed by that 
which I have so often derived from your prac- 
tice of it. — May the mind which such talents 
adorn, continue calm as it is bright, and happy 
as it is virtuous ! 

Believe me, your Ladyship's 

Grateful Eriend and Servant, 

Thomas Moore. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE FOUKTH NUMIiEK. 

This number of the Melodies ought to have 
appeared much earlier; and the writer of the 
words is ashamed to confess, that the delay of 
its publication n ust be imputed chiefly, if not 
entirely, to him. He finds it necessary to make 
this awowal, not only for the purpose of re- 
moving all blame from the Publisher, but in 
consequence of a rumor, which has been circu- 
lated mdustriously in Dublin, that the Irish 



Government had interfered to prevent the con- 
tinuance of the Work. 

This would be, indeed, a revival of Henry the 
Eighth's enactments against Minstrels, and it 
is flattering to find that so much importance is 
attached to our compilation, even by such per- 
sons as the inventors of the report. Bishop 
Lowth, it is true, was of opinion that one song, 
like the Ili/mn to Harmodius, would have done 
more towai'ds rousing the spirit of the Romans, 
than all the Philippics of Cicero. But we live 
in wiser and less musical times ; ballads have 
long lost their revolutionary powers, and we 
question if even a " LillibuUero " would pro- 
duce any very serious consequences at present. 
It is needless, therefore, to add, that there is no 
truth in the report ; and we trust that whatever 
belief it obtained was founded more upon the 
character of the Government than of the Work. 

The Airs of the last Number, though full of 
originality and beauty, were, in general, per- 
haps, too curiously selected to become all at 
once as popular as, we think, they deserve to 
be. The public are apt to be reserved towards 
new acquaintances in music, and this, perhaps, 
is one of the reasons why many modern com- 
posers introduce none but old friends to their 
notice. It is, indeed, natural that persons, who 
love music only by association, should be some- 
what slow in feeling the charms of a new and 
strange melody ; while those, on the other hand, 
who have a quick sensibihty for this enchanting 
art, will as naturally seek and enjoy novelty, 
because in every variety of strain they find a 
fresh combination of ideas ; and the sound has 
scarcely reached the ear, before the heart has as 
rapidly rendered it into imagery and sentiment. 
After all, however, it cannot be denied that the 
most popular of our National Ahs are also the 
most beautiful ; and it has been our wish, in the 
present Number, to select from those Melodies 
only which have long been listened to and ad- 
mired. The least known in the collection is the 
Air of "Lome's Young Dream;" but it will be 
found, I think, one of those easy and artless 
strangers whose merit the heart instantly ac- 
knowledges. 

T. M. 

Bary Sreet, St. Jamet, 

Jfoc. 1811. 

ADVERTISEilENT 

TO THE riFlH NUMBER. 

It is but fair to those, who take an interest 
in this Work, to state that it is now very ncai 



264 



IRISH MELODIES. 



its termination, and that the Sixth Number, 
which shall speedily appear, will, most proba- 
bly, be the last of the series. Three volumes 
will then have been completed, according to the 
original plan, and the Proprietors desire me to 
say that a List of Subscribers will be published 
with the concluding Number. 

It is not so much, I must add, from a want 
of materials, and still less from any abatement 
of zeal or industry, that we have adopted the 
resolution of bringing our task to a close ; but 
we feel so proud, still more for our country's 
sake than our own, of the general interest which 
this purely Irish Work has excited, and so anx- 
ious lest a particle of that interest should be lost 
by too long a protraction of its existence, that 
we think it wiser to take away the cup from 
the lip, while its flavor is yet, we trust, fresh 
and sweet, than to risk any further trial of the 
charm, or give so much as not to leave some 
wish for more. In speaking thus, I allude en- 
tirely to the Airs, which are, of course, the 
main attraction of these Volumes ; and though 
we have still a great many popular and delight- 
ful Melodies to produce,' it cannot be denied 
that we should soon experience considerable 
difficulty in equalling the richness and novelty 
of the earlier numbers, for which, as we had 
the choice of all before us, we naturally se- 
lected only the most rare and beautiful. The 
Poetrj', too, would be sure to sympathize with 
the decline of the Music ; and, however feebly 
ray words have kept pace with the excellence of 
the Airs, they would follow their falling off, I 
fear, with wonderful alacrity. Both pride and 
prudence, therefore, counsel us to come to a 
close, while yet our Work is, we believe, flour- 
ishing and attractive, and thus, in the imperial 
attitude, "■ stantes mori," before we incur the 
charge either of altering for the worse, or what 
is equally unpardonable, continuing too long 
the same. 

We beg to say, however, that it is only in the 
event of our failing to find Airs as good as most 
of those we have given, that we mean thus to 
anticipate the natural period of dissolution 
(like those Indians who when their relatives 
become worn out, put them to death ) ; and 
they who are desirous of retarding this Euthan- 
asia of the Irish Melodies cannot better effect 
their wish than by contributing to our coUec- 

1 Among these is Savnuma Declish, wliicli I have been 
hitherto only withlield from selecting by tlie difiidence I feel 
in treadijig upon the same ground with Mr. Campbell, whose 
I) i.niful words to this fine Air have taken too strong pos- 



tion, — not what are called curious Airs, for wa 
have abundance of such, and they are, in gen- 
eral, 07tli/ curious, — but any real sweet and 
expressive Songs of our Country, which either 
chance or research may have brought into theil 
hands. 

T. M. 

Mayjieli Cottage, ^sJiboume 
December, 1813. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE SIXTH NUMBER. 

In presenting this Sixth Number to the Pub- 
lic as our last, and bidding adieu to the Irish 
Harp forever, we shall not answer very confi- 
dently for the strength of our resolution, nor 
feel quite sure that it may not turn out to be 
one of those eternal farewells which a lover 
takes occasionally of his mistress, merely to 
enhance, perhaps, the pleasure of their next 
meeting. Our only motive, indeed, for discon- 
tinuing the Work was a fear that our treasures 
were nearly exhausted, and a natural unwilling 
ness to descend to the gathering of mere seed 
pearl, after the really precious gems it has been 
our lot to string together. The announcement, 
however, of this intention, in our Fifth Num- 
ber, has excited a degree of anxiety in the lovers 
of Irish Music, not only pleasant and flattering, 
but highly useful to us ; for tie various contri- 
butions we have received in consequence, have 
enriched our collection with so many choice and 
beautiful Airs, that should we adhere to our 
present resolution of publishing no more, it 
woiild certainly furnish an instance of forbear- 
ance unexampled in the history of poets and 
musicians. To one Gentleman in particular, 
who has been for many years resident in Eng- 
land, but who has not forgot, among his various 
pursuits, either the language or the mehdies 
of his native country, we beg to offer our best 
thanks for the many interesting communica- 
tions with which he has favored us. We trust 
that neither he nor any other of our kind 
friends will relax in those efforts by which we 
have been so considerably assisted ; for, though 
our work must now be looked upon as defunct, 
yet — as Reaumur found out the art of making 
the cicada sing after it was dead — it is just 

session of all ears and hearts, for me to think of fiwlovving in 
his footsteps with any success. I suppose, however, as a 
matter of duty, I must attempt the air for our next iSum- 
ber. 



IRISH MELODIES, 



2«< 



possible that we may, some time or ■^thcr, try a 
similar experiment upon the Irish Melodies. 
T. M. 

Mayfield, Ashbourne, 
March, 1815. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE SEVENTH NXJMBER. 

Had I consulted only my owti judgment, this 
Work would not have extended beyond the Six 
Numbers already published ; which contain the 
flower, perhaps, of our national melodies, and 
have now attained a rank in public favor, of 
which I would not willingly risk the forfeiture, 
by degenerating, in any way, from those merits 
that were its source. Whatever treasures of 
our music were still in reserve, (and it will be 
seen, I trust, that they are numerous and valu- 
able,) I would gladly have left to future poets 
*.o glean, and, ^\•ith the ritual words " tihi trado," 
would have delivered up the torch into other 
hands, before it had lost much of its light in 
iry own. But the call for a continuance of the 
work has been, as I understand from the Pub- 
lisher, so general, and we have received so many 
contributions of old and beautiful airs,' — the 
(Suppression of which, for the enhancement of 
those we have published, would too much re- 
semble the policy of the Dutch in burning their 
Bpices, — that I have been persuaded, though 
not without much diffidence in my success, to 
commence a new series of the Irish Melodies. 
T. M. 



1 One Gentleman, in particular, whose name I shall feel 
nappy in being al'.owed to mention, has not only sent us 
nearly forty ancie it airs, hnt has coinninnicated many curi- 
ous fragments of Irish poetry, and some interesting tradi- 
31 



DEDICATION 

TO THE MARCHIONESS OF HEADFORT, 

PREFIXED TO THE TENTH NUMBER. 

It is with a pleasure, not unmixed with mel- 
ancholy, that I dedicate the last Number of the 
Irish Melodies to j'our Ladyship ; nor can I 
have any doubt that the feelings with which 
you receive the tribute will be of the same 
mingled and saddened tone. To you, — who, 
though but little beyond the season of child- 
hood, when the earlier numbers of this work 
appeared, — lent the aid of your beautiful voice, 
and, even then, exquisite feeling for music, to 
the happy circle who met, to sing them together, 
under your father's roof, the gratification, what- 
ever it may be, which this humble offering brings, 
cannot be otherwise than darkened by the mourn- 
ful reflection, how many of the voices, which 
then joined with ours, are now silent in death ! 

I am not without hope that, as far as regards 
the grace and spirit of the Melodies, j'ou Avill 
find this closing portion of the work not un- 
worthy of what has preceded it. The Sixteen 
Airs, of which the Number and the Supplement 
consists, have been selected from the immense 
mass of Irish music, which has been for years 
past accumulating in my hands ; and it Avas 
from a desire to include all that appeared most 
worthy of preservation, that the four supple- 
mentary songs which follow this Tenth Number 
have been added. 

Trusting that I may yet again, in remem- 
brance of old times, hear our voices together in 
some of the harmonized airs of this Volume, I 
have the honor to subscribe mj'self, 

Your Ladyship's faithful Friend and Servant, 

Thomas Moore. 
Sloperton Cottage, 
May, 1834. 

tions current in the country where he resides, illustrated hy 
sketches of the romantic scenery to which they refer ; all of 
which, though too late for the present Nuinher, will be ol 
infinite service to us in the prosecutif n of our task. 



266 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



ADVERTISE5IENT. 

It is Cicero, I believe, who says "nahir&ad 
modos ducimur i" and the abundance of wild, 
indigenous airs, which almost every country, 
except England, possesses, sufficiently proves 
the truth of his assertion. The lovers of this 
simple, but interesting kind of music, are here 
presented with the first number of a collection, 
which, I trust, their contributions will enable 
us to continue. A pretty air without words 
resembles one of those half creatures of Plato, 
which are described as wandering in search of 
the remainder of themselves through the world. 
To supply this other half, by uniting with con- 
genial words the many fugitive melodies which 
have hitherto had none, — or only such as are 
unintelligible to the generality of their hearers, 
— is the object and ambition of the present 
work. Neither is it our intention to confine 
ourselves to what are strictly called National 
Melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wan- 
dering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not 
yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture 
to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our 
humble Ilippocrene with its song. 

***** 

T. M. 



A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSmP.' 

(SrAjJisii AiK.) 

"A Temple to Friendship," said Laura, en- 
chanted, 
•'I'll build in this garden, — the thought is 
divine ! " 
Her temple was built, and she now only wanted 
An image of Friendship to place on the shrine. 
She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her 
A Friendship, the fairest his art could in- 
vent; 
But so cold and so dull, that the youthful 
adorer 
Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. 

1 The thought is taken from a song by Le Prieur, called 
" La Statue de i'Amiti6." 



" 0, never," she cried, " could I think of en- 
shrining 
"An image, whose looks are so joyless and 
dim; — 
" But yon little god, upon roses reclining, 
" We'll make, if you please. Sir, a Friendship 
of him." 
So the bargain was struck ; with the little god 
laden 
She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove : 
" Farewell," said the sculptor, " you're not the 
first maiden 
" Who came but for Friendship and took 
away Love." 



FLOW ON, THOU SHINING EFVER. 

(POKTUOL'ESE ArR.) 

Flow on, thou shining river ; 

But, ere thou reacli the sea. 
Seek Ella's bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fluig o'er thee. 
And tell her thus, if she'll be rrlne, 

The current of our li\es shall be, 
W^ith joys alon^ their course to slune, 

Like those 'jwcet flowers on thee. 

But if, in wunaerlng thither, 

Thou fii.d'rft she mocks my prayer. 
Then leave those wreaths to wither 

Upon ttic cold bank there ; 
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, 

Her lone ^nd loveless charms shall he 
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore, 

Like those sweet flowers from thee. 



ALL THAT'S BIIIGHT Mt:sT FAL»1 

(Indian- Air.) 

All that's bright must fadf", — 

The brightest still the he'.test ; 
AU that's sweet was made, 

But to be lost when sweetest. 
Stars that shine and fall , — 

The flower that drops in springing ;• 
Tliese, alas ! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 267 


All that's bright mi'jt fado. — 




The brightest -still the fleetest ; 


THOSE EVENING BELLS. 


All that's sweet -vas made 




But to be list when sweetest ! 


(AiB. — TuE Bells of St. FETESSBCRon.) 




Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 


Who would seek or prize 


How many a tale their music tel'.s. 


Doli'ghts that end in aching ? 


Of youth and home, and that sweet time, 


■yVho would trust to ties 


When last I heard their soothing chime. 


That every hour are breaking ? 




Better far to be 


Those joyous hours are pass'd away ; 


In utter darkness lying, 


And many a heart that then was gay, 


Than to be bless'd with light and see 


Within the tomb now darkly dwells. 


That light forever flying. 


And hears no more those evening bells. 


All that's bright must fade, — 




The brightest still the fleetest ; 


And so 'twill be when I am gone ; 


All that's sweet was made 


That tuneful peal will still ring on. 


But to be lost when sweetest ! 


While other bards shall walk these dells. 




And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 


SO WARMLY WE MET. 


SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 


(UCNOABIAN AlB.) 


(POBTUOUESK Air.) 


So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, 


Should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee,' 


That which was the sweeter ev'n I could not 


Which now so sweetly thy heart employ ; 


tell, - 


Should the cold world come to wake thee 


That first look of welcome hei sunny eyes 


From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 


darted. 


Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst 


Or that tear of passion, which bless'd our 


banish 


farewell. 


Him who once thought thy young heart his 


To meet was a heaven, and to part thus 


own. 


another, — 


AU, like spring birds, falsely vanish. 


Our joy and our sorrow seem'd rivals in bliss ; 


And leave thy winter unheeded and lone ; — 


0, Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other 




In smiles and in tears, than that moment to 


0, 'tis then that he thou hast slighted 


this. 


Would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd 


The fijst was like daybreak, new, sudden, deli- 


o'er ; 
Then the truant, lost and blighted. 


cious, — 


Would to his bosom be taken once more. 


The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up 


Like that dear bird we both can remember. 


yet; 


Who left us while summer shone round, 


The last like the farewell of daylight, more 


But when chill'd by bleak December, 


precious. 


On our threshold a welcome still found. 


More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. 




Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a 




sorrow 


REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. 


To think that such happiness could not re- 




main ; 


(iTALIAlf AlB.) 


WhDe our parting, though sad, gave a hope that 


Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say^ 


to-morrow 


Went on a party of pleasure one day : 


Would bring back the bless'd hour of meeting 


Folly play'd 


again. 


Around the maid, 


1 This is one of the many instances among my lyrical 


treme case, — where the metre has been necessarily sacri 


poenir^. — though the above, it must be owned, is an ex- 


ficed to the structure of the air. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



The bells of his cap rung merrily out ; 

While Reason took 

To his sermon book — 
0, which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, 
Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt. 

Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, 
Turn'd for a moment to Reason's dull page, 

Till Folly said, 

" Look here, sweet maid ! " — 
The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; 

While Reason read 

His leaves of lead, 
With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! 
No, — no one to mind him, poor sensible elf ! 

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap ; 
Had he that on, he her heart might entrap — 

" There it is," 

Quoth Folly, " old quiz ! " 
(Folly was always good natured, 'tis said,) 

*' Under the sun 

" There's no such fun, 
" As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, 
" Reason with my cap and bells on his head ! " 

But Reason the headdress so awkwardly wore. 
That Beauty now liked him still less than before ; 

WhQe Folly took 

Old Reason's book. 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton, 

That Beauty vow'd 

(Though not aloud), 
Bhe liked him still better in that than his own. 
Yes, — liked him still better in that than his own. 



FARE THEE WELL. THOU LOVELY 
ONE ! 

(Sicilian Air.) 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone. 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 
Thy words, whate'er their flatt'ring spell. 

Could scarce have thus deceived ; 
But eyes that acted truth s? well 

Were sure to be believed. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



\'et those eyes look constant still, 

True as stars they keep their light ; 
Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil 

Of blushing always bright. 
'Tis only on thy changeful heart 

The blam'ie of falsehood lies ; 
Love lives in every other part, 

But there, alas ! he dies. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one ! 

Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone. 

Love's sweet life is o'er. 



DOST THOU REMEMBER. 

(POETUOUESE Air.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lonely, 
A place for lovers, and lovers only. 

Where first I told thee all my secret sighs ? 
When, aa the moonbeam, that trembled o'er thee, 
Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, . 

And read my hope's sweet triumph in those 
eyes ? 
Then, then, while closely heart was drawn to 

heart, 
Love bound us — never, never more to part ! 

And when I call'd thee by names the dearest ' 
That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest, — 

" My life, my only life ! " among the rest ; 
In those sweet accents that still inthrall me, 
Thou saidst, " Ah ! wherefore thy life thud 

call me ? 
" Thy soul, thy soul's the name that I love 

best ; 
" For lile soon passes, — but how bless'd to be 
" That Soul which never, never parts from 

thee ! " 

0, COME TO ME WHEN DAYLIGHT SETS. 

(Venetian Air.) 

O, COME to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me. 
When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 
When Mirth's awake, and Love begins, 

Beneath that glancing ray, 
With sound of lutes and mandolins, 

To steal young hearts away. 
' Then, come to me when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 

1 The tlioiight in Ihis verse is borrowed from tlie original 
Portiiuuese words. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



When smoothly go our gondolets 
O'er the moonlight sea. 

O, then's the hour for those who love, 

Sweet ! like thee and me ; 
"When all's so calm below, above. 

In Heav'n and o'er the sea. 
"When maidens sing sweet barcarolles,* 

And Echo sings again 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 

Should love and listen then. 
So, come to mo when daylight sets ; 

Sweet ! then come to me, 
"When smoothly go our gondolets 

O'er the moonlight sea. 



/ 



OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 

(Scotch Aik.) 

Oft, in the stiUy night. 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me-.; 
The smiles, the tears. 
Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone. 
Now diTnm'd and gone. 
The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

When I remember all 

The friends, so link'd together, 
I've seen around me fall. 

Like leav«s in wintry weather ; 
I feel like one, 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet hall deserted. 
Whose lights are fled, 
Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed ! 
Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumter's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 



1 Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langiie V^nitienne, 
qnechantent les gond)liers i Veuise. — Rousseau, Diction- 
naire dt Musique 



HARK! THE VESPER H\TkIN IS 
STEALING. 

(Russian Air.) 

Hark ! the vesper hjmm is stealing 

O'er the waters soft and clear ; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
And now bursts upon the ear : 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear : 
Jubilate, Amen. 

Now, like moonlight waves retreating 

To the shore, it dies along ; 
Now, like angry surges meeting, 
Breaks the mingled tide of song : 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Hush ! again, like waves, retreating 
To the shore, it dies along : 
Jubilate, Amen. 



LOVE AND HOPE. 



At morn, beside yon summer sea, 
Young Hope and Love reclined ; 

But scarce had noontide come, when he 

Into his bark leap'd smilingly. 
And left poor Hope behind. 

" 1 go," said Love, " to sail a while 

" Across this sunny main ; " 
And then so sweet his parting smile, 
That Hope, who never dreamt of guile, 

Believed he'd come again. 

She linger'd there till evening's beam 

Along the waters lay ; 
And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 
Oft traced his name, which still the stream 

As often wash'd away. 

At length a sail appears in sight. 

And toward the maiden moves ! 
'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, 
His golden bark reflects the light. 
But ah ! it is not Love's. 

Another sail — 'twas Friendship show'd 
Her night lamp o'er the sea r 



270 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



And calm the light that lamp bestow'd ; 
But Love had lights that warmer glow'd, 
And where, alas ! was he ? 

Now fast around the sea and shore 

Night threw her darkling chain ; 
The sunny sails were seen no more, 
Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er, 
TiOve never came again ! 



THERE COMES A TBIE. 

(Oeemas^ Air.) 

There comes a time, a dreary time, 

To him whose heart hath flown 
O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, 

And made each flower its own. 
'Tis when his soul must first renounce 

Those dreams so bright, so fond , 
O, then's the time to die at once, 

For life has nought beyond. 

When sets the sun on Afric's shore. 

That instant all is night ; 
And so should life at once be o'er. 

When Love withdraws his light ; — 
Nor, like our northern day, gleam on 

Through twilight's dim delay, 
The cold remains of lustre gone. 

Of fire long pass'd away. 



MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING 
THEME. 

(Swedish Air.) 

My harp has one unchanging theme. 

One strain that still comes o'er 
Its languid chord, as 'twere a dream 

Of joy that's now no more. 
In vain I try, with livelier air, 

To wake the breathing string ; 
That voice of other times is there, 

And saddens all I sing. 

Ercathe on, breathe on, thoii languid strain, 

Henceforth be all my own ; 
Though thou art oft so full of pain. 

Few hearts can bear thy tone. 
Yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh, 

The breath that Pleasure's -sdngs 
Gave out, when last they wanton'd by. 

Were stiU. upon thy strings. 



D, NO — NOT EV'N WHEN FIRST WE 
LOVED. 

(Cashheriait Air.) 

O, NO — not ev'n when first we lo\cd, 

Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 
Thy beauty then my senses moved. 

But now thy virtues bind my heart. 
What was but Passion's sigh before, 

Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow , 
And, though I then might love thee more, 

Trust me, I love thee better now. 

Although my heart in earlier youth 

Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth 

Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 

That then but sparkled o'er my brow. 
And, though I seem'd to love thee more. 

Yet, O, I love thee better now. 



PEACE BE AROUND THEE. 

(Scotch Air.) 

Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st ; 

May life be for thee one summer's day. 
And all that thou wishest, and all that thou 
lov'st, 

Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e'er this calm should break. 

May even thy tears pass off" so lightly. 
Like spring showers, they'll only make 

The smiles that follow shine more brightly. 

May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all. 

And daily dooms some joy to death. 
O'er thee let years so gently fall, 

They shall not crush one flower beneath. 
As half in shade and half in sun 

This world along its path advances. 
May that side the sun's upon 

Be aU that e'er shall meet thy glances ! 



COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS 

(French Air.) 

While I touch the string. 

Wreathe my brows with laurel. 

For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 271 


Common Sense, one night, 


But no, alas, we've never seen 


Though not used to gambols. 


One glimpse of pleasure's ray, 


Went out by moonlight, 


But still there came some cloud between. 


With Genius, on his rambles. 


And chased it all away. 


While I touch the string, &c. 


Dear love ! 




And chased it all away. 


Common Sense went on, 




Many -wise things saying ; 


Yet, ev'n could those sad moments last, 


While the light that shone 


Far dearer to my heart 


Soon set Genius straying. 


Were hours of grief, together past, 


One his eye ne'er raised 


Than years of mirth apart. 


From the path before him ; 


Dear love ! 


Tother idly gazed 


Than years of mirth apart. 


On each night cloud o'er him. 




While I touch the string, &c. 


Farewell ! our hope was born in fears, 




And nursed 'mid vain regrets ; 


So they came, at last. 


Like winter suns, it rose in tears. 


To a shady river ; 


Like them in tears it sets. 


Common Sense soon pass'd, 


Dear love ! 


Safe, as he doth ever ; 


Like them in tears it sets. 


While the boy, whose look 




Was in Heaven that minute, 




Never saw the brook. 




But tumbled headlong in it ! 




While I touch the string, &c. 






GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET. 


How the Wise One smiled, 






(Maltese Air.) 


When safe o'er the torrent, 




At that youth, so wild. 


Gatly sounds the castanet, 


Dripping from the current ! 


Beating time to bounding feet. 


Sense went home to bed j 


When, after daylight's golden set. 


Genius, left to shiver 


Maids and youths by moonlight meet. 


On the bank, 'tis said, 


0, then, how sweet to move 


Died of that cold river ! 


Through all that maze of mirth. 


While I touch the string, &c. 


Led by Hght from eyes we love 




Beyond aU eyes on earth. 




Then, the joyous banquet spread 


THEN, FARE THEE WELL. 


On the cool and fragrant ground. 




With heav'n's bright sparklers overhead, 


(Old English Aik.) 


And still brighter sparkling round. 


Then, fare thee well, my own dear love. 


0, then, how sweet to say 


This world has now for us 


Into some loved one's ear. 


No greater grief, no pain above 


Thoughts reserved through many a day 


The pain of parting thus. 


To be thus whisper'd here. 


Dear love ! 




The pain of parting thus. 


When the dance and feast are done, 




Arm in arm as home we stray, 


Had we but known, since first we met, 


How sweet to see the da-wTiing sun 


Some few short hours of bliss. 


O'er her cheek's warm blushes play ! 


We might, in numbering them, forget 


Then, too, the farewell kiss — 


The deep, deep pain of this, 


The words, whose parting tone 


Dear love ! 


Lingers still in dreams of bliss, 


The deep, deep pain of this. 


That haunt young hearts alone. 



272 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



L, 



LOVE IS A HUNTER BOY. 

(Lanodkdocian Aik.) 

Love is a hunter boy, 

Who makes young hearts his prey i 
And, in his nets of joy, 

Insnaros them night and day. 
In vain conceal'd they lie — 

Love tracks them every where ; 
In vain aloft they fly — 

Love shoots them flying there. 

But 'tis his joy most sweet, 

At early dawn to trace 
The print of Beauty's feet, 

And give the trembler chase. 
And if, through virgin snow, 

He tracks her footsteps fair, 
How sweet for Love to know 

None went before him there. 



COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR 
AWAY. 

(French Air.) 

Come, chase that starting tear away, 

Ere mine to meet it springs ; 
To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 

Whate'er to-morrow brings. 
Like sunset gleams, that linger late 

When all is dark'ning fast, 
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate — 

Tlie brightest, and the last. 

Then, chase that starting tear, &c. 

To gild the deepening gloom, if Heaven 

But one bright hour allow, 
O, think that one bright hour is given. 

In all its splendor, now. 
Let's live it out — then sink in night, 

Like waves that from the shore 
One minute swell, are touch'd with light, 

Then lost forevermore ! 

Come, chase that starting tear, &c. 



JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING 
(PoRinouESE Air.) 

Whisp'rings, heard by wakeful maids, 
To whom the night stars guide us ; 

Stolen walks through moonlight shades, 
With those we love beside us. 



Hearts beating. 
At meeting ; 
Tears starting. 
At parting ; 
O, sweet youth, how soon it fades ! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting I 

Wand' rings far away from home. 

With life all new before us ; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 
From hearts whose prayers watch'd o'er 
Tears starting. 
At parting ; 
Hearts beating. 
At meeting ; 
O, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting ! 



HEAR ME BUT ONCE. 

(French Aik.) 

Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 

I count each flatt'ring hope he gave 

Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled. 

Who could have thought the smile he wore, 
When first we met, would fade away ? 

Or that a chill would e'er come o'er 

Those eyes so bright through many a day ? 
Hear me but once, &c. 



WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 

(Swedish Air.) 

When Love was a child, and Avent idling round, 
'Mong flowers, the whole summer's day. 

One morn in the valley a bower he found. 
So sweet, it allured him to stay. 

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, 
A fountain ran darkly beneath ; — 

'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there ; 
Love knew it, and jump'd at the wreath. 

But Love didn't know — and, at his weak years. 
What urchin was likely to know? — 

That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears 
The fountain that murmur' d beloAV. 



He caught at the wreath 
haste, 
As boys when impatient will do - 



but with too much 



NATIONAL AIRS. 273 


It fell in those waters of briny taste. 


At length my dream is over ; 


And the flowers were all wet through. 


'Twas sweet — 'twas false — 'tis fled ! 




Farewell ! since nought it moves thee, 


This garland he now wears night and day ; 


Such truth as mine to see — 


And, though it all sunny appears 


Some one, who far less loves thee, 


W.th rieasure's own light, each leaf, they say, 


Perhaps more bless'd will be. 


Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 






Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 




New life around me shed ; 


SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT 


Farewell, false heart, whose lightness 


TO-DAY ? 


Now leaves me death instead. 




Go, now those charms surrender 


(Sicilian Air.) 


To some new lover's sigh — 


Say, -what shall be our sport to-day ? 


One who, though far less tender, 


There's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, 


May be more bless'd than I. 


Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay 




For spirits like mine to dare ! 




'Tis like the returning bloom 




Of those days, alas, gone by. 


THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS. 


When I loved, each hour — I scarce knew 


(Swiss Air.) 


-whom — 


O'er mountains bright 


And was bless'd — I scarce knew -why. 


With snow and light, 




We Crystal Hunters speed along ; 


Ay — those were days when life had wings, 


While rocks and caves. 


And flew, 0, flew so wild a height, 


And icy waves, 


That, like the lark which sunward springs, 


Each instant echo to our song; 


'Twas giddy with too much light. 


And, when we meet with store of gems, 


And, though of some plumes bereft, 


We grudge not kings their diadems. 


With that sun, too, nearly set. 


O'er mountains bright 


I've enough of light and wing still left 


With snow and light. 


For a few gay soarings yet. 


We Crystal Hunters speed along ; 




While grots and caves, 




And icy waves. 


BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 


Each instant echo to our song. 


(Welsh Air.) 




Bright be thy dreams — may all thy weeping 
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. 


Not half so oft the lover dreams 

Of sparkles from his lady's eyes, 
As we of those refreshing gleams 


May those by death or seas removed, 
The friends, who in thy spring time knew thee, 


That tell where deep the crystal lies ; 


All, thou hast ever prized or loved, 
In dreams come smUing to thee ! 


Though, next to crystal, we too grant, 


That ladies' eyes may most enchant. 




O'er mountains bright, &c. 


There may the child, whose love lay deepest, 
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ; 




Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 


Still as she was— no charm forgot — 


The golden sunset leaves its ray. 


No lustre lost that life had given ; 


So like a gem the flow'ret glows. 


Or, if changed, but changed to what 


We thither bend our headlong way ; 


Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven ! 


And, though we find no treasure there, 




We bless the rose that shines so fair. 




O'er mountains bright 




With snow and light. 


GO, THEN — 'TIS VAIN. 


We Crystal Hunters speed along ; 


(Sicilian Aik.) 


While rocks and caves. 


Go, then — 'tis vain to hover 


And icy waves, 


Thus round a hope that's dead ; 


Each instant echo to our song. 


L 35 





274 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



ROW GENTLY HERE. 

(Venetian Air.) 
Row gently here, 
Mj' gondolier, 
So softly wake the tide. 
That not an ear, 
On earth, may hear. 
But hers to whom we glide. 
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well 

As starry eyes to see, 
0, think what tales 'twould have to tell 
Of wand' ring youths like me ! 

Now rest thee here. 

My gondolier ; 
Hush, hush, for up I go. 

To climb yon light 

Balcony's height, 
While thou keep'st watch below. 
Ah ! did we take for Heaven above 

But half such pains as we 
Take, day and night, for woman's love. 
What Angels we should be ! 



O, DAYS OF YOUTH. 

(French Air.) 
(), DAYS of youth and joy, long clouded, 

"Why thus forever haunt my view ? 
When in the grave your light lay shrouded, 

Why did not ^Memory die there too ? 
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me, 

TeUing of joys that yet remain — 
No, never more can this life bring me 

One joy that equals youth's sweet pain. 

Dim lies the way to death before me. 

Cold winds of Time blow round my brow ; 
Sunshine of youth ! that once fell o'er me. 

Where is your warmth, your glory now ? 
'Tis not that then no pain could sting me; 

'Tis not that now no joys remain ; 
O, 'tis that life no more can bring me 

One joy so sweet as that worst pain. 



WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 

(Venetian Air.) 
When first that smile, like sunshine, bless'd 
my sight, 
O what a vision then came o'er me ! 
T.ong years of love, of calm and pure delight, 
Seem'd in thaJ smile to pass before me. 



Ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies, 
Of golden fruit, and harvests springing, 

With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes. 
And of the joy their light Avas bringing. 

Where now are all those fondly-promis'd hours ? 

Ah ! woman's faith is like her brightness — 
Fading as fast as rainbows, or day flowers. 

Or aught that's known for grace and lightness. 
Short as the Persian's praj'er, at close of day. 

Should be each vow of Love's repeating ; 
Quick let him worship Beauty's precious ray — 

Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting ! 



PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS ! 

(Catalonian Air.) 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

They lie on the battle plain. 
With no shroud to cover them ; 

The dew and the summer rain 
Are aU that weep over them. 

Peace to the slumberers ! 

Vain was their bravery ! — 

The fallen oak lies where it lay. 

Across the wintry river ; 

But brave hearts, once swept awaj, 

Are gone, alas ! forever. 

Vain was their bravery ! 

Woe to the conqueror ! 

Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us. 

Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us ! 
Woe to the conqueror ! 



"SVHEN THOU SHALT WANDER. 

(Sicilian Air.) 

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light 
We used to gaze on so many an eve. 

When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive — 

O, then, rememb'ring how swift went by 

Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh 

Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was far too sweet 

To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass'd the summer's heat; 



NATIONAL AIRS. 275 


And wish in vain to know again 




Such days, such nights, as bless'd thee then. 


SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. 




(To AN Air sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve.) 




See, the dawn from Heaven is breaking 




O'er our sight, 


WHO'LL BUY MY LOVE KNOTS? 


And Earth, from sin awaking, 


(PoRTuauESK Air.) 


Hails the light ! 
See those groups of angels, winging 


Hymen, late, his love knots selling, 


From the realms above, 


Call'd at many a maiden's dwelling : 


On their brows, from Eden, bringing 


None could doubt, who saw or knew them, 


Wreaths of Hope and Love. 


Hymen's call was welcome to them. 




" Who'll buy my love knots ? 


Hark, their hymns of glory pealing 


" Who'll buy my love knots ? " 


Through the air, 


Soon as that sweet cry resounded, 


To mortal ears revealing 


IIow his baskets were surrounded ! 


Who lies there ! 




In that dwelling, dark and lowly. 


Mrdds, who now first dreamt of trying 


Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 


These gay knots of Hymen's tying ; 


He, whose home's above, — the Holy, 


Dames, who long had sat to watch him 


Ever Holy One ! 


Passing by, but ne'er could catch him ; — 




" Who'll buy my love knots ? 




'< Who'll buy my love knots ? " — 


NETS AND CAGES.! 


All at that sweet cry assembled ; 




Some laugh'd, some blushVl, and some trembled. 


(Swedish Aik.) 




Come, listen to my story, while 


" Here are knots," said Hymen, taking 


Your needle's task you ply ; 


Some loose flowers, " of Love's own making ; 


At what I sing some maids will smile. 


" Here are gold ones — you may trust 'em " — 


While some, perhaps, may sigh. 


(These, of course, found ready custom). 


Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames 


♦' Come, buy my love knots ! 


Such florid songs as ours. 


" Come, buy my love knots ! 


Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern dames. 


•' Some arc labeU'd ' Knots to tie men — 


Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 


"Love the maker — Bought of Hymen.' " 


Then listen, maids, come listen, while 




Your needle's task you ply ; 


Scarce their bargains were completed, 


At what I sing there's some may smQe, 


AVhen the nymphs all cried, " We're cheated! 


While some, perhaps, will sigh. 


«' See these flowers — they're drooping sadly ; 




" This gold knot, too, ties but badly — 


Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, 


" Who'd buy such love knots ? 


Such nets had learn'd to frame. 


" AVho'd buy such love knots ? 


That none, in all our vales and groves. 


" Even this tie, with Love's name round it — 


E'er caught so much small game : 


" All a sham — He never bound it." 


But gentle Sue, less giv'n to roam. 




While Cloe's nets were taking 


I^ove, who saw the w^hole proceeding, 


Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, 


Would have laugh'd, but for good breeding; 


One little Love cage making. 


While Old Hymen, who was used to 


Come, listen, maids, &c. 


Cries like that these dames gave loose to — 




" Take back our love knots ! 


Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task ; 


•' Take back our love knots ! " 


But mark how things went on : 


Coolly said, '< There's no returning 


These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask 


" Wares on Hymen's hands — Good morning ! " 


Their name and age, were gone ! 


1 Suggested by the following remark of Swift's : — «' The 


ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making 


»e.ison wliy so fcvy marriages are happy, is, because young 


cages." 



276 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove, 
That, though she charm'd into them 

New game each hour, the youngest Love 
Was able to break through them. 
Come, listen, maids, &c. 

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought 

Of bars too strong to sever, 
One Love with golden pinions caught, 

And caged him there forever ; 
Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, 

Whate'er their looks or ages. 
That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets, 

'Tis wiser to make Cages. 

Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile 

The task your fingers ply. 
May all who hear like Susan smile. 

And not, like Cloe, sigh ! 



WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA. 

(Venetian Air.) 

When through the Piazetta 

Night breathes her cool air, 
Then, dearest Ninetta, 

I'll come to thee there. 
Beneath thy mask shrouded, 

I'll know thee afar. 
As Love knows, though clouded, 

His own Evening Star. 

In garb, then, resembling 

Some gay gondolier, 
rU whisper thee, trembling, 

" Our bark, love, is near : 
" Now, now, while there hover 

" Those clouds o'er the moon, 
«' 'Twill waft thee safe over 

" Yon silent Lagoon." 



GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 

(Sicilian Aib.) 

Go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slum- 
ber — 

Moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. 

Of Pain's bitter draught the flavor ne'er flies. 

While Pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it 
dies. 

Go, then, and dream, &c. 



That moon, which hung o'er your parting, bo 

splendid. 
Often mU shine again, bright as she then did — 
But, never more will the beam she saw bum 
In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 



TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 
(Neapolitan Aie.) 

Take hence the bowl ; — though beaming 

Brightly as bowl e'er shone, 
O, it but sets me dreaming 

Of happy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection. 

As in a wizard's glass. 
Lost hopes and dead aff"ection, 

Like shades, before me pass. 

Each cup I drain brings hither 

Some scene of bliss gone by ; — 
Bright lips, too bright to wither. 

Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o'er me 

Of those long vanish' d years, 
Alas, the wine before me 

Seems turning all to tears ! 



FAREWELL, THERESA! 

(Venetian Aik.) 

Faeewell, Theresa ! yon cloud that over 

Heaven's pale night star gath'ring we see, 
Will scarce from that pure orb have pass'd, ere 
thy lover 
Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from 
thee. 

Long, like that dim cloud, I've hung around thee, 

Dark'ning thy prospects, sadd'ning thy brow ; 

With gay heart, Theresa, and bright cheek I 

found thee ; 

O, think how changed, love, how changed art 

thou now ! 

But here I free thee : like one awaking 

From fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell ; 

'Tis over — the moon, too, her bondage is 
breaking — 
Past are the dark clouds ; Theresa, farewell ! 



NATIONAL AIRS. 277 


HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS. 


THOUGH 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM 


(Savoyard Aib.) 


(French Aie.) 


Oft, when the watching stars grow pale. 


Though 'tis all but a dream at the best. 


And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, 


And still, when happiest, soonest o'er, 


To hear a flute through yonder vale 


Yet, even in a dream, to be bless'd 


I from my casement lean. 


Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 


'• Come, come, my love ! " each note then seems 


The bosom that opes 


to say, 


With earliest hopes. 


" 0, come, my love ! the night wears fast away ! " 


The soonest finds those hopes imtrue ; 


Never to mortal ear 


As flowers that first 


Could words,' though warm they be. 


In spring time burst 


Speak Passion's language half so clear 


The earliest wither too ! 


As do those notes to me ! 


Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &c. 


Then quick my own light lute I seek. 


Though by friendship we oft are deceived, 


And strike the chords with loudest swell ; 


And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast, 


And, though they nought to others speak. 


Yet friendship will still be believed, 


He knows their language well. 


And love trusted on to the last. 


" I come, my love ! " each note then seems to 


The web 'mong the leaves 


say. 


The spider weaves 


" I come, my love ! — thine, thine till break of 


Is Hke the charm Hope hangs o'er men ; 


day." 


Though often she sees 


0, weak the power of words. 


'Tis broke by the breeze, 


The hues of painting dim, 


She spins the bright tissue again. 


Compared to what those simple chords 


Ay — 'tis all but a dream, &c. 


Then say and paint to him ! 




WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. 


WHEN THE WINE CUP IS SMILING. 


(CJekmau Aik.) 


(Italian Air.) 


When the first summer bee 


When the wine cup is smiling before us. 


O'er the young rose thall hover, 


And we pledge round to hearts that are trues 


Then, like that gay rover, 


boy, true, 


I'll come to thee. 


Then the sky of this life opens o'er us. 


He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the 


And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 


brim — 


Talk of Adam in Eden reclining. 


What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for 


We are better, far better ofl" thus, boy. thus ; 


him! 


For him but tioo bright eyes were shining — 


When the first summer bee, &c. 


See, what numbers are sparkling for us ! 


Then, to every bright tree 


When on one side the grape juice is dancing. 


In the garden he'll wander ; 


While on t'other a blue eye beams, boy 


WhUe I, 0, much fonder. 


beams. 


Will stay with thee. 


'Tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing, 


In search of new sweetness through thousands 


To disturb ev'n a saint from his dreams. 


he'll run, 


Yet, though life like a river is flowing. 


While I find the sweetness of thousands in one. 


I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on. 


Then, to every bright tree, &c. 


So the grape on its bank is still growing. 




And Love lights the waves as they run. 







278 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME ? 

(NEAPOLrTAN AlE.) 

Where shall wc burj' our shame ? 

Where, in what desolate place, 
Hide the last wreck, of a name 

Broken and stain'd by disgrace ? 
Death may dissever the chain, 

Oi^pression will cease when we're gone ; 
But the dishonor, the stain, 

Die as we may, will live on. 

Was it for this we sent out 

Liberty's cry from our shore ? 
Was it for this that her shout 

Thrill'd to the world's very core ? 
Thus to live cowards and slaves ! — 

O, ye free hearts that lie dead. 
Do you not, ev'n in your graves. 

Shudder, as o'er you we tread ? 



NEER TALK OF WISDOM'S GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

(Maheatta Aik.) 

Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools ; 

Give me the sage who's able 
To draw his moral thoughts and rules 

From the study of the table ; — 
Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass 

This world and all that's in it, 
From the bumper that but crowns his glass. 

And is gone again next minute ! 

The diamond sleeps within the mine, 

The pearl beneath the water; 
While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine, 

The grape's own rosy daughter. 
And none can prize her charms like him, 

O, none like him obtain her, 
Who thus can, like Leander, swim 

Through sparkling floods to gain her ! 



HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 

(IIioiiLAND Air.) 

Hkre sleeps the Bard who knew so well 
All the sweet windings of Apollo's shell ; 
Whether its music roll'd like torrents near, 
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. 



Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded now 
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow ; — 
That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay | 
That breeze which, like thy love song, dies away ' 



DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING 

Do not say that life is waning. 
Or that hope's sweet day is set ; 

While I've thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th' horizon yet. 

Do not think t?iose charms are flying. 
Though thy roses fade and fall ; 

Beaut}' hath a grace undoing. 
Which in thee survives them all. 

Not for charms, the newest, brightest, 
That on other cheeks may shine. 

Would I change the least, the slightest, 
That is ling'ring now o'er thine. 



THE GAZELLE. 

Dost thou not hear the silver bell. 
Through yonder lime trees ringing ? 

'Tis my lady's light gazelle. 

To me her love thoughts bringing,- 

All the while that silver bell 
Around his dark neck ringing. 

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath. 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ; 

O, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying, — 

Hid within the mystic wreath. 
My love hath kiss'd in tying ! 

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee. 

And joy to her, the fairest. 
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me, 

In every leaf thou bearest ; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 

And joy to her the fairest ! 

Hail, ye living, speaking flowers. 
That breathe of her who bound ye ; 

O, 'twas not in fields, or bowers, 
'Twas on her lips, she found ye ; — 

Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
'Twas on her lips she found ye. 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



279 



NO — LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 

No — leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, 
When youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd 

away. 
Could'st thou, when summer hours are fled, 
To some poor leaf that's fall'n and dead, 
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed ? 
No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may. 
When youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd 

away. 

O, had I met thee then, when life was bright. 
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light ; 
But now thou com'st like sunny skies, 
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes. 
When wreck'd and lost his bark before him lies ! 
No — leave this heart to rest, if rest it may. 
Since youth, and love, and hope, have pass'd 
away. 



"WHERE ARE THE VISIONS. 

" Where are the visions that round me once 
hover'd, 
" Forms that shed grace from their shadows 
alone ; 
" Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered, 
" And voices that Music might take for her 
own ? " 

Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er 
me. 
Heard me say, " Where are those visions, 
where r" 
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me. 
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, 
" There." 

Fondly I look'd, when the wizard had spoken. 
And there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day. 

Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken. 
The last golden fragments of hope melt aAvay. 



WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY. 

Wind thy horn, my hunter boy. 

And leave thy lute's inglorious sighs ; 

Hunting is the hero's joy, 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 

Hark I the hound bells ringing sweet. 

While hunters shout, and the woods repeat, 

HilU-ho! HilU-ho! 



Wind again thy cheerful horn, 

Till echo, faint with answering, dies ; 

Burn, bright torches, burn till morn. 
And lead us where the wild boy lies. 

Hark ! the cry " He's found, he's found," 

While lull and valley our shouts resound, 

Hilli-ho! HUli-ho. 

O, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. 

O, GUARD our affection, nor e'er let it feel 

The blight that this world o'er the warmest will 

steal : 
Wliile the faith of aU round us is fading or past, 
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last. 

Far safer for Love 'tis to wake and to weep. 
As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep ; 
For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, 
While the love that is wakeful lives on to the last. 

And though, as Time gathers his clouds o'er our 

head, 
A shade somewhat darker o'er life they may 

spread. 
Transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast. 
So that Love's soften'd light may shine through 

to the last. 

SLUMBER, O SLUMBER. 

" Slumber, slumber ; if sleeping thou mak'st 
"My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou 
wak'st." 
Thus sung I to a maiden. 

Who slept one summer's day, 
And, like a flower o'erladen 
With too much sunshine, lay. 
Slumber, O slumber, &c. 

"Breathe not, O breathe not, ye winds, o'er her 

cheeks ; 
" If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she 
speaks." 
Thus sing I, while, awaking. 

She murmurs words that seem 
As if her lips were taking 

Farewell of some sweet dream . 
Breathe not, breathe not, &c, 



BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS 
HITHER. 

Bring the bright garlands hither. 
Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



If so soon they must wither, 
Ours be their last sweet sighing. 

Hark, that low dismal chime ! 

'Tis the dreary voice of Time. 

O, bring beauty, bring roses, 
Bring all that yet is ours ; 

Let life's day, as it closes. 

Shine to the last through flowers. 

Haste, ere the bowl's declining. 

Drink of it now or never ; 
Now, while Beauty is shining. 

Love, or she's lost forever. 
Hark ! again that dull chime, 
Tis the dreary voice of Time. 
O, if life be a torrent, 

Down to oblivion going, 
Like this cup be its current. 

Bright to the last drop flowing ! 



IF IN LOVING, SINGING. 

If in loving, singing, night and day 

We could trifle merrily life away, 

Like atoms dancing in the beam, 

Like day flies skimming o'er the stream, 

Or summer blossoms, born to sigh 

Their sweetness out, and die — 

How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side. 

Thou and I could make our minutes glide ! 

No atoms ever glanced so bright. 

No day flies ever danced so light, 

Nor summer blossoms mix'd their sigh, 

So close, as thou and I ! 



THOU LOVST NO MORE. 

Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er ; 

Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken. 
Thou lov'st no more — thou lov'st no more. 

Though kindly still those eyes behold me, 
The smile is gone, which once they wore ; 

Though fondly still those arms infold me, 
'Tis not the same — thou lov'st no more. 

Too long my dream of bliss believing, 
I've thought thee all thou wert before ; 

But now — alas ! there's no deceiving, 
'Tis all too plain, thou lov'st no more. 

O, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 
As lost aff'ection's life restore. 



Give peace to her that is forsaken. 
Or bring back him who loves no more. 



WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. 

When abroad in the world thou appearest, 
And the young and the lovely are there. 
To my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest. 
To my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair. 
They pass, one by one. 

Like waves of the sea, 
That say to the Sun, 

" See, how fair we can be," 
But Avhere's the light like thine. 
In sun or shade to shine ? 
No — no, 'mong them all, there is nothing likf, 
thee, 

Nothing like thee. 

" Oft, of old, without farewell or warning. 

Beauty's self used to steal from the skies ; 

Fling a mist round her head, some fine 

morning. 

And post down to earth in disguise ; 

But, no matter what shroud 

Around her might be. 
Men peep'd through the cloud, 
And whisper* d, "'Tis She." 
So thou, where thousands are, 
Shin'st forth the only star, — 
Yes, yes, 'mong them all, there is nothing like 
thee, 

Nothing like thee. 



KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY 
MINE. 

Keep those eyes still purely mine, 

Though far off I be : 
When on others most they shine, 

Then think they're tum'd on me. 

Should those lips as now respond 

To sweet minstrelsy. 
When their accents seem most fond, 

Then think they're breathed for me. 

Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, 

If when all on thee 
Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 

Thou think'st the while on me. 



NATIONAL AIKS. 281 




Like Zephyr asleep in 


HOPE COMES AGAIN. 


Some rosy sea shell. 


Hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger, 


Guess who he is. 


Once more she sings me her flattering strain ; 


Name but his name. 


But hush, gentle siren — for, ah, there's less 


And his best kiss, 


danger 


For reward, you may claim. 


In still suff'ring on, than in hoping again. 


Where'er o'er the ground 




He prints his light feet, 


Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, 


The flowers there are found 


Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain ; 


Most shining and sweet : 
His looks, as soft 


And joy coming now, like a sudden light 


shining 
O'er eyelids long darken'd, would bring me 
but pain. 


As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 


Ne'er wound but in play : 


Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o'er 


And 0, when his wings 
Have brush'd o'er my lyre, 


me ; 
Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest 
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me, 


You'd fancy its strings 
Were turning to fire. 
Guess who he is, 


But, ah— in forgetting how once I was blest. 


Name but his name. 




And his best kiss. 




For reward, you may claim. 


SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. 




SAY, thou best and brightest, 




My first love and my last, 


LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM'D. 


When he, whom now thou slightest, 


Like one who, doom'd o'er distant seas 


From life's dark scene hath pass'd. 


His weary path to measure. 


Will kinder thoughts then move thee ? 


When home at length, with fav'ring breeze. 


Will pity wake one thrill 


He brings the far-sought treasure ; 


For him who lived to love thee, 




And dying loved thee still ? 


His ship, in sight of shore, goes down. 




That shore to which he hasted ; 


If when, that hour recalling 


And all the wealth he thought his o-\vn. 


From which he dates his woes, 


Is o'er the waters wasted ! 


Thou feel'st a teardrop falling, 




Ah, blush not wliile it flows : 


Like him, this heart, through many a track 


But, all the past forgiving,. 


Of toil and sorrow straying. 


Bend gently o'er his shrine. 


One hope alone brought fondly back. 


And say, "This heart, when living, 


Its toil and grief repaying. 


" With all its faults, was mine." 






Like him, alas, I see that ray 




Of hope before me perish, 




And one dark minute sweep away 


WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR. 


What years were given to cherish. 


W^HEN night brings the hour 




Of starlight and joy, 




There comes to my bower 


FEAR NOT THAT. WHILE AROUND 


A fairy-wing'd boy ; 


THEE. 


With eyes so bright, 


Fear not that, while around thee 


So fuU of wild arts. 


Life's varied blessings pour. 


Like nets of light, 


One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 


To tangle young hearts ; 


Whose smile thou seek'st no more. 


With lips, in whose keeping 


No, dead and cold forever 


Love's secret may dwell, 
36 


Let our past love remain ; 



NATIONAL AIRS. 



Once gone, its spirit never 
Shall haunt thy rest again. 

May the new ties that bind thee 

Far sweeter, happier prove, 
Nor e'er of me remind thee, 

But by their truth and love. 
Think how, asleep or waking. 

Thy imago haunts me yet : 
But, how this heart is breaking 

For thy own peace forget. 



WHEN I.OVE IS KIND. 

When Love is kind, 
Cheerful and free. 

Love's sure to find 
Welcome from me. 

But when Love brings 
Heartache or pang. 

Tears, and such things — 
Love may go hang ! 

If Love can sigh 

For one alone. 
Well pleased am I 

To be that one. 

But should I see 
Love giv'n to rove 

To two or three, 

Then — good by, Love ! 

Love must, in short, 
Keep fond and true, 

Through good report, 
And evil too. 

Else, here I swear, 
Young Love may go, 

For aught I care — 
To Jericho. 



THfi GARLAND I SEND THEE. 

The Garland I send thee was cull'd from those 

bowers 
Where thou and I wander'd in long-vanish'd 

hours : 



Xot a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays. 
But bears some remembrance of those happy 
days. 

The roses were gathered by that garden gate. 

Where our meetings, though early, seemed 
always too late ; 

Where ling'ring full oft through a summer- 
night's moon. 

Our partings, though late, appeared always too 
soon. 

The rest were all cull'd from the banks of that 

glade, 
Where, watching the sunset, so often we've 

stray' d. 
And mourn'd, as the time went, that Love had 

no power 
To bind in his chain even one happy hour. 



HOW SHALL I WOO? 

If I speak to thee in friendship's name. 

Thou think'st I speak too coldly ; 
If I mention Love's devoted flame, 

Thou say'st I speak too boldly. 
Between these two unequal fires, 

Why doom me thus to hover ? 
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires. 

If more thou scek'st, a lover. 
Which shall it be ? How shall I woo ? 
Fair one, choose between the two. 

Though the wings of Love will brightly play, 

When first he comes to woo thee. 
There's a chance that he may fly away 

As fast as he flies to thee. 
While Friendship, though on foot she come^ 

No flights of fancy trying, 
Will, therefore, oft be found at home. 

When Love abroad is flying. 
Which shall it be ? How shall I woo .'' 
Dear one, choose between the two. 

If neither feeling suits thy heart. 

Let's see, to please thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 

To mix their charms together ; 
One feeling, still more sweet, to form 

From two so sweet already — 
A friendship that like love is warm, 

A love like friendship steady. 
Thus let it be, thus let me woo. 
Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 



SACRED 


SONGS. 283 




Spring may take our loves and flow'rs. 


SPRING AND AUTUMN. 


So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. 


Every season hath its pleasures ; 




Spring may boast her flowery prime, 




Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures 




Bri;Tliten Autumn's sob'rer time. 


LOVE ALONE. 


So Life's year begins and closes ; 




Days, though short' ning, still can shine ; 


If thou would'st have thy charms enchant out 


"What though youth gave love and roses, 


eyes. 


Age still leaves us friends and wine. 


First win otxr hearts, for there thy empire lies . 




Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, 


Phillis, when she might have caught me, 


Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 


All the Spring looked coy and shy, 




Yet herself in Autumn sought me, 


What would the rose with all her pride be worth, 


When the flowers were all gone by. 


Were there no sun to call her brightness forth ? 


Ah, too late ; — she found her lover 


Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness 


Calm and free beneath his vine, 


thrown. 


Drinking to the Spring time over, 


Wait but that light, which comes from Love 


In his best autumnal wine. 


alone. 


Thus may we, as years are flying, 


Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear. 


To their flight our pleasures suit, 


Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to 


Nor regret the blossoms dying, 


year : 


While we still may taste the fruit. 


Wouldst thou they stiU should shine as first 


0, while days like this are ours. 


they shone. 


Where's the lip that dares repine ? 


Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone. 


SACRED 


SONGS. 


TO 


Its glow by day, its smile by night. 


EDWARD TUITE DALTON, ESQ. 


Are but reflections caught from Thee. 


THIS FIRST NUMBER 


Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. 


OF 


And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 


SACRED SONGS 




IS INSCRIBED BY HIS SINCEKE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 


When Day, with farewell beam, delays 


THOMAS MOORE. 


Among the opening clouds of Even, 


Mayjield Cottage, Ashbourne, 


And we can almost think we gaze 


May, 1816. 


Through golden vistas into Heaven — 




Those hues, that make the Sun's decline 


THOU ART, GOD. 


So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 


(AlB. — Unknown.I) 




" The day is tliine ; the night also is thine : thou hast 


When Night, with wings of starry gloom. 


prepared the liglit and the snn. 


O'ershadows all the earth and skies. 


" Thou liast set all the borders of the earth : thou hast 


Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose 


made summer and winter." — Psalm Ixxiv. 16, 17. 


plume 


Thou art, God, the life and light 


Is sparkling with unnumber'd ej'es — 


Of all this wondrous world we see ; 


That sacred gloom, those fires divine. 




So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 


1 1 have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. 




It is suug t(i the beautiful old words, " I do confess thou'rt 


When youthful Spring around us breathes. 


Bniooth and fair." 


Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 



284 SACRED 


SONGS. 


And every flower the Summer wreathes 


Her love thy fairest heritage,' 


Is born beneath that kindling eye. 


Her power thy glory's throne.* 


Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 


Till evil came, and blighted 


An<l all things fair and bright are Thine. 


Thy long-lov'd olive tree ; * — 




And Salem's shrines Avere lighted 




For other gods than Thee. 


THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. 






Then sunk the star of Solyma — 


(Air.— Beethoven.) 


Then pass'd her glory's day, 


The bird, let loose in eastern skies,' 


Like heath that, in the wilderness,* 


When hastening fondly home. 


The wild wind whirls away. 


Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 


Silent and waste her bowers. 


Where idle warblers roam. 


Where once the mighty trod. 


But high she shoots through air and light, 


And sunk those guilty towers. 


Above all low delay. 


While Baal reign'd as God. 


Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 




Nor shadow dims her way. 


" Go " — said the Lord — " Ye Conquerors ! 




" Steep in her blood j'our swords, 


So grant me, God, from every care 


" And raze to earth her battlements,^ 


And stain of passion free. 


" For they are not the Lord's. 


Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, 


*' Till Zion's mournful daughter 


To hold my course to Thee ! 


" O'er kindred bones shall tread, 


No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 


" And Hinnom's vale of slaughter ^ 


My Soul, as home she springs ; — 


«' Shall hide but half her dead ! " 


Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 




Thy Freedom in her wings ! 






WHO IS THE MAIDS' 


FALLEN IS THY THRONE. 


ST. Jerome's love.' 


(Air. -Martini.) 


(Air. — Beethoven.) 


Fall'n is thy Thi-one, Israel ! 


Who is the Maid my spirit seeks. 


Silence is o'er thy plains ; 


Through cold reproof and slander's blight • 


Thy dwellings all lie desolate, 


Has she Love's roses on her cheeks ? 


Thy children weep in chains. 


Is hers an eye of this world's light ? 


Where are the dews that fed thee 


No — wan and sunk with midnight prayer 


On Etham's barren shore ? 


Are the pale looks of her I love ; 


That fire from Heaven which led thee, 


Or if, at times, a light be there. 


Now lights thy path no more. 


Its beam is kindled from above. 


Lord ! thou didst love Jerusalem — 


I chose not her, my heart's elect, 


Once she was all thy own ; 


From those who seek their Maker's shrine 


1 The carrier pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated 


7 " Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, thai 


prtch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and 


it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son 


ttic place to which she is destined. 


of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury 


2 " I have left mine heritage ; I have given the dearly 


in Tophet till there be no place." — T r. vil. 32. 


beloved of my soul into the hand of her enemies." — Jere- 


8 These lines were suggested by a passage in one of St 


miak, xii. 7. 


Jerome's Letters, replying to some calumnious remarks that 


3 " Do not disgrace the throne ofthy glory." — Jer.xiv. 21. 


had been circulated respecting his intimacy with the mainm 


* "The Lord called thy name a green olive tree ; fair 


Paula: — " Numquid me vestes sericJB, nitentes gemma;. 


and of goodly fruit," &c. —Jr. xi. IG. 


picta facies, aut auri rapuit ambitio? Nulla fuit alia Roniae 


5 "Fur he shall be like the heath in the desert." Ter. 


matronarum, que meam possit edomare mentem, nisi lu- 


xvii. C. 


gens atque jejunans, fletu pene ciecata." — £;»ist. "Si titt 


6 "Take away her battlements; for Ihey are not the 


putem." 


LoRt's." — yer. v. 10. 





SACRED SONGS. 



In gems and garlands proudly deck'd, 
As if themselves were things divine. 

No — Heaven but faintly warms the breast 
That beats beneath a broider'd veil ; 

And she who comes in glittering vest 
To mourn her frailty, still is frail.' 

Not so the faded form I prize 

And love, because its bloom is gone ; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 

Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, 

So touching as that form's decay, 
Which, like the altar's trembling light, 

In holy lustre wastes away. 



THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING 
SHOW. 

(AiK. — Stevenson.) 
This world is all a fleeting show. 

For man's illusion given ; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 

There's nothing true but Heaven ! 

And false the light on Glory's plume. 

As fading hues of Even ; 
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom. 
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb — 

There's nothing bright but Heaven ! 

Poor wanderers of a stormy day. 

From wave to wave we're driven. 

And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, 

Serve but to light the troubled way — 

There's nothing calm but Heaven. 



O THOU WHO DRY' ST THE MOURNER'S 
TEAR. 

(AlB. — Hatdn.) 

" He bealeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their 
wounds." — Psalm cxivii. 3. 

O Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, 

How dark this world would be. 
If, M'hen deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee ! 

1 Od yan Kpvao(j>opctv mv laKpvovaav Set, — Chrysost. 
Homil. 8, in Epist. ad Tim. 

2 This second verse, which I wrote long after the first, al- 
ludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daugh- 
ter of the late Colonel Bainbrisrse, who was married in Ash- 
bourne church, October .31, 1815, and died of a fever in a 
few weeks after : the sound of her marriage bells seemed 



The friends who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart. 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers. 

And even the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. 

Is dimm'd and vanish'd too, 
O, who would bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our Peace branch from above ? 
Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 



WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 

(Air. — AvisON.) 
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our 
eyes, 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young 
bloom. 
Or earth had profaned what was born for the 
skies. 
Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had 
stain'd it ; 
'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course. 
And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has 
unchain' d it. 
To water that Eden where first was its source. 
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, 
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our 
eyes. 
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young 
bloom. 
Or earth had profaned what was born for the 
skies. 

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,*" 
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now. 



scarcely out of our ears when we heard of her death. Dur- 
ing her last delirium she sung several hymns, in a voice 
even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were 
some from the present collection, (particularly, " There's 
nothing bright but Heaven,") which this very interesting 
girl had often heard me sing during the summer. 



SACRED SONGS. 



Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale, 
And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her 
brow. 
0, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying 
From this gloomy world, while its gloom was 
unknown — 
And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in 
dying. 
Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. 
Weep not for her — in her spring time she flew 
To that land where the wings of the soul are 
unfurl'd ; 
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew. 
Looks radiantly do"wn on the tears of this 
world. 



THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

(AiK. — Stevenson.) 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
My temple, I>ord ! that Arch of thine ; 
My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
And silent thoughts my only prayers.' 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
AVhon murmuring homeward to their caves, 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of Thee ! 

I'll seek, by day, some glade unkno-\vn. 
All light and silence, like thy Throne ; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 

I'll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds a while the daybeam's track ; 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 

There's nothing bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow. 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of thy Deity : 

1 Pii orant tacite. 

2 I have so much altered tlie character of this air, which 
is from the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned con- 
certos, that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, 
I think, be recognized. 



There's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 



SOUND THE LOUD TMBREL. 
Miriam's sono. 

(Air. — AVI80N.2) 

" And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a 
timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after her, 
with timbrels and with dances." — Exod. xv. 20. 

Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free. 
Sing — for the pride of the Tyrant is broken. 
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and 
brave — 
How vain was their boast, for the Lord hath 
but spoken. 
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the 
wave. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free. 

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord ! 
His word was our arrow, his breath was out 

sword. — 
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story 

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her 

pride ? 
For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of 

glory,^ 
And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the 

tide. 
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! 



GO, LET ME WEEP. 

(AiE. — Steven SOK.) 

Go, let me weep — there's bliss in tears, 
When he who sheds them inly feels 

Some lingering stain of early years 
Eff"aced by every drop that steals. 

The fruitless showers of worldly woe 
Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 

3 " And it came to pass, that, in the morning watch, nio 
Lord looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the 
■pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the liost of the 
Egyptians." — Exod. xiv. 24. 



SACRED SONGS. 



287 



\Vhile tears that from repentance flow, 
In bright exhalement reach the skies. 
Go, let me weep. 

Leave mo to sigh o'er hours that flew 

More idly than the summer's wind. 
And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw. 

But left no trace of sweets behind. — 
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves 

Is cold, is faint to those that swell 
The heart, where pure repentance grieves 

O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. 
Leave me to sigh. 



COME NOT, O LORD. 

(AlE.— Hatdn.) 

Come not, O Lord, in the dread robe of splendor 

Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day of 

thine ire ; 

Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, awful, but 

tender, 

"Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire ! 

Lord, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy 
Nation ' 
Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling 
stream ; 
O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation, 
A\'hile Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. 

So, when the dread clouds of anger infold Thee, 
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove ; 

While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold 
Thee, 
O, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love ! 



WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY' 
TEARS. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 
Were not the sinful Mary's tears 

An off'ering worthy Heaven, 
When o'er the faults of former years, 

She wept — and was forgiven ? 

When, bringing every balmy sweet 
Her day of luxury stored, 



1 " And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and 
the camp of Israel ; and it was a cloud and darkness to 
them, hut it gave light by night to these." — Exod. xiv. 20. 

2 " Her sins, which are many, are forgiven ; for she loved 
much." — S«. Luke vii 47. 

a " And he will destroy, in this mountain, the face of the 



She o'er her Savior's hallow'd feet 
The precious odors poiir'd ; — 

And wiped them with that golden hair, 
Where once the diamond shone ; 

Though now those gems of grief were there 
Which shone for God alone ! 

Were not those sweets, so humbly shed — 
That hair — those weeping eyes — 

And the sunk heart, that inly bled — 
Heaven's noblest sacrifice ? 

Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 
O, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, 

Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 
" Love much " * and be forgiven ! 



AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. 

(AiE. — Haydn.) 

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, 

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion. 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, 
My God ! silent, to Thee — 
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, 

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, 

So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded. 

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, 

My God ! trembling, to Thee — 

True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 



BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 

(AiK. — Stevenson.) 

But who shall see the glorious day 

When throned on Zion's brow. 
The Lord shall rend that veil away 

Which hides the nations now ? ^ 
WTien earth no more beneath the fear 

Of his rebuke shall lie ; * 
When pain shall cease, and every tear 

Be wiped from every eye.* 

covering cast over all people, and the veil that is spread 
over all nations." — Isaiah, xxv. 7. 

4 " The rebuke of his people shall he take away from off 
all the earth." — /.5flJaA, xxv. 8. 

5 "And God shall wipe away sU tears from their eyes; 
. . . neither shall there be any more pain "— Rev. xxi.4 



288 



SACRED SONGS. 



Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn. 

Beneath the heathen's chain ; 
Thy days of splendor shall return, 

And all be new again.' 
The Fount of Life shall then be quaffd 

In peace, by all who come ; ^ 
And every wind that blows shall waft 
Some long-lost exile home. 



ALMIGHTY GOD! 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 

(Air.— Mozart.) 

Almighty God ! when round thy shrine 
The Palm Tree's heavenly branch we twine,' 
(Emblem of Life's eternal ray, 
And Love that " fadeth not away,") 
We bless the flowers, expanded all,* 
We bless the leaves that never fall. 
And trembling say, — "In Eden thus 
♦' The Tree of Life may flower for us ! " 

AVlien round thy Cherubs — smiling calm, 

Without their flames * — we wreathe the Palm, 

O God ! we feel the emblem true — 

Thy Mercy is eternal too. 

Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes. 

That crown of Palm which never dies. 

Are but the types of Thee above — 

Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! 



O FAIR! O PUREST! 

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER.' 

(Air.— Moore.) 

O FAIR ! O purest ! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove. 



1 " And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make 
?C1 things new." — iiei!. xxi. 5. 

2 " And whosoever will, let him take the water of life 
freely." — Rev. xxii. 17. 

s " The Scriptures having declared that the Temple of 
Jerusalem was a type of the Messiah, it is natural to con- 
chulo that the Palms, which made so conspicuous a figure 
in that structure, represented that Life and Immortality 
whicli were brought to light by the Gospel." — Observations 
on the Palm, as- a sacred Emblem, by W. Tighe. 

i " And he carved all the walls of the house round about 
with carved figures of cherubiins, and palm trees, and open 
fiowers." — 1 Kings, vi. 29. 

6 " When the passover of the tabernacles was revealed to 
the great lawgiver in the mount, then the cherubic images 
which appeared in that structure were no longer surrounded 



And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hovering hawk be near. 
That limpid spring in its mirror clear 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey. 
And warns the timorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. 

The sacred pages of God's own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook. 
In whose holy mirror, night and day, 
Thou'lt study Heaven's reflected ray ; — 
And should the foes of virtue dare, 
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there. 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly 

Be thou that dove ; 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 



ANGEL OF CHARITY. 

(AiK. — Handel.) 
Angel of Charity, who, from above, 

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here. 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 

And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 
When on the shrine of God were laid 

First fruits of all most good and fair, 
That ever bloom' d in Eden's shade. 

Thine was the holiest off'ering there. 

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given 

But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven 

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.^ 
But, long as Love, Almighty Love, 

Shall on his throne of thrones abide. 
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above. 

Smiling forever by His side ! 



by flames; for the tabernacle was a type of the dispensation 
of mercy, by which Jehovah confirmed his gracious cove- 
nant to redeem mankind." — Observations on the Palm. 

6 In St. Augustine's Treatise upon the advantages of a 
solitary life, addressed to his sister, there is the following 
fanciful passage, from which, the reader will perceive, the 
thought of this song was taken: — " Te, soror, nunquam 
nolo esse securam, sed timere semperque tuam fragilitatem 
habere suspectam, ad instar pavids columbae frequentare 
rivos aquarum et quasi in speculo accipitris cernere super- 
volantis efiigiem et cavere. Rivi aquarum sententiie sunt 
scripturarum, quas de limpidissimo sapientiae fonte proflu 
entes," &c. &c. — De Vit. F.remit. ad Sororem. 

1 "Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die, 
One lost in certainty, and one in joy." — Prioy 



SACRED SONGS. 



BEHOLD THE SUN. 

(/VIK. — LOHD MORKINQTON.) 

Behold the Sun, how bright 

From yonder East he springs, 
As if the soul of life and light 

Were breathing from his wings. 

So bright the Gospel broke 

Upon the souls of men ; 
So fresh the dreaming world awoke 

In Truth's full radiance then. 

Before yon Sun arose. 

Stars cluster'd through the sky — 
But O how dim, how pale were those. 

To His one burning eye ! 

So Truth lent many a ray 

To bless the Pagan's night — 
But, LoRB, how weak, how cold were they 

To Thy One glorious Light ! 



LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY. 

(AiE.— Dp.. Botce.) 

LoKD, who shall bear that day, so dread, so 
splendid, 
When we shall see thy Angel, hov'ring o'er 
This sinful world, with hand to heav'n extended, 
And hear him swear by Thee that Time's no 
more ? ' 
When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray — 
Who, Mighty God, O who shall bear that 
day ? 

When through the world thy awful call hath 
sounded — 
" Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye 
Dead ! " » 

And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded. 
The Savior shall put forth his radiant head ; ' 



1 " And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and 
upon the earth lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by 
Him that liveth forever and ever, .... that there 
should be time no longer." — Rev. x. 5, 6. 

2 " Awake, ye Dead, and come to judgment." 

8 " They shall see the Son of Man coining in the clouds 
of heaven — and all the angels with h\m." — Matt. xxiv. 30, 
and XXV. 31. 

* " From whose face the earth and the heaven fled away." 
RtB. XX. U 



37 



While Earth and Heav'n before Him pass 

away ■• — 
Who, Mighty God, O who shall bear that day ? 

When, with a glance, th' Eternal Judge shall 
sever 
Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, 
And say to those, " Depart from me forever ! " 
To these, " Come, dwell with me in endless 
light ! " » 
When each and all in silence take their way — 
Who, Mighty God, O who shall bear that day ? 



O, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE. 

(AiK. — Hatdn.) 

O, TEACH me to love Thee, to feel what thou art, 
Till, fill'd with the one sacred image, my heart 

Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart. 

Reserved for Thy worship alone. 

In joy and in sorrow, through praise and through 

blame, 
Thus still let me, living and dying the same. 

In Thy service bloom and decay — 
Like some lone altar, whose votive flame 

In holiness wasteth away. 

Though born in this desert, and doom'd by my 

birth 
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth. 

On Thee let my spirit rely — 
Like some rude dial, that, fix'd on earth, 

Still looks for its light from the sky. 



WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 

(AiE. — Stevenson.) 

Weep, weep for him, the Man of God,* — 
In yonder vale he sunk to rest ; 



5 " And before Him shall be gathered all nations, and Ha 
shall separate them one from another. . . . 

" Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand. 
Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom pre- 
pared for you, &c. 

" Then shall He say also unto them on the left hand, De- 
part from me, ye cursed, &c. 

" And these shall go away into everlasting punishment , 
but the righteous into life eternal." — Matt. xxv. 32, et seq. 

6 " And the children of Israel wept for Moses iii the plains 
of Moab " — Dcut. xxxiv. 8. 



290 



SACRED SONGS. 



But none of earth can point the sod ' 
That flowers above his sacred breast. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain,' 
His words refresh'd like Heaven's dew- 

O, ne'er shall Israel see again 
A Chief, to God and her so true. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Remember ye his parting gaze, 
His farewell song by Jordan's tide. 

When, full of glory and of days, 
He saw the promised land — and died.' 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 

Yet died he not as men who sink, 
Before our eyes, to soulless clay ; 

But, changed to spirit, like a wink 
Of summer lightning, pass'd away.* 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 



IIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY 
BREEZE. 

(AiE. — Beethoven.) 

Like morning, when her early breeze 
Breaks up the surface of the seas. 
That, in those furrows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light — 

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er 
The Spirit, dark and lost before, 
And, fresh'ning all its depths, prepare 
Por Truth divine to enter there. 

Till David touch'd his sacred lyre. 
In silence lay th' unbreathing wire ; 
But when he swept its chords along, 
Ev'n Angels stoop'd to hear that song. 

So sleeps the soul, till Thou, O Lord, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord — 



1 " And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab ; 
. . but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." 

— Dent, xxjtiv. 6. 

2 " My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall 
listil as the dew." Moses' Son^: Deut. xxxii. 2. 

3 " I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou 
Bhalt not go over thither." — Deut. xxxiv. 4. 

4 " As he was going to embrace Eleazer and Joshua, and 
was still discoursing with them, a clo<id stood over him on 
the sudden, and he disappeared in a certain valley, although 
he wrote in the Holy Books that he died, which was done 



Till, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise 
In music, worthy of the skies ! 



COME, YE DISCONSOLATE. 

(Air.— German.) 

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, 
Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; 

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your 
anguish — 
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. 

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, 
Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure. 

Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name 
saying — 
" Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot 



Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, 
What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, 

Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — 
" Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." 



AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS COME. 

(Air.— Stevenson.) 

Awake, arise, thy light is come ; * 

The nations, that before outshone thee, 

Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — 
The glory of the Lord is on thee ! 

Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, 

From ev'ry nook of earth shall cluster ; 

And kings and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy rising lustre.' 

Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 

O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, 

Thy exiled sons return to thee. 

To thee return thy home-sick daughters.^ 



out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, because of 
his extraordinary virtue, he went to God." — Josephus, book 
iv. chap. viii. 

" " Arise, shine ; for thy light is come, and the glory of 
the Lord is risen upon thee." — Isaiah, Ix. 

" And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to 
the Irightness of thy rising." — lb. 

1 " Lift up thine eyes round about and see ; all they gathei 
themselves together, they come to thee : thy sons shall como 
from afar, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side "— 
Jb. 



SACRED SONGS. 



A.nd camels rich, from Midian's tents, 
Shall lay their treasures down before thee ; 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, 
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.' 

6cc, -who arc these that, like a cloud,* 

Are gathering from all earth's dominions, 

Like doves, long absent, when allow'd 
Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. 

Surely the isles shall wait for me,' 

The ships of Tarshish round will hover, 

To bring thy sons across the sea. 
And waft their gold and silver over. 

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace * — 
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious 

Shall beautify our Holy Place, 

And make the ground I tread on glorious. 

No more shall Discord haunt thy ways,* 
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 

But thou shalt call thy portals. Praise, 
And thou shalt name thy walls, Salvation. 

The sun no more shall make thee bright,® 
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee ; 

But God, Himself, shall be thy Light, 
And flash eternal glory through thee. 

Thy sun shall never more go down ; 

A ray, from heav'n itself descended. 
Shall light thy everlasting crown — 

Thy days of mourning all are ended.^ 

My own, elect, and righteous Land ! 

The Branch, forever green and vernal, 
"Which I have planted with this hand — 

Live thou shalt in Life Eternal.^ 



1 " The multitude of camels shall cover thee ; the drome- 
daries of Midian and Epliah ; all they from Sheba shall 
come ; they shall bring gold and incense." — Isaiah, Ix. 

2 " Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to 
Bieir windows?" — lb. 

3 " Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of 
Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and 
tlieirgold with them." — Tt. 

■* " The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee ; the fir 
tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place 
of my sanctuary ; and I will make the place of my feet glo- 
rious."— /6. 

6 " Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting 
nor destruction within thy borders ; but thou shalt call thy 
walls, Salvation, and thy gates, Praise." — /6. 



THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT. 

(Air. — Ceescentini.) 

There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows 

weary 
Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary - 

What may that Desert be ? 
'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few .joys that 

come 
Are lost, like that daylight, for 'lis not their 

home. 

There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes 
The water he pants for but sparkles and flies — 

Who may that Pilgrim be ? 
'Tis Man, hapless Man, through this life tempted 

on 
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. 

There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert 

stealing 
To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing — 

What may that Fountain be ? 
'Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under 

ground. 
By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found.' 

There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hath the spell 
To point where those waters in secrecy dwell — 

Who may that Spirit be ? 
'Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learn'd that, 

where'er 
Her wand bends to worship, the Truth must be 

there ! 



SINCE FIRST THY WORD. 

(Air. — Nicholas Freeman.) 

Since first Thy Word awaked my heart. 
Like new life dawning o'er me, 

6 « Thy sun shall be no more thy light by day ; neither 
for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee : but the 
Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God 
thy glory."— /i. 

' " Thy sun shall no more go down ; . . . for the LoRt 
shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourn- 
ing shall be ended." — lb. 

8 " Thy people also shall be all righteous ; they shall m- 
herit the land forever, the branch of my planting, the worJ 
of my hands." — lb. 

9 In singing, the following line had better be adopt 
ed,- 

" Can but by the gifted of Heaven be found ' 



892 



SACRED SONGS. 



Where'er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, 
All light and love before me. 

Nought else I feel, or hear or see — 
All bonds of earth I sever — 

Thee, O God, and only Thee 
I live for, now and ever. 

Like him whose fetters dropp'd away 
When light shone o'er his prison,' 

My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray, 
Hath from her chains arisen. 

And shall a soul Thou bidst be free, 
Return to bondage ? — never ! 

Thee, O God, and only Thee 
I live for, now and ever. 



HARK! 'TIS THE BREEZE. 

(AlE.— RODSSEAU.) 

Hark ! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling 

Earth's weary children to repose ; 
While, round the couch of Nature falling, 

Gently the night's soft curtains close. 
Soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining, 

Numberless stars, through yonder dark, 
ShaU look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 

From out the veils that hid the Ark. 

Guard us, O Thou, who never sleepest, 

Thou who, in silence throned above. 
Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest 

Thy watch of Glory, Pow'r, and Love. 
Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely. 

Our souls, a while from life withdrawn, 
May, in their darkness, stilly, purely, 

Like " sealed fountains," rest till dawn. 



WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE 
SAINTED ? 

(AiB.— Hasse.) 

Where is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 

Through what Elysium more bright 
Than fancy or hope ever painted. 

Walk ye in glory and light ? 
Who the same kingdom inherits .' 

Breathes there a soul that may dare 

1 " And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, 
End a light shined in the prison. . . And his chains 

fell off from his hands." —jJets, xii. 7. 



Look to that world of Spirits, 

Or hope to dwell with you there ? 

Sages ! who, ev'n in exploring 

Nature through all her bright ways. 
Went, like the Seraphs, adoring. 

And veil'd your eyes in the blaze — 
MartjTS ! who left for our reaping 

Truths you had sown in your blood — 
Sinners ! whom long years of weeping 

Chasten'd from evil to good — 

Maidens ! who, like the young Crescent, 

Turning away your pale brows 
From earth, and the light of the Present, 

Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse — 
Say, through what region enchanted 

Walk ye, in Heaven's sweet air ? 
Say, to what spirits 'tis granted. 

Bright souls, to dwell with you there ? 



HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MISE'S 
WING. 

(AlE. — AnONTMOUS.) 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing. 

Whose theme is in the skies — 
Like morning larks, that sweeter sing 

The nearer Heav'n they rise. 

Though Love his magic lyre may tune. 
Yet ah, the flow'rs he round it wreathes 

Were pluck'd beneath pale Passion's moon, 
Whose madness in their odor breathes. 

How purer far the sacred lute. 

Round which Devotion ties 
Sweet flow'rs that turn to heav'nly fruit, 

And palm that never dies. 

Though War's high-sounding harp may be 
Most welcome to the hero's ears, 

Alas, his chords of victory 

Are wet, all o'er, with human tears. 

How far more sweet their numbers run. 

Who hymn, like Saints above. 
No victor, but th' Eternal One, 

No trophies but of Love ! 



SACRED SONGS. 



GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 

(Air. — Stevenson.) 
Go forth to the Mount— bring the olive branch 

home,' 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 
From that time,'' when the moon upon Ajalou's 
vale, 
Looking motionless down,'' saw the kings of 
the earth, 
In the presence of God's mighty Champion, 
grow pale — 
O, never had Judah an hour of such mirth ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive branch 

home, 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 

Bring myrtle and palm — bring the boughs of 

each tree 
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.'* 
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel 

shone. 
With a light not their own, through the 

Jordan's deep tide, 
"Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided 

on,* — 
O, never had Judah an hour of such pride ! 
Go forth to the Mount — bring the olive branch 

home. 
And rej oice, for the day of our Freedom is come ! 



IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HERE- 
AFTER. 

(Air. — Havdn.) 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 

Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her 
To those she long hath mourn'd for here r 

Hearts, from which 'twas death to sever. 
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shall meet us and be lost no more. 

1 " And that they should publish and proclaim in all their 
cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount, 
and fetch olive branches," &,c. &c. — JVeh. viii. 15. 

2 " For since the days of Joshua the son o( Nun unto that 
day had not the children of Israel done so : and there was 
very great gladii'-ss. — lb. 17. 

3 "Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon ; and thou. Moon, 
in the valley of Ajalon." — ./o,«A. x. 12. 

< " Fetch olive branches, and pine branches, and myrtle 
branches, and palm branches, and branches of thick trees, 
to make booths." — JVe'i. viii. 15. 

6 " And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of 
the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, 



When wearilj' we wander, asking 

Of earth and heaven, where are they, 

Beneath whose smile we once lay basking. 
Blest, and thinking bliss would stay ? 

Hope stiU lifts her radiant finger 

Pointing to th' eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal yet they linger, 

Looking back for us to come. 

Alas, alas — doth Hope deceive us ? 

Shall friendship — love — shall all those ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us. 

Be found again where nothing dies ? 

0, if no other boon were given. 

To keep our hearts from wrong and stain. 
Who would not try to win a Heaven 

Where all we love shall live again ? 



WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 

(Air.— NovELLO.) 
" War against Babylon I " shout we around,' 

Be our banners through earth unfurl'd ; 
Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound ' — 
" War against Babylon ! " shout through the 
Avorld ! 
O thou that dweUest on many waters,' 

Thy day of pride is ended now ; 
And the dark curse of Israel's daughters 

Breaks, like a thunder cloud, over thy brow ! 
War, war, war against Babylon ! 

Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,' 

Set the standard of God on high ; 
Swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields, 

"Zion" our watchword, and "vengeance" 
our cry ! 
Woe ! woe ! — the time of thy visitation '" 

Is come, proud Land, thy doom is cast — 
And the black surge of desolation 

Sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last ! 

War, war, war against Babylon ! 

and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground." — Josh, iii 
17. 

6 " Shout against her round about." — Jcr. 1. 13. 

T " Set ye up a standard in the land, blow the trumpet 
among the nations, prepare the nations against her, call 
together against her the kingdoms," &c. &.C. — lb. li. 27. 

8 " O thou that dwellest upon many waters, . . thine 
end is come." — lb. 13. 

9 " Make bright the arrows; gather the shields . . . . se, 
up the standard upon the walls of Babylon." — fb. li 
11, 12. 

10 " Woe unto them ! for their day is come, the time ot 
their visitation ! " — lb. 1. 27. 



2?4 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



THE HONORABLE MRS. NORTON. 

For the groandwork of the following Poem 
I am indebted to a memorable Fete, given some 
years since, at Boyle Fann, the scat of the late 
Lord Henry Fitzgerald. In commemoration of 
that evening — of which the lady to whom 
these pages are inscribed was, I well recollect, 
one of the most distinguished ornaments — I 
was induced at the time to write some verses, 
which were afterwards, however, thrown aside 
unfinished, on my discovering that the same 
task had been undertaken by a noble poet,' 
whose playful and happy jei« d' esprit on the sub- 
ject has since been published. It was but late- 
ly, that, on finding the fragments of my own 
sketch among my papers, I thought of found- 
ing on them such a description of an imaginary 
Fete as might furnish me with situations for the 
introduction of music. 

Such is the origin and object of the follow- 
ing Poem, and to Mrs. NoiiTO.\ it is, with every 
feeling of admiration and regard, inscribed by 
her father's warmly attached friend. 



THOMAS MOORE. 



Sloperton Cottage, 
J^ooember, 1831. 



<' Where are ye now, ye summer days, 

•' That once inspired the poet's lays ? 

•' Blest time ! ere England's nymphs and swains, 

" For lack of sunbeams, took to coals — 
<' Summers of light, undimm'd by rains, 
*' "Whose only mocking trace remains 

" In watering-pots and parasols." 

Thus spoke a young Patrician maid, 
As, on the morning of that F("te 
Which bards unborn shall celebrate, 

She backward drew her curtain's shade, 

And, closing one half-dazzled eye, 

Peep'd with the other at the sky — 

Th' important sky, whose light or gloom 

Was to decide, this day, the doom 

1 Lori Francis Egerton. 



Of some few hundred beauties, wits, 
Blues, Dandies, Swains, and ExquLsites. 

Faint were her hopes ; for June nad now 

Set in with all his usual rigor ! 
Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing how 
To nurse a bud, or fan a bough. 

But Eui uc in perpetual vigor ; 
And, such the biting summer air, 
That she, the nymph now nestling there — 
Snug as her own bright gems recline, 
At night, within their cotton shrine — 
Had, more than once, been caught of late 
Kneeling before her blazing grate, 
Like a young worshipper of fire. 

With hands uplifted to the flame, 
Whose glow as if to woo them nigher. 

Through the white fingers flushing came. 

But O, the light, the unhoped-for light, 
That now illum'd this morning's heaven ! 

Up sprung lanthe at the sight. 

Though — hark ! — the clocks but strike 
eleven. 

And rarely did the nymph surprise 

Mankind so early with her eyes. 

Who now will say that England's sun 

(Like England's self, these spendthrift days; 

His stock of wealth hath near outrun, 
And must retrench his golden rays — 

Pay for the pride of sunbeams past. 

And to mere moonshine come at last ? 

" Calumnious thought ' " lanthe cries, 

While coming mirth lit up each glance, 
And, prescient of the ball, her eyes 

Already had begun to dance : 
For brighter sun than that which now 

Sparkled o'er London's spires and tower(», 
Had never bent from heaven his brow 

To kiss Firenze's City of Flower,'* 

What must it be — if thus so fair 

'Mid the smoked groves of Grosvenor Square — 

What must it be where Thames is seen 

Gliding between his banks of green, 

While rival villas, on each side, 

Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, 



THE SUMMER FETE. 295 


And, like a Turk between two roAvs 


The relics of a past beau monde. 


Of Harena beauties, on he goes — 


A world, like Cuvier's, long dethroned ! 


A lover, loved for ev'n the grace 


Ev'n Parliament this evening nods 


With which he slides from their embrace. 


Beneath th' harangues of minor gods. 




On half its usual opiate s share ; 


In one of those enchanted domes, 


The great dispensers of repose. 


One, the most flowery, cool, and bright 


The first-rate furnishers of prose 


Of all by which that river roams, 


Being all call'd to — prose elsewhere. 


The Fete h to be held to-night — 




That Fete already link'd to fame, 


Soon as through Grosvenor's lordly square ' — 


Whose cards, in many a fair one's sight 


That last impregnable redoubt. 


(When Icok'd for long, at last they came,) 


Where, guarded with Patrician care. 


Sc^m'd ciiclcd with a fairy light; — 


Primeval Error still holds out — 


That Fete to which the cull, the flower 


Where never gleam of gas must dare 


Of England's beauty, rank and power, 


'Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt. 


From the young spinster, just come out, 


Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare 


To the old Premier, too lono; in — 


The dowagers one single jolt ; — 


From legs of far-descended gout. 


Where, far too stately and sublime 


To the last new-mustp.chio'd chin — 


To profit by the lights of time. 


All were convoked by Fashion's spells 


Let Intellect march how it will. 


To the small circle where she dwells, 


They stick to oil and watchmen still : — 


Collecting nightly, to allure us, 


Soon as through that illustrious square 


Live atoms, which, together hurl'd, 


The first epistolary bell. 


She, like another Epicurus, 


Sounding by fits upon the air. 


Sets dancing thus, and calls " the World." 


Of parting pennies rung the knell ; 




Warn'd by that telltale of the hours, 


Behold how busy in those bowers 


And by the daylight's westering beam. 


(Like May flies, in and out of flowers,) 


The young lanthe, who, with flowers 


The countless menials swarming run, 


Half crown'd, had sat in idle dream 


To furnish forth, ere set of sun, 


Before her glass, scarce knowing where 


The banquet table richly laid 


Her fingers roved through that bright hair. 


Beneath yon awning's lengthen'd shade, 


While, all capriciously, she now 


Where fruits shall tempt, and wines entice, 


Dislodged some curl from her white broii'. 


And Luxury's self, at Gunter's call. 


And now again replaced it there ; — 


Breathe from her summer throne of ice 


As though her task was meant to be 


A spii-it of coolness over aU. 


One endless change of ministry — 




A routing up of Loves and Graces, 


And now the important hour drew nigh, 


But to plant others in their places. 


When, 'neath the flush of evening's sky, 




The west end " world" for mirth let loose, 


:Mean while — what strain is that which floats 


And moved, as he of Syracuse ' 


Through the small boudoir near — like notes 


Ne'er dreamt of moving worlds, by force 


Of some young bird, its task repeating 


Of four-horse power, had aU combined 


For the next linnet music meeting ? 


Through Grosvenor Gate to speed their course, 


A voice it was, whose gentle sounds 


Leaving that portion of mankind, 


Still kept a modest octave's bounds. 


Whom they call " Nobody," behind; — 


Nor yet had ventured to exalt 


No star for London's feasts to-day, 


Its rash ambition to B alt, 


No moon of beauty, new this May, 


That point towards which when ladies rise, 


To lend the night her crescent ray ; — 


The wise man takes his hat and — flies. 


Nothing in short, for ear or eye, 


Tones of a harp, too, gently played, 


But veteran belles, and wits gone by. 


Came with this youthful voice communing : 


1 Archimodes 


the time when the above lines were written they still obsti- 


2 1 am not certain whether the Dowagers of this Square 


nately persevered in their old regime; and would not suflef 


have yet yielded to tlie innovati.ms a" Gas and Police, but at 


themselves to be either well guarded or well lighted 



296 THE SUMMER FETE. 


Tones true, for once, without the aid 


The sun's below — the moon's above - 


Of that inflictive process, tuning — 
A process which must oft have given 
Poor Milton's ears a deadly wound ; 


And Night and Bliss obey thee. 

Put on thee all that's bright and rare, 

The zone, the wreath, the gem, 


So pleased, among the joys of Heaven, 

He specifies "harps ever tuned." ^ 
She who now sung this gentle strain 

Was our young nymph's still younger sister — 
Scarce ready yet for Fashion's train 


Not so much gracing charms so fair, 
As borrowing grace from them. 

Array thee, love, array thee, love, 
In all that's bright array thee ; 

The sun's below — the moon's above — 


In their light legions to enlist her, 
But counted on, as sure to bring 


And Night and Bliss obey thee. 


Her force into the field next spring. 

The song she thus, like Jubal's shell, 
Gave forth " so sweetly and so well," 
Was one in Morning Post much famed, 
From a divine collection, named. 


Put on the plumes thy lover gave. 
The plumes, that, proudly dancing, 

Proclaim to all, where'er they wave, 
Victorious eyes advancing. 

Bring forth the robe, whose hue of heaven 
From thee derives such light. 


" Songs of the Toilet " — every Lay 
Taking for subject of its Muse, 

Some branch of feminine array. 
Some item, with full scope, to choose. 


That Iris would give all her seven 

To boast but 07ie so bright. 
Array thee, love, array thee, love, 
&c. &c. &c. 


From diamonds down to dancing shoes ; 
From the last hat that Herbault's hands 


Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 


Bcqueath'd to an admiring world, 
Down to the latest flounce that stands 
Like Jacob's Ladder — or expands 

Far forth, tempestuously unfurl' d. 

Speaking of one of these new Lays, 
The Morning Post thus sweetly says : — 
" Not all that breathes from Bishop's lyre, 


Through Pleasure's circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, 

"Will beat, when they come nigh thee. 
Thy every word shaU be a spell, 

Thy every look a ray, 
And tracks of wondering eyes shall tell 

The glory of thy way ! 
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love. 


" That Barnett dreams, or Cooke conceives, 


Through Pleasure's circles hie thee. 


" Can match for sweetness, strength, or fire, 

" This fine Cantata upon Sleeves. 
*' The very notes themselves reveal 


And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, 
Shall beat when they come nigh thee. 


" The cut of each new sleeve so well ; 




« A flat betrays the Imbicilles," 




" Light fugues the flying lappets tell ; 
< While rich cathedral chords awake 
• Our homage for the Manches d'EvSque." 


Now in his Palace of the West, 

Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, 
Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest. 


'Twas the first opening song — the Lay 
Of all least deep in toilet lore, 

That the young nymph, to while away 
The tiring hour, thus warbled o'er : — 


'Mid the cool airs of Evening lay ; 
While round his couch's golden rim 

The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept — 
Struggling each other's light to dim, 

And catch his last smile ere he slept. 


SONG. 


How gay, as o'er the gliding Thames 
The golden eve its lustre pour'd, 

Shone out the high-born knights and dames 
Now grouped around that festal board ; 


Array thee, love, array thee, love, 
In all thy best array thee ; 

3arps ever tuned. Paradise Lost, book iii. 


A living mass of plumes and flowers, 

As though they'd robb'd both birds and bowers — 

A peopled rainbow, swarming through 

With habitants of every hue ; 

While, as the sparkling juice of France 


a The name given to those large sleeves that hang loosely. 


High in the crystal brimmers flowed. 




yMte)[i,[Ki F[L,®MK^K^^g, 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



297 



Each sunset ray that mixed by chance 
With the Aviiie's sparkles, showed 
How sunbeams may be taught to dance. 

If not in -written form express'd, 
'Twas known, at least, to every guest, 
That, though not bidden to parade 
Their scenic powers in masquerade, 
(A pastime little found to thrive 

In the bleak fog of England's skies. 
Where wit's the thing we best contrive, 

As masqueraders, to disguise,) 
It yet was hoped — and well that hope 

Was answered by the young and gay — 

That, in the toilet's task to-day. 
Fancy should take her wildest scope ; — 
That the rapt milliner should be 
Let loose through fields of poesy, 
The tailor, in inventive trance. 

Up to the heights of Epic chamber, 
And all the regions of Romance 

Be ransacked by thefemme de chambre. 

Accordingly, with gay Sultanas, 
Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalanas — 
Circassian slaves whom Love would pay 

Half his maternal realms to ransom ; — 
Young nuns, whose chief religion lay 

In looking most profanely handsome ; — 
Jiluscs in muslin — pastoral maids 
With hats from the Arcade-ian shades, 
And fortune tellers, rich, 'twas plain, 
\s fortune hunters form'd their train. 

With these, and more such female groups, 

Were mix'd no less fantastic troops 

Of male exhibiters — all willing 

To look, even more than usual, killing ; — 

Beau tyrants, smock-fac'd braggadocios, 

And brigands, charmingly ferocious ; — 

M. P.s turned Turks, good Moslems then, 

Who, last night, voted for the Greeks ; 
And Friars, staunch No-Popery men, 

In close confab with Whig Caciques. 

But where if she — the nymph, whom late 

We left before her glass delaying. 
Like Eve, when by the lake she sate. 

In the clear wave her charms surveying, 
And saw in that first glassy mirror 
The first fair face that lured to error. 
" Where is she," ask'st thou ? — watch all looks 

As cent'r-ng to one point they bear, 
Like sunflo-vers by the sides of brooks, 

Turn'd '.'» the sun — and she is there. 



Ev'n in disguise, O never doubt 
By her own light you'd track her out : 
As when the moon, close shawl'd in fog. 
Steals as she thinks, through heaven incoy.. 
Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, 
At every step, detects her way. 

But not in dark disguise to-night 

Hath our young heroine veil'd her light ; — 

For see, she walks the earth. Love's own. 

His wedded bride, by holiest vow 
Pledged in Olympus, and made known 
To mortals by the type which now 
Hangs glittering on her snowy brow, 
That butterfly, mysterious trinket. 
Which means the Soul (though few would think 

it). 
And sparkling thus on brow so white. 
Tells us we've Psyche here to-night ! 

But hark ! some song hath caught her ears — 

And, lo, how pleased, as though she'd 
ne'er 
Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 

Her goddess-ship approves the air ; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain. 
Inspired by nought but pink champagne, 

Her butterfly as gayly nods 
As though she sate with all her train 

At some great Concert of the Gods, 
With Phoebus, leader — Jove, director. 
And half the audience drunk with nectar. 

From a male group the carol came — 

A few gay youths, whom round the board 
The last tried flask's superior fame 

Had lured to taste the tide it pour'd ; 
And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 
Seem'd grandson to the Teian sire. 
Thus gayly sung, while, to his song. 
Replied in chorus the gay throng : — 



SONG. 

Some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine. 

As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see ; 
But, as I'tn not particular — wit, love, and wine. 
Are for one night's amusement sufiicient for 
me. 
Nay — humble and strange as my tastes may 
ai^pcar — 
If driv'n to the worst, I could manage, thank 
Heaven, 



298 THE SUMMER FETE. 


To put up with eyes such as beam round me 


It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks 


here, 


Even from a bright reality. 


And such wine as we're sipping, six days out 


And turning inly, feels and thinks 


of seven. 


Far heavenlier things than e'er will be. 


So pledge me a bumper — your sages profound 




May be blest, if they will, on their own 


Such was th' eff'ect of twilight's hour 


patent plan : 


On the fair groups that, round and round, 


But as we are tiot sages, why — send the cup 


From glade to grot, fi-om bank to bower. 


round — 


Now wander'd through this fairy ground ; 


We must only be happy the best way we can. 


And thus did Fancy— and champagne — 




Work on the sight their dazzling spells, 


A reAvaid by some king was once ofFer'd, we're 


Till nymphs that look'd, at noonday, plain. 


told. 


Now brighten'd, in the gloom, to belles; 


To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for man- 


And the brief interval of time, 


kind; 


'Twixt after dinner and before, 


But talk of nerc pleasures — give me but the old, 


To dowagers brought back their prime, 


And I'll leave your inventers all new ones 


And shed a halo round twoscore. 


they find. 




Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss, 


Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, 


Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day. 


The car, the fancy, quirk succeed; 


Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this, 


And now along the waters fly 


And such eyes as we've here be the stars of 


Like gondoles, of Venetian breed, 


my way ! 


With knights and dames, who calm reclined. 


In the mean time, a bumper — your Angels, on 


Lisp out love sonnets as they glide — 


high. 


Astonishing old Thames to find 


May have pleasures unknown to life's limited 


Such doings on his moral tide. 


span ; 




But, as we are iiot Angels, why — let the flask 


So bright was stUl that tranquil river, 


fly- 


With the last shaft from Daylight's quiver, 


We must only be happy all ways that we can. 


That many a group, in turn, were seen 




Embarking on its wave serene ; 




And, 'mong the rest, in chorus gay, 




A band of mariners, from th' isles 


Now nearly fled was sunset's light, 


Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles. 


Leaving but so much of its beam 


As smooth they floated, to the play 


As gave to objects, late so bright, 


Of their oar's cadence, sung this lay : — 


The coloring of a shadowy dream ; 




And there was still where Day had set 




A flush that spoke him loath to die — 


TRIO. 


A last link of his glory yet. 


Our home is on the sea, boy, 


Binding together earth and sky. 


Our home is on the sea ; 


Say, why is it that twilight best 


When Nature gave 


Becomes even brows the loveliest ? 


The ocean wave. 


That dimness, with its softening touch, 


She mark'd it for the Free. 


Can bring out grace, unfelt before, 


Whatever storms befall, boy, 


And charms we ne'er can see too much. 


Whatever storms befall, 


When seen but half enchant the more ? 


The island bark 


Alas, it is that every joy 


Is Freedom's ark, 


In fulness finds its worst alloy. 


And floats her safe through alL 


And half a bliss, but hoped or guess'd. 




Is sweeter than the Avhole possess'd ; — 


Behold yon sea of isles, boy. 


That Beauty, when least shone upon, 


Behold yon sea of isles. 


A creature most ideal grows ; 


Where every shore 


And there's no hght from moon or sun 


Is sparkUng o'er 


Like that Imagination throws ; — 


With Beauty's richest smiles. 



THE SUMMER FETE. 299 


For us hath Freedom claim 'd, boy, 


Next turn we to the gay saloon, 


For us hath Freedom claim'd 


Resplendent as a summer noon. 


Those ocean nests 


Where, 'neath a pendent wreath of lights, 


Where Valor rests 


A Zodiac of flowers and tapers — 


His eagle wing untamed. 


(Such as in Russian baU rooms sheds 




Its glory o'er young dancers' heads) — 


And shall the Moslem dare, boy, 


Quadrille performs her mazy rites, 


And shall the Moslem dare, 


And reigns supreme o'er slides and capers ; — 


While Grecian hand 


Working to death each opera strain. 


Can wield a brand, 


As, with a foot that ne'er reposes, 


To plant his Crescent there ? 


She jigs through sacred and profane. 


No — by our fathers, no, boy. 


From " Maid and Magpie " up to " Moses ; " ' - 


No, by the Cross we show — 


Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes. 


From Maina's rills 


Till fagg'd Rossini scarce respires ; 


To Thracia's hiUs 


Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues, 


All Greece reSchoes " No ! " 


And Weber at her feet expires. 




And now the set hath ceased — the bows 




Of fiddlers taste a brief repose. 


Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the mind 


While light along the painted floor, 


A minute come, and go again. 


Arm within arm, the couples stray, 


Ev'n so, by snatches, in the wind, 


Talking their stock of nothings o'er, 


Was caught and lost that choral strain, 


Till — nothing's left, at last, to say. 


Now full, now faint upon the ear. 


"When, lo ! — most opportunely sent — 


As the bark floated far or near. 


Two Exquisites, a he and she, 


At length when, lost, the closing note 


Just brought from Dandyland, and meant 


Had down the waters died along. 


For Fashion's grand Menagerie. 


Forth from another fairy boat. 


Enter'd the room — and scarce were there 


Freighted with music, came this song: — 


When all fiock'd round them, glad to stare 




At amj monsters, ant/ where. 




Some thought them perfect, to their tastes ; 


SONG. 


While others hinted that the waists 


(That in particular of the he thing) 


Smoothly flowing through verdant vales, 


Left far too ample room for breathing : 


Gentle river, thy current runs. 


Whereas, to meet these critics' wishes, 


Shelter'd safe from winter gales, 


The isthmus there should be so small. 


Shaded cool from summer suns. 


That Exquisites, at last, like fishes, 


Thus our Youth's sweet moments glide, 


Must manage not to breathe at all. 


Fenced with flow'ry shelter round ; 


The female (these same critics said), 


No rude tempest wakes the tide, 


Though orthodox from toe to chin. 


All its path is fairy ground. 


Yet lack'd that spacious width of head 




To hat of toadstool much akin — 


But, fair river, the day will come, 


That build of bonnet, whose extent 


When, woo'd by whisp'ring groves in vain. 


Should, like a doctrine of dissent. 


Thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded home, 


Puzzle church doors to let it in. 


To mingle with the stormy main. 




And thou, sweet Youth, too soon wilt pass 


However — sad as 'twas, no doubt, 


Into the world's unshelter'd sea, 


That nymph so smart should go about, 


Where, once thy wave hath mix'd, alas. 


With head unconscious of the place 


All hope of peace is lost for thee. 


It our/ht to fill in Infinite Space — 


1 In England the partiHon of this opera of Rossini was 


raon," tc. to the dances selected from it (as was done is 


Jransferred to the story of Peter the Hermit ; by vvhicti means 


Paris), has been avoided. 


the indecorum of giving such names as " Moyse," " Pha- 





30C THE SUMMER FETE. 


Yet all allow" d that, of her kind. 


And, should the charmer's head hold out, 


A prettier show 'twas hard to find ; 


My heart and heels are hers till death. 


While of that doubtful genus, '♦ dressy men," 


! ah ! &c. 


The male was thought a first-rate specimen. 


Still round and round through life we'll go 


Such Savans, too, as wish'd to trace 




The manners, habits, of this race — 


SHE. 


To know Avhat rank (if rank at all) 


To Lord Fitznoodle's eldest son. 


'Mong reas'ning things to them should fall — 


A youth renown'd for waistcoats smart, 


What sort of notions heaven imparts 


I now have given (excuse the pun) 


To high-built heads and tight-laced hearts, 


A vested interest in my heart. 


And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 


! ah ! &c. 


Abhors restraint, can act in stays — 


Still round and round with him I'll go. 


Might now, if gifted with discerning, 




Find opportunities of learning : 


HE. 


As these two creatures — from their pout 


What if, by fond remembrance led 


And frown, 'twas plain — had just fall'n out ; 


Again to wear our mutual chain, 


And all their little thoughts, of course. 


For me thou cutt'st Fitznoodle dead, 


Were stirring in full fret and force ; — 


And I levant from Lady Jane. 


Like mites, through microscope espied, 


! ah ! &c. 


A world of nothings magnified. 


Still round and round again we'll go. 


But mild the vent such beings seek, 


SHE. 


The tempest of their souls to speak ; 


Though he the Noodle honors give. 


As Opera swains to fiddles sigh, 


And thine, dear youth, are not so high, 


To fiddles fight, to fiddles die. 


With thee in endless waltz I'd live. 


Even so this tender couple set 


With thee to Weber's Stop Waltz, die ! 


Their well-bred woes to a Duct. 


0! ah! &c. 




Thus round and round through life we'll go 





[Exeitnt waltzing 


WALTZ DUET.> 




HE. 


While thus, like motes that dance away 


LoNO as I waltz'd Avith only thee. 


Existence in a summer ray. 


Each blissful Wednesday that went by, 


These gay things, born but to quadrille, 


Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugce 
Adorn" d a youth so blest as I. 


The circle of their doom fulfil — 


(That dancing doom, whose law decrees 


! ah ! ah ! ! 


That they shoidd live, on the alert toe, 


Those happy days are gone — heighho ! 


A life of ups and downs, like keys 




Of Broadwood's in a long concerto : — ) 


SHE. 


While thus the fiddle's spell, toithin. 


Long as with thee I skimm'd the ground, 


Calls up its realm of restless sprites. 


Nor yet was scorn'd for Lady Jane, 


Without, as if some Mandarin 


No blither njmph tetotum'd round 


W^ere holding there his Feast of Lights, 


To CoUinet's immortal strain. 


Lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers, 


! ah ! &c. 


Broke on the eye, like kindling flowers, 


Those happy days are gone — heighho ! 


Till, budding into light, each tree 




Bore its full fruit of brilliancy. 


HE. 

W^ith Lady Jane now whirl'd about. 


Here shone a garden — lamps all o'er, 


I know no bounds of time or breath ; 


As though the Spirits of the Air 




Had tak'n it in their heads to pour 




A shower of summer meteors there ; — 


1 ft is liardly tiecesfwry to remind tlie reader that this Duet 




is a paniUy cil' the oCteii translated and parodied ode of Hor- 


While here a lighted shrubbery led 


ace, " Donee grams erani tilji," &c. 


To a small lake that sleeping lay, 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



301 



Cradled in foliage, but, o'erhead, 
Open to heaven's sweet breath and ray ; 

While round its rim there burning stood 

Lami)S, with young flowers beside them 
bedded, 

That shrunk from such warm neighborhood ; 

And, looking bashful in the flood, 
Blush'd to behold themselves so wedded. 

Hither, to this embower' d retreat, 
Fit but for nights so still and sweet ; 
Nights, such as Eden's calm recall 
In its first lonely hour, when all 

So silent is, below, on high. 

That if a star falls down the sky, 
You almost think you hear it fall — 
Hither, to this recess, a few, 

To shun the dancers' wildering noise, 
And give an hour, ere nighttime flew, 

To music's more ethereal joys. 
Came, with their voices — ready all 
As Echo, waiting for a call — 
In hymn or ballad, dirge or glee. 
To weave their mingling minstrelsy. 

And, first, a dark-ey'd nymph, array'd — 
Like her, whom Art hath deathless made, 
Briglit Mona Lisa ' — with that braid 
Of hair across the brow, and one 
Small gem that in the centre shone — 
With face, too, in its form resembling 

Da Vinci's Beauties — the dark eyes. 
Now lucid, as through crystal trembling, 

Now soft, as if suffused with sighs — 
Her lute, that hung beside her, took, 
And, bending o'er it with shy look. 
More beautiful, in shadow thus. 
Than when with life most luminous, 
Pass'd her light finger o'er the chords, 
And sung to them these mournful words : — 



SONG. 

Bbino hither, bring thy lute, while day is 
dying — 

Here will I lay me, and list to thy song ; 
Should tones of other days mix with its sighing, 

Tones of a light heart, now banish' d so long, 
Chase them away — they bring but pain, 
And let thy theme be woe again. 

1 The celebrated portrait by Lionardo da Vinci, which he 
A said to have occupied four years in painting. — Vasari, 
vol. vii. 



Sing on, thou mournful lute — day is fast going, 
Soon will its light from thy chords die away ; 

One little gleam in the west is still glowing. 
When that hath vanish'd, farewell to thy lay. 

Mark, how it fades ! — see, it is fled ! 

Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. 



The group, that late, in garb of Greeks, 

Sung their light chorus o'er the tide — 
Forms, such as up the wooded creeks 

Of Helle's shore at noonday glide, 
Or, nightly, on her glistening sea, 
Woo the bright waves with melody — 
Now link'd their triple league again 
Of voices sweet, and sung a strain. 
Such as, had Sappho's tuneful ear 

But caught it, on the fatal steep. 
She would have paused, entranced, to hear 

And, for that day, deferr'd her leap. 



SONG AND TRIO. 

On one of those sweet nights that oft 
Their lustre o'er th' ^gean fling. 

Beneath my casement, low and soft, 
I heard a Lesbian lover sing ; 

And, listening both with ear and thought, 

These sounds upon the night breeze caught — 
" O, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who gazes at this hour on thee I " 

The song was one by Sappho sung. 
In the first love dreams of her lyre, 

When words of passion from her tongue 
Fell like a shower of living fire. 

And still, at close of every strain, 

I heard these burning words again — 
" O, happy as the gods is he, 
" Who listens at this hour to thee ! " 

Once more to Mona Lisa turn'd 

Each asking eye — nor turn'd in vain ; 

Though the quick, transient blush that burn'd 
Bright o'er her cheek, and died again, 

Show'd with what inly shame and fear 

Was utter'd what all loved to bear. 

Yet not to sorrow's languid lay 
Did she her lute song now devote ; 

But thus, with voice that, like a ray 

Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float — 
So rich with climate was each note — 

Call'd up in every heart a dream 

Of Italy with this soft theme : — 



J02 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



SONG. 

O, M-HERE art thou dreaming, 

On land, or on sea ? 
In my lattice is gleaming 

The watch light for thee ; 
And this fond heart is glowing 

To welcome thee home, 
And the night is fast going, 

But thou art not come : 

No, thou com'st not ! 

'Tis the time when night flowers 

Should wake from their rest ; 
'Tis the hour of all hours, 

When the lute singeth best. 
But the flowers are half sleeping 

Till thy glance thoy see ; 
And the hush'd lute is keeping 

Its music for thee. 

Yet, thou com'st not ! 



Scarce had the last word left her lip 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 
Fantastic, up the green walk came, 
Prank'd in gay vest, to which the flame 
Of every lamp he pass'd, or blue, 
Or green, or crimson, lent its hue ; 
As though a live chameleon's skin 
He had despoil' d, to robe him in. 
A zone he wore of clattering shells. 

And from his lofty cap, where shone 
A peacock's plume, there dangled bells 

That rung as he came dancing on. 
Close after him, a page — in dress 
And shape, his miniature express — 
An ample basket, fiU'd with store 
Of toys and trinkets, laughing bore ; 
Till, having reach'd this vcrdan seat, 
He laid it at his master's feet. 
Who, half in speech and half in song. 
Chanted this invoice to the throng : — 



SONG. 

Who'll buy ? — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy ? - 
We've toys to suit all ranks and ages ; 

Besides our usual fools' supply, 

We've lots of playthings, too, for sages. 

For reasoners, here's a juggler's cup, 
That fullest seems when nothing's in it ; 



And ninepins set, like systems, up, 

To be knock'd down the following minute. 
Who'll buy — 'tis Folly's shop, who'll buy! 

Gay caps we here of foolscap make. 

For bards to wear in dog-day weather ; 
Or bards the bells alone may take. 

And leave to \\-its the cap and feather. 
Tetotums we've for patriots got. 

Who court the mob with antics humble j 
Like theirs the patriot's dizzy lot, 

A glorious spin, and then — a tumble. 

Who'll buy, &c. &c. 

Here, wealthy misers to inter, 

We've shrouds of neat post-obit paper ; 
While, for their heirs, we've quicksWwcx, 

That, fast as they can wish, will caper. 
For aldermen we've dials true. 

That tell no hour but that of dinner ; 
For courtly parsons sermons new, 

That suit alike both saint and sinner. 

Who'll buy, &c. &c. 

No time we've now to name our terms. 

But, whatsoe'er the whims that seize you, 
This oldest of all mortal firms. 

Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, should you wish a darker hue 

Of goods than we can recommend you, 
"Why then (as we with lawyers do) 

To Knavery's shop next door we'll send you, 
Who'll buy, &c. &c. 



While thus the blissful moments roU'd, 

Moments of rare and fleeting light. 
That show themselves, like grains of gold 

In the mine's refuse, few and bright ; 
Behold where, opening far away. 

The long Conservatory's range, 
Stripp'd of the flowers it wore all day. 

But gaining lovelier in exchange. 
Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware, 
A supper such as Gods might share. 

Ah much-lov'd Supper ! — blithe repast 
Of other times, now dwindling fast. 
Since Dinner far into the night 
Advanced the march of appetite ; 
Deployed his never-ending forces 
Of various vintage and three courses. 
And, like those Goths who play'd the dickens 
With Rome and all her sacred chickens, 



THE SUMMER FETE. 



303 



Put Supper and her fowls so white, 
Legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to flight. 

Now waked once more by wine — whose tide 

Is the true Hippocrene, where glide 

The Muse's swans with happiest wing. 

Dipping their bills, before they sing — 

The minstrels of the table greet 

The listening ear with descant sweet : — 



SONG AND TRIO. 

THE LEVEE AND COUCHEB. 

Call the Loves around, 

Let the whisp'ring sound 
Of their wings be heard alone, 

Till soft to rest 

My Ivady blest 
At this bright hour hath gone. 

Let Fancy's beams 

Plaj' o'er her dreams. 
Till, touch'd with light all through. 

Her spirit be 

I>ike a summer sea, 
Shining and slumbering too. 
And, while thus hush'd she lies, 
Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 
Good evening, good evening, to our Lady's 
bright eyes." 

But the daybeam breaks. 

See, our Lady wakes ! 
Call the Loves around once more, 

Like stars that wait 

At Morning's gate. 
Her first steps to adore. 

Let the veil of night 

From her dawning sight 
All gently pass avvay, 

Like mists that flee 

From a summer sea, 
Leaving it full of day. 
And, while her last dream flies. 
Let the whisper'd chorus rise — 
' Good morning, good morning, to our Lady's 
bright eyes." 



SONG. 

If to see thee be to love thee. 

If to love thee be to prize 
Nought of earth or heav'n above thee, 

Nor to live but for those eyes : 



If such love to mortal given, 
Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heaven, 
'Tis not for thee the fault to blame, 
For from those eyes the madness came. 
Forgive but the i the crime of loving. 

In this heart nore pride 'twill raise 
To be thus wro ig, with thee approving. 

Than right, with aU a world to praise ! 



But say, while light these songs resound, 

What means that buzz of whispering round. 

From lip to lip — as if the Power 

Of Mystery, in this gay hour. 

Had thrown some secret (as we fling 

Nuts among children) to that ring 

Of rosy, restless lips, to be 

Thus scrambled for so wantonly ? 

And, mark ye, still as each reveals 

The mystic news, her hearer steals 

A look towards yon enchanted chair, 

Where, like the Lay of the Mask, 
A nymph, as exquisitely fair 

As Love himself for bride could ask. 
Sits blushing deep, as if aware 
Of the wing'd secret circling there. 
Who is this n}'mph ? and what, O Muse, 

What, in the name of all odd things 
That woman's restless brain pursues. 

What mean these mystic whisperings ? 

Thus runs the tale : — yon blushing maid, 
Who sits in beauty's light array' d. 
While o'er her leans a tall young Dervise, 
(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is 
Learning by heart the Marriage Service,) 
Is the bright heroine of our song, — 
The Love-wed Psyche, whom so long 
We've miss'd among this mortal train. 
We thought her wing'd to heaven again. 

But no — earth still demands her smile ; 
Her friends, the Gods, must wait a while. 
And if, for maid of heavenly birth, 

A young Duke's profl'er'd heart and hand 
Be things worth waiting for on earth. 

Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade, 

For love concerns expressly meant, 
The fond proposal first was made, 

And love and silence blush'd consent. 
Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, 
Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hindoos,^ 



304 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



Have heard, approved, and bless'd the tie ; 

And now, hadst thou a poet's eye. 

Thou might'st behold, in th' air, above 

That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, 

Holding, as if to drop it down 

Gently upon her curls, a c own 

Of Ducal shape — but, O, such gems ! 

Pilfer' d from Peri diadems. 

And set in gold like that which shines 

To deck the Fairy of the Mines : 

In short, a crown all glorious — such as 

Love orders when he makes a Duchess. 

But see, 'tis morn in heaven : the Sun 

Up the bright orient hath begun 

To canter his immortal team ; 

And, though not yet arrived in sight, 

His leaders' nostrils send a steam 
Of radiance forth, so rosy bright 
As makes their onward path all light. 



"What's to be done ? if Sol will be 

So deused early, so must we ; 

And when the day thus shines outright, 

Ev'n dearest friends must bid good niglit. 

So, farewell, scene of mirth and masking, 

Now almost a by-gone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamplight basking, 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale ; 
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps, 
Scarcely knowing flats from sharps ; 
Mothers who, while bored you keep 
Time by nodding, nod to sleep ; 
Heads of hair, that stood last night 
Cr6p6, crispy, and upright, 
But have now, alas, one sees, a 
Leaning like the tower of Pisa ; 
Fare ye well — thus sinks away 

All that's mighty, all that's bright ; 
Tyre and Sidon had their day. 

And even a Ball — has but its night ! 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIFTH VOLUME. 
In spite of the satirist's assertion, that 

" next to singing, the most foolish thing 
Is gravely to harangue on what we sing," — 

I shall yet venture to prefix to this Volume a 
few introductory pages, not relating so much to 
the Songs which it contains as to my own 
thoughts and recollections respecting song writ- 
ing in general. 

The close alliance known to have existed be- 
tween poetry and music, during the infancy of 
both these arts, has sometimes led to the con- 
clusion that they are essentially kindred to each 
other, and that the true poet ought to be, if not 
practically, at least in taste and ear, a musician. 
That such was the case in the early times of 
ancient Greece, and that her poets then not only 
set their own verses to music, but sung them at 
public festivals, there is every reason, from all 
we know on the subject, to believe. A similar 

1 The following is a specimen of these memorandums, as 
given by Foscolo : — "I must make these two verses over 
again, singing them, and I must transpose them — 3 o'clock, 



union between the two arts attended the dawn 
of modern literature, in the twelfth century, and 
was, in a certain degree, continued down as far 
as the time of Petrarch, when, as it ajjpears from 
his own memorandums, that poet used to sing 
his verses, in composing them ; ' and when it 
was the custom with all writers of sonnets and 
canzoni to prefix to their poems a sort of key 
note, by which the intonation in reciting or 
chanting them was to be regulated. 

As the practice of uniting in one individual, 
— whether Bard, Scald, or Troubadour, — the 
character and functions both of musician and 
poet, is known to have been invariably the mark 
of a rude state of societj', so the gradual sepa- 
ration of these two callings, in accordance with 
that great principle of Political Economy, the 
division of labor, has been found an equally 
sure index of improving civilization. So far, 
in England, indeed, has this partition of work- 
manship been carried, tliat, with the signal ex- 
ception of Milton, there is not to be found, I 
believe, among all the eminent poets of Eng- 

A. M. 19th October." Frequently to sonnets of that time 
such notices as the following were prefixed : — /«,'0Hattt»i 
per Francum " — " Scriptor dedit souum." 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



land, a single musician. It is but fair, at the 
same time, to acknowledge, that out of the works 
of these verj' poets might be produced a select 
number of songs, surpassing, in fancy, grace, 
and tenderness, all that the language, perhaps, 
of any other country could furnish. 

"\Ve witness, in our own times, — as far as the 
knowledge or practice of music is concerned, — 
a similar divorce between the two arts ; and my 
friend and neighbor, Mr. Bowles, is the only 
distinguished poet of our day whom I can call 
to mind as being also a musician.' Not to 
dwell further, however, on living writers, the 
strong feeling, even to tears, with which I have 
seen Bj'ron listen to some favorite melody, has 
been elsewhere described by me ; and the mu- 
sical taste of Sir Walter Scott I ought to be the 
last person to call in question, after the very 
cordial tribute he has left on record to my own 
untutored minstrelsy.'"' But I must say, that, 
pleased as my illustrious friend appeared really 
to be, when I first sung for him at Abbotsford, 
it was not till an evening or two after, at his 
own hospitable supper table, that I saw him in 
his true sphere of musical enjoyment. No 
Booner had the quaigh taken its round, after our 
repast, than his friend, Sir Adam, was called 
upon, with the general acclaim of the whole 
table, for the song of " Hey tuttie tattie," and 
gave it out to us with all the true national rel- 
ish. But it was during the chorus that Scott's 
delight at this festive scene chiefly showed itself. 
At the end of every verse, the whole company 
rose from their seats, and stood round the table 
with arms crossed, so as to grasp the hand of 
the neighbor on each side. Thus interlinked, 
we continued to keep measure to the strain, by 
moving our arms up and down, all chanting 
forth vociferously, " Hey tuttie tattie. Hey tut- 
tie tattie." Sir Walter's enjoyment of this old 
Jacobite chorus, — a little increased, doubtless, 
by seeing how I entered into the spirit of it, — 
gave to the whole scene, I confess, a zest and 
charm in my eyes such as the finest musical 
performance could not have bestowed on it. 

Having been thus led to aUude to this visit, I 



1 The late Rev. William Crowe, autlior of tlie nnble poem 
of " Lewisden Hill," was likewise a musician, and has left 
a Treatise on English Versification, to which his knowledge 
of the sister art lends a peculiar interest. 

So little does even the origin of the word "lyric," as ap- 
plied to poetry, seem to be present to the minds of some 
writers, that the poet, Young, has left lis an Essay on Lyric 
Poetry, in which there is not a single allusion to Music, 
from beginning to end. 

39 



am tempted to mention a few other circumstances 
connected with it. From Abbotsford I proceeded 
to Edinburgh, whither Sir Walter, in a few days 
after, followed ; and during my short stay in 
that city an incident occurred, which, though 
already mentioned by Scott in his Diary,^ and 
owing its chief interest to the connection of his 
name with it, ought not to be omitted among 
these memoranda. As I had expressed a desire 
to visit the Edinburgh theatre, which opened 
but the evening before my departure, it was 
proposed to Sir Walter and myself, by our friend 
Jeffrey, that we should dine with him at en early 
hour, for that purpose, and both were good na- 
tured enough to accompany me to the theatre. 
Having found, in a volume * sent to me by some 
anonymous correspondent, a more circumstan- 
tial account of the scene of that evening than 
Sir Walter has given in his Diary, I shall here 
avail myself of its graphic and (with one ex- 
ception) accurate details. After adverting to 
the sensation produced by the appearance of 
the late Duchess of St. Albans in one of the 
boxes, the writer thus proceeds : — " There was 
» general buzz and stare, for a few seconds ; the 
Audience then turned their backs to the lady, 
and their attention to the stage, to wait till the 
first piece should be over ere they intended star- 
ing again. Just as it terminated, another party 
quietly glided into a box near that filled by the 
Duchess. One pleasing female was with the 
three male comers. In a minute the cry ran 
round : — ' Eh, yon's Sir Walter, wi' Lockhart 
an' his wife,^ and wha's the wee bit bodie wi' 
the pawkie een ? Wow, but it's Tam Moore, 
just — Scott, Scott ! Moore, Moore ! ' — with 
shouts, cheers, bravos, and applause. But Scott 
would not rise to appropriate these tributes. 
One could see that he urged Moore to do so ; 
and he, though modestly reluctant, at last yield- 
ed, and bowed hand on heart, with much ani- 
mation. The cry for Scott was then redoubled. 
He gathered himself up, and, with a benevolent 
bend, acknowledged this deserved welcome. 
The orchestra played alternately Scotch and 
Irish Melodies." 



2 Life by Lockhart, vol. vi. p. 128. 

3 " We went to the theatre together, and the house being 
luckily a good one, received T. M. with rapture. I could 
have hugged them, for it paid back the debt of the kind re 
ception I met with in Ireland." 

< Written by Mr. Benson Hill. 

5 The writer was here mistaken. There was one lady 
of our party ; but neither Mr. nor Mrs, Lockhart was preseuu 



50G 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



Among the choicest of my recollections of 
that flying visit to Edinburgh, are the few days 
I passed with Lord Jeffrey at his agreeable re- 
treat, Craig Crook. I had then recently written 
the words and music of a glee contained in this 
volume, " Ship ahoy ! " which there won its 
first honors. So often, indeed, w^as I called 
upon to repeat it, that the upland echoes of 
Craig Crook ought long to have had its burden 
by heart. 

Having thus got on Scottish ground, I find 
myself awakened to the remembrance of a name 
which, whenever song writing is the theme, ought 
to rank second to none in that sphere of poetical 
fame. Robert Burns was wholly imskilled in 
music ; yet the rare art of adapting words suc- 
cessfully to notes, of wedding verse in congenial 
union with melody, which, were it not for his 
example, I should say none but a poet versed 
in the sister art ought to attempt, has yet, by 
him, with the aid of a music, to which my own 
country's strains are alone comparable, been 
exercised with so workmanly a liand, as well as 
with so rich a variety of passion, playfulness, 
and power, as no song writer, perha^js, but him- 
self, has ever j-et displayed. 

That Burns, however untaught, was 3'et, in 
ear and feeling, a musician,' is clear from the 
skill with which he adapts his verse to the 
structure and character of each different strain. 
Still more strikingly did he prove his fitness for 
this peculiar task, by the sort of instinct with 
which, in more than one instance, he discerned 
the real and innate sentiment which an air was 
calculated to convej', though always before as- 
sociated with words expressing a totally differ- 
ent feeling. Thus the air of a ludicrous old 
song, " Fee him, father, fee him," has been 
made the medium of one of Burns's most pa- 
thetic effusions ; while, still more marvellously, 
" Hey tuttie tattie " has been elevated by him 
into that heroic strain, " Scots, wha hae wi' 
Wallace bled;" — a song which, in a great 
national crisis, would be of more avail than all 
the elofiiience of a Demosthenes.^ 

It was impossible that the example of Burns, 
in these, his higher inspirations, should not 

1 It appears certain, notwithstanding, that he wag, in his 
youth, wholly insensible to music. In speaking of him and 
his brother, Mr. Murdoch, their preceptor, says, " Robert's 
ear, in particular, was remarkably dull and liis voice untun- 
able. It was long before I could get him to distinguish one 
tune from another." 

s I know not whether it has ever been before remarked, 



materially contribute to elevate the character of 
English song writing, and even to lead to a 
reunion of the gifts which it requires, if not, 
as of old, in the same individual, yet in that 
perfect sympathy between poet and musician 
which almost amounts to identity, and of which 
we have seen, in our own times, so interesting 
an example in the few songe bearing the united 
names of those two sister muses, Mrs. Ark- 
wright and the late Mrs. Hemans. 

Very different was the state of the song de- 
partment of English poesy at the time when 
first I tried my novice hand at the lyre. The 
divorce between song and sense had then reached 
its utmost range ; and to all verses connected 
with music, from a Birthday Ode down to the 
libretto of the last new opera, might fairly be 
applied the solution Figaro gives of the quality 
of the words of songs, in general, — " Ce qui 
ne vaut pas la peine d'(itre dit, on le chante." 

It may here be suggested that the convivial 
lyrics of Captain Morris present an exception to 
the general character I have given of the songs 
of this period ; and, assuredly, had Morris M-rit- 
ten much that at all approached the following 
verses of his " Reasons for Drinking," (which I 
quote from recollection,) few would have 
equalled him either in fancy, or in that lighter 
kind of pathos, which comes, as in this instance, 
like a few melancholy notes in the middle of a 
gay air, throwing a soft and passing shade over 
mirth : — 

" My muse, too, when her wings are dry, 

No frolic flights will take ; 
But round a howl she'll dip and fly, 

Like swallows round a lake. 
If then the nymph must have her share, 

Before she'll bless her swain. 
Why, that 1 think's a reason fair 

To fill my glass agam. 



" Then, many a lad I lik'd is dead, 

And many a lass grown old ; 
An<!, as the lesson strikes my head, 

My weary heart grows cold. 
But wine a wliile holds ofT despair, 

Nay, bids a hope reniam ; — 
And that I think's a reason fair 

To till my glass again." 

that the well-known lines in one of Burns's most spirited 
songs, 

"The title's but the guinea's stamp, 
The man's the gold for a' that," 
may possibly have been suggested by the following passage 
in Wycherley's play, the "Country Wife:" — "I weigh 
the man, not his tide; 'tis not the King's stemp can make 
the metal better." 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



S07 



ITow far my own labors in this field — if, in- 
deed, the gathering of such idle flowers may 
DC so designated — have helped to advance, or 
even kept pace with the progressive improve- 
ment I have here described, it is not for me to 
presume to decide. I only know that in a 
strong and inborn feeling for music lies the 
source of whatever talent I may have shown 
for poetical composition ; and that it was the 
effort to translate into language the emotions 
and passions Avhich music appeared to me to 
express, that first led to my writing any poetry 
at all deserving of the name. Dryden has hap- 
pily described music as being " inarticulate po- 
etry ; " and I have always felt, in adapting 
words to an expressive air, that I was but be- 
stowing upon it the gift of articulation, and 
thiis enabling it to speak to others all that was 
conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, to myself. 

Owing to the space I was led to devote to my 
Irish reminiscences, in our last Volume, I found 
myself obliged to postpone some recollections, 
of a very different description, respecting the 
gala at Boyle Farm, by which my Poem, en- 
titled The Summer Fete, was suggested. In 
an old letter of my own, to which I have had 
access, giving an account of this brilliant festi- 
val to a friend in Ireland, I find some memoran- 
dums which, besides their reference to the sub- 
ject of the poem, contain some incidents also 
connected with the first appearance before the 
public of one of the most successful of all my 
writings, the story of the Epicurean. I shall 
give my extracts from this letter, in their origi- 
nal diary-like form, without alteration or dress- 
ing : — 

June 30, 1837. — Day threatening for the 
Fete. Was with Lord Essex ' at thi-ee o'clock, 
and started about half an hour after. The 
whole road swarming with carriages and four 
all the way to Boyle Farm, which Lady de Roos 
has lent, for the occasion, to Henry ; — the five 
givers of the Fete being Lords Chesterfield, 
Castlereagh, Alvanley, Henry de Roos, and 
Robert Grosvenor, subscribing four or five 
hundred pounds each towards it. The arrange- 
ments all in the very best taste. The pavilion 
for quadrilles, on the bank of the river, with 
steps descending to the water, quite eastern — 
like what one sees in Daniel's pictures. To- 
wards five the 6Ute of the gay world was assem- 



• I cannot let pass the incidental mention here of this so- 
ei;il and public-spirited nobleman, without expressing my 
strong sense of his kindly qualities, and lamenting the loss 



bled — the women all looking their best, and 
scarce a single ugly face to be found. About 
half past five, sat down to dinnei, 450 under a 
tent on the lawn, and fifty to the Royal Table 
in the conservatory. The Tyrolese musicians 
sung during dinner, and there were, after din- 
ner, gondolas on the river, with Caradori, De 
Begnis, Velluti, &c., singing barcarolles and 
rowing off occasionally, so as to let their voices 
die away and again return. After these suc- 
ceeded a party in dominos, Madame Vestris, 
Fanny Ayton, &c., who rowed about in the 
same manner, and sung, among other things, 
my gondola song, " O come to me when day- 
light sets." The evening was delicious, and, 
as soon as it grew dark, the groves were all 
lighted up with colored lamps, in different 
shapes and devices. A little lake near a grotto 
took my fancy particularly, the shrubs all 
around being illuminated, and the lights re- 
flected in the water. Six-and-twenty of the 
prettiest girls of the world of fashion, the 
F*#**t*rs, Br*d*** lis, De 
R * * s's, Miss F * * Id * * * g, Miss F * x, 
Miss R * ss * 11, Miss B * * ly, were dressed 
as Rosieres, and opened the quadrilles in the 

pavUion While talking with D — n 

(Lord P.'s brother), he said to me, "I never 
read any thing so touching as the death of your 
heroine." " What ! " said I, " have you got so 
far already r " ^ " O, I read it in the Literary 
Gazette." This anticipation of my catastrophe 
is abominable. Soon after, the Marquis P — 1- 
m — a said to me, as he and I and B — m stood 
together, looking at the gay scene, " This is 
like one of your Fetes." " O yes," said B — m, 
thinldng he alluded to Lalla Rookh, " quite 
oriental." " Non, non," replied P — Im — a, 
" Je veux dire cette Fete d'Athenes, dont j'ai 
lu la description dans la Gazette d'aujourd'hui." 
Respecting the contents of the present Vol- 
ume I have but few more words to add. Ac- 
customed as I have alwaj'S been to consider my 
songs as a sort of compound creations, in which 
the music forms no less essential a part thar 
the verses, it is with a feeling which I can hardlj' 
expect my unlyrical readers to understand, that 
I see stich a swarm of songs as crowd these 
pages all separated from the beautiful airs which 
have formed hitherto their chief ornament and 
strength — their "decus et tutamen." But, in- 



which not only society, but the cause of sound and progres 
sive Political Reform, has sustained by his death. 
2 The Epicurean had been published but the day before. 



308 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



dcpendently of this uneasy feeling, or fancy, 
there is yet another inconvenient consequence 
of the divorce of the words from the music, 
which will be more easily, perhaps, comprc- 
nended, and which, in justice to myself, as a 
metre-monger, ought to be noticed. Those oc- 
casional breaches of the laws of rhythm, which 
the task of adapting words to airs demands of 
the poet, though very frequently one of the 
happiest resiilts of his skiU, become blemishes 
when the verse is separated from the melody, 
and require, to justify them, the presence of the 
music to whose wildness or sweetness the sacri- 
Sce had been made. 

In a preceding page of this preface, I have 
mentioned a Treatise by the late Rev. Mr. 
Crowe, on English versification ; and I remem- 
Der his telling me, in reference to the point I 
have just touched upon, that, should another 
edition of that work be called for, he meant to 
produce, as examples of new and anomalous 
forms of versification, the following songs from 
the Irish Melodies : — " O the days are gone 
when Beauty bright " — " At the dead hour of 
night, when stars are weeping, I fly," — and, 
" Through grief and through danger thy smile 
hath cheered my way." ' 



In thus connecting together a series of Songs 
by a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object 
has been to combine Recitation with Music, so 
as to enable a greater number of persons to join 
in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, 
those who may not feel wUling or competent to 
take a part, as singers. 

The Island of Zea, where the scene is laid, 
was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the 
birthplace of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other 
eminent persons. An account of its present 
state may be found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, 
who says, that " it appeared to him to be the 
best cultivated of any of the Grecian Isles." — 
Vol. vi. p. 174. 



T. M. 



1 I shall avail myself of this opportunity of noticing the 
charge brought by Mr. Bunting against Sir John Stevenson, 
of having made alterations in many of the airs that formed 
our Irish Collection. Whatever changes of this Icind have 
been ventured upon (and they are but few^ and slight), the 



FIRST EVENING. 

' The sky is bright — the breeze is fair, 
" And the mainsail flowing, full and free — 

' Our farewell word is woman's pray'r, 
" And the hope before us — Liberty ! 
'< Farewell, farewell. 

' To Greece we give our shining blades, 

' And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids I 

' The moon is in the heavens above, 
" And the wind is on the foaming sea — 

' Thus shines the star of woman's love 
" On the glorious strife of Liberty ! 
" Farewell, farewell. 

' To Greece we give our shining blades, 

' And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids ! ' 



Thus sung they from the bark, that now 
Turn'd to the sea its gallant prow, 
Bearing within it hearts as brave, 
As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave ; 
And leaving on that islet's shore. 

Where still the farewell beacons burn. 
Friends, that shall many a day look o'er 

The long, dim sea for their return. 

Virgin of Heaven ! speed their way — 

O, speed their way, — the chosen flow'r. 
Of Zea's youth, the hope and stay 

Of parents in their wintry hour. 
The love of maidens, and the pride 
Of the young, happy, blushing bride, 
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died — 
All, all are in that precious bark, 

AVhich now, alas, no more is seen — 
Though every eye stUl turns to mark 

The moonlight spot where it had been. 

Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires. 

And mothers, your beloved are gone ! — 
Now may you quench those signal fires. 

Whose light they long look'd back upon 
From their dark deck — watching the flame 

As fast it faded from their view. 
With thoughts, that, but for manly shame, 

Had made them droop and weep like you. 
Home to your chambers ! home, and pray 
For the bright coming of that day, 

responsibility for them rests solely with me ; as, leaving th« 
Harmonist's department to my friend Stevenson, I reserve* 
the selection and management of the melodies entirely t» 
myself. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



309 



SVhen, bless'd by heaven, the Cross shall sweep 
The Crescent from the ^gean deep, 
And your brave warriors, hastening back, 
Will bring such glories in their track, 
As shall, for many an age to come, 
Shed light around their name and home. 

There is a Fount on Zea's isle, 
Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile 
All the sweet flowers, of every kind. 

On which the sun of Greece looks dowTi, 

Pleased as a lover on the crown 
His mistress for her brow hath twined, 
When he beholds each floweret there. 
Himself had wish'd her most to wear ; 
Here bloom'd the laurel rose,' whose wreath 

Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines. 
And here those bramble flowers, that breathe 

Their odor into Zaute's wines ; * — 
The sjilendid woodbine, that, at eve, 

To grace their floral diadems. 
The lovely maids of Patmos weave : ^ — 

And that fair plant, whose tangled stems 
Sliine like a Nereid's hair,^ when spread, 
Dislievcll'd, o'er her azure bed ; — 
All these bright children of the clime, 
(Each at its own most genial time. 
The summer, or the year's sweet prime,) 
Like beautiful earth stars, adorn 
Tho Valley, where that Fount is born : 
While round, to grace its cradle green. 
Groups of Velani oaks are seen. 
Towering on every verdant height — 
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light. 
Like Genii, set to watch the birth 
Of some enchanted child of earth — 
Fair oaks, that over Zea's vales, 

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd ; 
While Commerce, from her thousand sails. 

Scatters their fruit throughout the world ! * 

'Twas here — as soon as prayer and sleep 
(Those truest friends to all who weep) 
Had lighten'd every heart, and made 
Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade — 
'Twas here, in this secluded spot. 

Amid whose breathings calm and sweet 



' " Neriuni Oleander. In Cyprus it retains its ancient 
name, Rhudoilapline, and tlie Cyjiriots adorn their churches 
w ith the tl.iwers on feast dnys." — Journal of Dr. Sibtlwrpe, 
H'ttlpole^s Turkeij. 

2 Id. 

' Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of Patmos for 
garlands. 

* Cuscuta europsa. " From tlie twisting and twining of 



Grief might be soothed, if not forgot, 
The Zean nymphs resolved to meet 

Each evening now, by the same light 

That saw their farewell tears that night ; 

And try, if sound of lute and song, 

It" wandering 'mid the moonlight flowers 

In various talk, could charm along 

AVith lighter step, the lingering hours, 

Till tidings of that Bark should come. 

Or Victory waft their warriors home ! 

When first they met — the wonted smile 
Of greeting having gleam' d a whQe — 
'Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see 
The sadness that came suddenly 
O'er their young brows, when they look'd round 
Upon that bright, enchanted ground ; 
And thought, how many a time, with those 

Who now were gone to the rude wars. 
They there had met, at evening's close, 

And danced till morn outshone the stars ! 

But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse 

Of sorrow o'er such youthful breasts — 
The breath from her own blushing lips, 

That on the maiden's mirror rests. 
Not swifter, lighter from the glass. 
Than sadness from her brow doth pass. 
Soon did they now, as round the Well 
They sat, beneath the rising moon — 
And some, with voice of awe, would tell 
Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell 
In holy founts — while some would tune 
Their idle lutes, that now had lain. 
For days, without a single strain ; — 
And others, from the rest apart, 
With laugh that told the lighten'd heart. 
Sat, whispering in each other's ear 
Secrets, that all in turn would hear ; — 
Soon did they find this thoughtless play 
So swiftly steal their griefs away. 
That many a nymph, though pleased the while, 
Reproach'd her own forgetful smile. 
And sigh'd to think she could be gay. 

Among these maidens there was one. 
Who to Leucadia ® late had been — 



the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dislievellef 
hair of the Hi eteids." — fValpole's Turkey. 

s " Tlie produce of the island in these acorns alone 
amounts annually to fifteen thousand quintals." — Clarke's 
TrareU. 

« Now Santa Maura — tlie island, from whose cliffs Sap 
pho leaped into tiie sea. 



310 



EXEXINGS IX GREECE. 



Had stood, beneath the evening sun, 

On its white towering cliffs, and seen 
The very spot where Sajjpho sung 
Her swaulike music, ere she sprung 
(Still holding, in that fearful leap, 
By hor loved lyre,) int.) the deep. 
And dying quench'd the fatal tire. 
At once, of both her heart and lyre. 

Mutely they listen'd all — and well 
Did the youn^ travell'd maiden teU 
Of th? dread height to which that steep 
Beetles above the eddying deep ' — 
Of the lone sea birds, wheeling round 
The dizzy edge with mournful sound — 
And of those scented lilies ^ found 
Still blooming on that fearful place — 
As if call'd up by Love, to grace 
The immortal spot, o'er which the last 
Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd ! 

AVhile fresh to every listener's thought 
These legends of Lcucadia brought 
All that of Sappho's hapless flame 
Is kept alive, still watch'd by Fame — 
The maiden, tuning her soft lute. 
While all the rest stood round her, mute. 
Thus sketch'd the languishment of soul, 
That o'er the tender Lesbian stole ; 
And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone 
Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own. 
One of those fervid fragments gave. 

Which still, — like sparkles of G reek Fire, 
■ Undying, ev'n beneath the wave, — 

Burn on through Time, and ne'er expire. 



SOXG. 

As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid 

In lovesick languor hung her head, 
Unknowing where her fingers stray' d. 

She weeping turn'd away, and said, 
♦' O, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 

" I cannot weave, as once I woA'e — 
" So wilder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love ! " ' 

Again the web she tried to trace. 

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread ; 

1 •' The prcripi(^e, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one 
hundred and tourteeti feel fnini the water, which is of a pro- 
found depth, as appears from the dark-hlue color and the 
eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks." — 
Ooodissun's Iiiniun hies. 



While, looking in her mother's face. 
Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, 

" O, my sweet Mother — 'tis in vain — 
"I cannot weave, as once I wove — 

•' So wilder'd is my heart and brain 

" With thinking of that youth I love ! " 



A silence follow' d this sweet air. 

As each in tender musing stood. 
Thinking, with lips that mov'd in pray'r. 

Of Sai^pho and that fearful flood : 
While some, who ne'er till now had known 

How much their hearts resembled hers, 
Felt as they made her griefs their own. 

That they, too, were Love's worshippers. 

At length a murmur, all but "mute, 
So faint it w as, came from the lute 
Of a young melancholy maid, 
Whose fingers, all uncertain, play'd 
From choid to chord, as if in chase 

Of some lost melody, some strain 
Of other times, whose faded trace 

She sought among those chords again. 
Slowly the half- forgotten theme 

(Though born in feelings ne'er forgot) 
Came to her memory — as a beam 

Falls broken o'er some shaded spot ; — 
And while her lute's sad symphony 

Fill'd up each sighing pause between ; 
And Love himself might weep to see 

What ruin come3 where he hath been — 
As wither'd still the grass is found 
Where fays have danced theu- merry round ■ 
Thus simply to the listening throng 
She breath'd her melancholy song : — 



SOXG. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the long day, 

Lonely and wearily life wears away. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the long 

night — 
No rest in darkness, no joy in light ! 
Nought left but Memory, whose dreary tread 
Sotinds through this ruin'd heart, where aU lios 

dead — 
Wakening the echoes of joy long fled ! 

2 See Mr. Goodisson's very interesting description of all 
these circuinst.inces. 

3 I have atlenipted, in these four lines, to give some idea 
of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning VXi'Kda 
fid- if), whicli represents so truly (as Warton remarks) "the 
languor and lisllessness of a person deeply in love." 



EVENINGS IN GEEECE. 



311 



Of many a stanza, this alone 
Had 'scaped oblivion — like the one 
Stray fragment of a wreck, which thrown, 
With the lost vessel's name, ashore, 
Tells who they were that live no more. 

When thus the heart is in a vein 
Of tender thought, the simplest strain 
Can touch it with peculiar power — 

As when the air is warm, the scent 
Of the most wild and rustic flower 

Can fill the whole rich element — 
And, m such moods, the homeliest tone 
That's link'd with feelings, once our own — 
With friends or joys gone by — will be 
Worth choirs of loftiest harmony ! 

But some there were, among the group 

Of damsels there, too light of heart 
To let their spirits longer droop, 

Ev'n under music's melting art ; 
And one upspringing, with a bound, 
From a low bank of flowers, look'd round 
With eyes that, though so full of light, 

Had still a trembling tear within ; 
And, while her fingers, in swift flight, 

Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, 
Thus sang the song her lover late 

Had sung to her — the eve before 

That joyous night, when, as of yore. 
All Zea met, to celebrate 

The Feast of May, on the sea shore. 



SONG. 

When the Balaika ' 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
I'll dance the Romaika 

By moonlight with thee. 
If waves then, advancing, 

Should steal on our play, 
Thy white feet, in dancing, 

Shall chase them away.* 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea. 



1 This word is defrauded here, 1 suspect, of a syllable ; 
Dr. Clarke, if I recoiled ri<!lit, makes it " Balalaika." 

2 " 1 saw above thirty parlies eii;:aged in dancing the Ro- 
maika upon the sand ; in some of tiiose groups, ilie girl who 
led them chased the retreating wave." — Douglas on the 
Modern Greeks, 

3 " In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglas) they be- 
gin in slow iiiid solemn step till they have gained tlie time, 
but by degrees tlie air becomes more sprightly ; the cou- 



Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 
My own love, with me. 

Then, at the closing 

Of each merrj' lay. 
How sweet 'tis reposing, 

Beneath the night ray ! 
Or if, declining. 

The moon leave the skies. 
We'll talk by the shining 

Of each other's eyes. 

O then, how featly 

The dance we'll renew, 
Treading so fleetly 

Its light mazes through : ' 
Till stars, looking o'er us 

From heaven's high bow'rs. 
Would change their bright chorus 

For one dance of ours ! 
When the Balaika 

Is heard o'er the sea, 
Thou'lt dance the Romaika, 

My own love, with me. 



How changingly forever veers 

The heart of youth, 'twixt smiles and tears ! 

Ev'n as in April, the light vane 

Now points to sunshine, now to rain. 

Instant this lively lay dispell'd 

The shadow from each blooming brow, 
And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held 

Full empire o'er each fancy now. 

But say — tokat shall the measure be ? 

" Shall we the old Romaika tread, 
(Some eager ask'd) " as anciently 

" 'Twas by the maids of Delos led, 
" When, slow at first, then circling fast, 
" As the gay spirits rose — at last, 
" With hand in hand, like links, enlock'd, 

"Through the light air they seem'd to flit 
" In labyrinthine maze, that mock'd 

" The dazzled eye that foUow'd it ? " 



ductress of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, some- 
times darting before tlie rest, and leading them through tlie 
most rapid revolutions ; sometimes crossing under the hands, 
which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much live- 
liness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she 
conducts her companions, while their business is to follow 
her in all her movements, witliout breaking the ch;\in, oi 
losing the i 



312 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



Some call'd aloud '* the Fountain Dance ! " — 

While one young, dark-ey'd Amazon, 
"VVliose step was air-like, and whose glance 

Flash'd, like a sabre in the sun, 
Sportively said, " Shame on these soft 
'• And languid strains we hear so oft. 
" Daughters of Freedom ! have not we 

" Ijcarn'd from our lovers and our sires 
'• The Dance of Greece, wliile Greece was free — 

" That Dance, where neither flutes nor lyres, 
" But sword and shield clash on the ear, 
•' A music tyrants quake to hear ? ' 
«' Heroines of Zea, arm with me, 
" And dance the dance of Victory ! " 

Thus saying, she, with playful grace. 
Loosed the wide hat, that o'er her face 
(From Anatolia '•' came the maid) 

Hung, shadowing each sunny charm ; 
And, with a fair young armorer's aid. 

Fixing it on her rounded arm, 
A mimic shield with pride display'd ; 
Then, springing towards a grove that spread 

Its canopy of foliage near, 
Pluck' d off a lance-like twig, and said, 
" To arms, to arms ! " while o'er her head 

She waved the light branch, as a spear. 

Promptly the laughing maidens all 
Obey'd their Chief's heroic call ; — 
Hound the shield arm of each was tied 

Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be ; 

The grove, their verdant armory. 
Falchion and lance ^ alike supplied ; 

And as their glossy locks, let free. 

Fell down their shoulders carelessly. 
You might have dream'd you saw a throng 

Of youthful Thyads, by the beam 
Of a May moon, bounding along 

Peneus' silver-eddied •• stream ! 

And now they stepp'd, with measured tread, 

Martially, o'er the shining field ; 
Now, to the mimic combat led 
,A heroine at each squadron's head). 

Struck lance to lance and sword to shield : 
While still, through every varying feat, 
Their voices, heard in contrast sweet 
With some, of deep but soften'd sound, 
From lips of aged sires around, 

1 For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance see De Guys, &c. 
— It appears fioiii Apiileiiis (lib. x.) that this war dance was, 
Jinioiig tlie ancients, sometimes performed by females. 

2 See tlie costume of the Greek women of Matolia in Cas- 
tellan's Maurs des 0'!(;.'nai» 



W^ho smiling watch'd their children's play — 
Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay : - 



SONG. 

" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 

" Now here — now there — retreat — advance ! *" 

Such were the sounds, to which the warrior ooy 
Danced in those happy days, when Greece 
was free ; 
When Sparta's youth, ev'n in the hour of joy, 
Thus train'd their steps to war and victory. 
" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 
" Now here — now there — retreat — advance ! " 
Such was the Spartan warriors' dance. 
" Grasp the falchion — gird the shield — 
•* Attack — defend — do aU but yield." 

Thus did thy sons, O Greece, one glorious* 
night, 

Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea, 
That morning dawii'd by whose immortal light 

They nobly died for thee and liberty ! * 
" Raise the buckler — poise the lance — 
" Now here — now there — retreat — advancu ! '' 
Such was the Spartan heroes' dance. 



Scarce had they closed this martial lay 
When, flinging their light spears awaj', 
The combatants, in broken ranks, 

All breathless from the war field fly ; 
And down, upon the velvet banks 

And flowery slopes, exhausted lie, 
Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, 
Resting at sunset from the chase. 

" Fond girls ! " an aged Zean said — 

One who, himself, had fought and bled. 

And now, with fceUngs, half delight. 

Half sadness, watch'd their mimic fight — 

" Fond maids ! who thus with War can jest — 

" Like Love, in Mars's helmet dress' d, 

" When, in his childish innocence, 

" Pleased with the shade that helmet flmgs, 
♦« He thinks not of the blood, that thence 

" Is drojjping o'er his snowy wings. 

3 The sword was the weapon chiefly used in tliis dance 

* Homer, II. 2, 753. 

6 It is said that Leonidas and h" companions employed 
themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gym 
na^tic exercises of their country. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



' Ay — true it is, young patriot maids, 

•' If Honor's arm still won the fray, 
' If luck but shone on righteous blades, 

" War wer» a (janie for gods to play ! 
But, no, alas ! — hoar one, ^vho -well 

" Hath track'd the fortunes of the brave — 
Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell 

" What glory waits the patriot's grave : " — 



SONG. 

As by the shore, at break of day, 
A vanquish'd Chief expiring lay, 
Upon the sands, with broken sword, 

lie traced his farewell to the Free ; 
And, there, the last unfinish'd word 

He dying wrote was •' Liberty ! " 

At night a Sea Bird shriek'd the knell 
Of him who thus for Freedom fell ; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came, 

"Were cover' d by the sounding sea ; — 
So pass away the cause and name 

Of him who dies for Liberty ! 



That tribute of subdued applause 
A charm' d, but timid, audience pays, 

That murmur, which a minstrel draws 
From hearts, that feel, but fear to praise, 

Follow'd this song, and left a pause 

Of silence after it, that hung 

Like a fix'd spell on every tongue. 

At length, a low and tremulous sound 
Was heard from 'midst a group, that round 
A basliful maiden stood, to hide 
Her blushes, while the lute she tried — 
Like roses, gathering round to veil 
The song of some young nightingale. 
Whose trembling notes steal out between 
The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen. 
And, while that voice, in tones that more 

Through feeling than through weakness err'd, 
Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er 

Th' attentive ear, this strain was heard : — 



SONG. 

I saw, from yonder silent cave,' 

Two Fountains running, side by side. 

' ^' This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of Tro- 
phonius, and the Fountains of Memory and Oblivion, just 
40 



The one was Mem'ry's limpid wave, 
The other cold Oblivion's tide. 

" O Love ! " said 1, in thoughtless mood, 
As deep I drank of Lethe's stream, 

"Be all my sorrows in this flood 
" Forgotten like a vanish'd dream ! * 

But who could bear that gloomy blank, 

Where joy was lost as well as pain ? 
Quickly of Mem'ry's fount I drank. 

And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, " O Love ! whate'er my lot, 

" Still let this soul to thee be true — 
" Rather than have one bliss forgot, 

" Be all my pains remember'd too ! * 



The group that stood around, to 
The blushes of that bashful maid, 
Had, by degrees, as came the lay 
More strongly forth, retired away, 
Like a fair shell, whose valves divide, 
To show the fairer pearl inside : 
For such she was — a creature, bright 

And delicate as those day flow'rs. 
Which, while they last, make up, in light 

And sweetness, what they want in hours, 

So rich upon the ear had grown 
Her voice's melody — its tone 
Gathering new courage, as it found 
An echo in each bosom round — 
That, ere the njTnph, with downcast eye 
Still on the chords, her lute laid by, 
" Another Song," all lips exclaim'd. 
And each some matchless favorite named ; 
While blushing, as her fingers ran 
O'er the sweet chords, she thus began : — 



SONG. 

O, Memory, how coldly 

Thou paintest joy gone by : 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 

But mournfully shine and die. 
Or, if some tints thou keepest, 

That former days recall. 
As o'er each line thou weepcst, 

Thy tears efface them all. 



upon the water of Ilercyna, wliich flows through stupendouf 
rocks." — miUams^s Travels in Greece. 



S14 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



But, Mcmor}', too truly 

Thou paintest grief that's past ; 
Joy's colors are fleeting, 

But those of Sorrow last. 
And, ivhile thou bring'st before us 

Dark pictures of past ill, 
Life's evening, closing o'er us, 

But makes them darker still. 



So went the moonlight hours along. 
In this sweet glade ; and so, with song 
And witching sounds — not such as they. 

The cymbalists of Ossa, play'd, 
To chase the moon's eclipse away,' 

But soft and holy — did each maid 
Lighten her heart's eclipse a while. 
And win back Sorrow to a smile. 

Not far from this secluded place, 

On the sea shore a ruin stood ; — 
A relic of th' extinguish'd race, 

Who once look'd o'er that foamy flood, 
When fair loulis,^ by the light 
Of golden sunset, on the sight 

Of mariners wlio sail'd that sea, 
Rose, like a city of chrysolite, 

Call'd from the wave by witchery. 
This ruin — now by barbarous hands 

Debased into a motley shed. 
Where the once splendid column stands, 

Inverted on its leafy head — 
Form'd, as they tell, in times of old. 

The dwelling of that bard, whose lay 
Could melt to tears the stern and cold, 

And sadden, 'mid their mirth, the gay - 
Simonides,-' whose fame, through years 
And ages past, still bright appears — 
Like Hesperus, a star of tears ! 

'Twas hither now to catch a view 

Of the white waters, as they play'd 
Silently in the light — a few 

Of the more restless damsels stray'd ; 
And some would linger 'mid the scent 

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed 
The ruin'd walls ; while others went, 

Culling whatever floweret bloom'd 
In the lone leafy space between 
Where gilded chambers once had hee>n ; 



i This superstitions custom of the Thessalians exists also, 
88 Pietro della V'alle tells iis, among the Persians. 

» An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which wereof mar- 
hlo. Its remains (says Clarke) "extend from the sliore. 



Or, turning sadly to the sea. 

Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblcss'd 
To some brave champion of the Free — 
Thinking, alas, how cold might be. 
At that still hour, his place of rest ! 

Meanwhile there came a sound of song 
From the dark ruins — a faint strain, 

As if some echo, that among 

Those minstrel halls had slumbered long, 
Were murmuring into life again. 

But, no — the nymphs knew well the tone- 

A maiden of their train, who loved, 
Like the night bird, to sing alone, 

Had deep into those ruins roved. 
And there, all other thoughts forgot, 

Was warbling o'er, in lone delight, 
A lay that, on that verj' spot. 

Her lover sung one moonlight night : — 



SONG. 

Ah ! where are they, who heard, in former houre, 
The voice of Song in these neglected bow'rs ? 
They are gone — all gone ! 

The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, 
That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain theil 
own — 
He is gone — he is gone ! 

And she, who, while he str.ig. sa* lister jng by, 
And thought, to strains JUie thes' 'twe'a sweet 
to die — 
She is gone— she 'do is gor.e ! 

'Tis thus, in futu" e \o\irs, some bard will ^ay 
Of her, who hears, and him, who sings this lay — 
They &re gone — they both are gone ! 



The m.oo'i was now, from heaven's steep. 
Bending to dip her silvery urn 

Into the bright and silent deep — 

And the young nymphs, on their return 

From those romantic ruins, found 

Their other playmates, ranged around 



quite into a valley watered by the streams of a fountain, 
whence loulis received its name." 

3 Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose verses are b| 
Catullus called " tears." 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



315 



The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn,' ere sunk the moon, 
To that fair Fountain, by whose stream 
Their hearts had form'd so many a dream. 

Who has not read the tales, that tell 
Of old Eleusis' sacred Well, 
Or heard what legend songs recount 
Of Sj-ra, and its holy Fount,^ 
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock 

Into the laps of living flowers — 
Where village maidens loved to flock. 

On summer nights, and, like the Hours, 
Link'd in harmonious dance and song, 
Charm'd the unconscious night along ; 
While holy pilgrims, on their way 

To Delos' isle, stood looking on, 
Enchanted with a scene so gay. 

Nor sought their boats, till morning shone. 

Such was the scene this lovely glade 
And its fair inmates now display'd. 
As round the Fount, in linked ring. 

They went, in cadence slow and light, 
And thus to that enchanted Spring 

Warbled their Farewell for the night : — 



SONG. 

Here, while the moonlight dim 
Falls on that mossy brim. 
Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 

Maidens of Zea ! 
Nothing but Music's strain. 
When Lovers part in pain, 
Soothos, till they meet again, 

O, Maids of Zea ! 

Bright Fount, so clear and cold. 
Round which the nymphs of old 
Stood, with their locks of gold, 

Fountain of Zea ! 
Not even Castaly, 
Famed though its streamlet be, 



1 These " Songs of the Well," as they were called among 
the ancients, still exist in Greece. De Oays tells us that he 
has seen " the young women in Prince's Island, assembled 
in the evening at a pul)lic well, suddenly strike up a dance, 
while others sung in concert to them." 

2 " The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and modern, 
may be considered as the worshippers of water. The old 
fountain, at which the nymphs of the island assembled in 
the earliest ages, exists in its original state ; the same ren- 
dezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and gallantry, 



Murmurs or shines like thee, 
O, Fount of Zea ! 

Thou, while our hymn we sing. 
Thy silver voice shalt bring. 
Answering, answering, 

Sweet Fount of Zea ! 
For, of all rills that run, 
Sparkling by moon or sun. 
Thou art the fairest one. 

Bright Fount of Zea ! 

Now, by those stars that glance 
Over heav'n's still expanse. 
Weave we our mirthful dancfi. 

Daughters of Zea ! 
Such as, in former days. 
Danced they, by Dian's rays. 
Where the Eurotas strays,' 

O, Maids of Zea ! 

But when to merry feet 
Hearts with no echo beat. 
Say, can the dance be sweet ? 

Maidens of Zea ! 
No, nought but Music's strain. 
When lovers part in pain. 
Soothes, till they meet again, 

O, Maids of Zea ! 



SECOND EVENING. 

SONG. 

WHE^f evening shades are falling 

O'er Ocean's sunny sleep, 
To pilgrims' hearts recalling 

Their home beyond the deep ; 
When, rest o'er all descending, 

The shores with gladness smile. 
And lutes, their echoes blending. 

Are heard from isle to isle. 
Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,* 
We pray, we pray to thee ! 



or of gossiping and tale telling. It is near to the town, and 
the most limpid water gushes continually from the solid 
rock. It is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of 
religious veneration j and they preserve a tradition, that tlie 
pilgri2ns of old time, in their way to Delos, resorted hitljei 
for purification." — Clarke. 

s " Qualis in Eurota; ripis, ant per juga Cynthi 
Exercet Diana chores."— Virgil. 

< One of the titles of the Virgin : — " Marie illuniinatrix 
sive Stella Maris." — /it(/or. 



316 EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


The noonday tempest over, 


As though, in conscious beauty bright, 


Now Ocean toils no more, 


It joy'd to give him light for light. 


And wings of halcyons hover, 




Where all was strife before. 


And ne'er did evening more serene 


thus maj' life, in closing 


Look down from heaven on lovelier scene. 


Its short tempestuous day. 


Calm lay the flood around, while fleet. 


Beneath heaven's smile reposing, 


O'er the blue shining element. 


Shine all its storms away : 


Light barks, as if with fairy feet 


Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, 


That stirr'd not the hush'd waters, went; 


We pray, we pray, to thee ! 


Some that, ere rosy eve, fell o'er 




The blushing wave, with mainsail free, 




Had put forth from the Attic shore. 




Or the near Isle of Ebony ; — 


On Hello's sea the light grew dim. 


Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in caves 


As the last sounds of that sweet hymn 


Beneath Colonna's pillar'd cliff's. 


Floated along its azure tide — 


Had all day lurk'd, and o'er the waves 


Floated in light, as if the lay 


Now shot their long and dart-like skiff's. 


Had mix'd with sunset's fading ray. 


Woe to the craft, however fleet. 


And light and song together died. 


These sea hawks in their course shall meet, 


So soft through evening's air had breath'd 


Laden with juice of Lesbian vines. 


That choir of youthful voices, wreath' d 


Or rich from Naxos' emery mines ; 


In many-linked harmony. 


For not more sure, when owlets flee 


That boats, then hurrying o'er the sea. 


O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, 


Paused, when they reach'd this fairy shore, 


Doth the night falcon mark his prey. 


And linger'd till the strain was o'er. 


Or pounce on it more fleet than they. 


Of those young maids who've met to fleet 


And what a moon now lights the glade 


In song and dance this evening's hours, 


Where these young island nymphs are met . 


Far happier now the bosoms beat, 


Full orb'd, yet pure, as if no shade 


Than when they last adorn'd these bowers ; 


Had touch'd its virgin lustre yet ; 


For tidings of glad sound had come, 


And freshly bright, as if just made 


At break of day, from the far isles — 


By Love's own hands, of new-born light 


Tidings like breath of life to some — 


Stol'n from his mother's star to-night. 


That Zea's sons would soon wing home. 




Crovvn'd with the light of Victory's smiles, 


On a bold rock, that o'er the flood 


To meet that brightest of all meeds 


Jutted from that soft glade, there stood 


That wait on high, heroic deeds, 


A Chapel, fronting towards the sea, — 


When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears. 


Built in some by-gone century, — 


Could trace the warrior's parting track. 


Where, nightly, as the seaman's mark. 


Shall, like a misty morn that clears, 


When waves rose high or clouds were dark, 


When the long-absent sun appears. 


A lamp, bequeath'd by some kind Saint, 


Shine out, all bUss, to hail him back. 


Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint, 




Waking in way-worn men a sigh 


How fickle still the youthful breast ! — 


And prayer to heaven, as they v.-ent by. 


More fond of change than a young moon. 


'Twas there, around that rock-built shrine, 


No joy so new was e'er possess'd 


A group of maidens and their sires 


But Youth would leave for newer soon. 


Had stood to watch the day's decline. 


These Zean nymphs, though bright the spot, 


And, as the light fell o'er their lyres, 


Where first they held their evening play. 


Sung to the Queen Star of the Sea 


As ever fell to fairy's lot 


That soft and holy melody. 


To wanton o'er by midnight's ray. 




Had now exchanged that sholter'd scene 


But lighter thoughts and lighter song 


For a wide glade beside the sea — 


Now woo the coming hours along. 


A. lawn, whose soft expanse of green 


For, mark, where smooth the herbage lies, 


Turn'd to the west sun smilingly, 


Yon gay pavilion, curtain'd deep 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



With silken folds, through which, bright eyei 

From time to time, arc seen to peep ; 
While twinkling lights that, to and fro, 
Beneath those veils, like meteors, go, 

Tell of some spells at work, and keep 
Young fancies chain'd in mute suspense, 
Watching what next may shine from thence. 
Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen 

That mystic curtain backward drew, 
And all, that late but shone between, 

In half-caught gleams, now burst to view. 
A picture 'twas of the early days 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immortal Mind were hers 
That made mankind her worshippers ; 
"While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone 
With glory lent by heaven alone ; 
Nor temples crown'd her nameless hills, 
Nor Muse immortalized her rills ; 
Nor aught but the mute poesy 
Of sun, and stars, and shining sea 
Illumed that land of bards to be. 
While, prescient of the gifted race 

That yet would realm so blest adorn, 
Nature took, pains to deck the place 

Where glorious Art was to be born. 

Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and her hills portray'd ; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age. 

Ere yet the simple violet braid,' 
Which then adorn'd her, had shone down 
The glory of earth's loftiest crown. 
While yet undream' d, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine — 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To all but life, in shapes divine ; 
Till deified the quarry shone, 
And all Olympus stood in stone ! 

There, in the foreground of that scene, 

On a soft bank of living green. 

Sate a young nymph, with her lap full 

Of newly-gather'd flowers, o'er which 
She prraceful lean'd, intent to cull 

All that was there of hue most rich, 
To form a wreath, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by. 
With pallet mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. 

The wreath was form'd ; the maiden raised 
Her speaking eyes to his, while he — 

1 " Violet-crowned Athens." — Pindar. 

8 The whole of this scene was suggested by Pliny's 



O not upon the flowers now gaz'd. 

But on that bright look's witchery. 
While, quick as if but then the thought, 
Like light, had reach'd his soul, he caught 
His pencil up, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love look drew ; 
And, as his raptured task went on, 
And forth each kindling feature shone. 
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, 
From lips as moonlight fresh and pure. 
Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there, 
Ajid sung the Birth of Portraiture.* 



SONG. 

As once a Grecian maiden wove 

Her garland 'mid the summer bowers, 

There stood a youth, with eyes of love, 

To watch her while she wreath' d the flowers 

The youth was skiU'd in Painting's art. 
But ne'er had studied woman's brow, 

Nor knew what magic hues the heart 

Can shed o'er Nature's charms, till now. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 

His hand had pictured many a rose. 

And sketch' d the rays that light the brook ; 
But what were these, or what were those, 

To woman's blush, to woman's look ? 
" O, if such magic power there be, 

" This, this," he cried, " is all my prayer, 
" To paint that living light I see, 

'« And fix the soul that sparkles there." 

His prayer, as soon as breath'd, was heard ; 

His pallet, touch'd by Love, grew warm. 
And Painting saw her hues transferr'd 

From lifeless flowers to woman's form. 
Still as from tint to tint he stole. 

The fair design shone out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul. 

Where only colors glow'd before. 

Then first carnations learn'd to speak. 
And lilies into life were brought ; 

While, mantling on the maiden's cheek, 
Young roses kindled into thought. 

Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 
Upon the locks of Beauty threw ; 

count of the artist Pausias and his mistress Glycera, Lib. ?,S 
c 40 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



And violets, transform 'd to eyes, 
Enshrin'd a soul within their blue. 

CHORUS. 

Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that's fair and bright below. 
Song was cold and Painting dina 
Till song and Painting learn'd from him. 



Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer 

Of gentle voices, old and young, 
Rose from the groups that stood to hear 

This tale of yore so aptly sung ; 
And while some nymphs, in haste to tell 
The workers of that fairy spell 
How crown'd with praise their task had been, 
Stole in behind the curtain'd scene, 
'l"he rest, in happy converse stray' d — 

Talking that ancient love tale o'er — 
Some, to the groves that skirt the glade, 

Some, to the chapel by the shore, 
To look what lights were on the sea. 
And think of th' absent silently. 

But soon that summons, known so weU 

Through bower and hall, in Eastern lands. 
Whose sound, more sure than gong or bell, 
Lovers and slaves alike commands, — 
The clapping of young female hands, 
Calls back the groups from rock and field 
To see some new-form'd scene reveal'd ; — 
And fleet and eager, down the slopes 
Of the green glade, like antelopes, 
When, in their thirst, they hear the sound 
Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. 

Far different now the scene — a waste 
Of Lybian sands, by moonlight's ray ; 

An ancient well, whereon were traced 
The warning words, for such as stray 
Unarmed there, " Drink and away ! " ' 

While, near it, from the night ray screen' d. 
And like his bells, in hush'd repose, 

1 The ti-rtveller Shaw mentions a beautiful rill in Barbaiy, 
which is received into a large bason called Skrjtb wee kiub, 
" Driiili and away " — there being great danger of meeting 
with thieves and assassins, in such places. 

2 The Arabian shepherd has a peculiar ceremony in 
weaning the young camel : when the proper time arrives, he 
turns the camel towards the rising star, Canopus, and says, 
"Do you see Canopus? from this moment you taste not 
another drop of milk." — Richardson. 

3 " Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to Mecca hangs 
this plant (the mitie-shapod Aloe) over his street door, as a 



A camel slept — young as if wean'd 
When last the star, Canopus, rose.* 

Such was the background's silent scene ; — 

While nearer lay, fast slumbering too, 
In a rude tent, with brow serene, 

A youth whose cheeks of way-Avorn hue 
And pilgrim bonnet, told the tale 
That he had been to Mecca's Vale : 
Haply in pleasant dreams, ev'n now 

Thinking the long-wish'd hour is come 

When, o'er the well-known porch at home, 
His hand shall hang the aloe bough — 
Trophy of his accomplish'd vow.^ 
But brief his dream — for now the call 

Of the camp chiefs from rear to van, 
" Bind on your burdens," * wakes up all 

The widely-slumbering caravan ; 
And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear 

Of the young pilgrim as he wakes. 
The song of one who, lingering near, 

Had watch' d his slumber, cheerly breaks. 



SONG. 
Up and march ! the timbrel's sound 
Wakes the slumb'ring camp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, 
Armed sleeper, up, and on ! 
Long and weary is our way 
O'er the burning sands to-day; 
But to pilgrim's homeward feet 
Ev'n the desert's path is sweet. 

When we lie at dead of night, 
Looking up to heaven's light, 
Hearing but the watchman's tone 
Faintly chanting " God is one," * 
O what thoughts then o'er us come 
Of our distant village home. 
Where that chant, when evening sett, 
Sounds from all the minarets. 

Cheer thee ! — soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o'er the Red Sea heights, 

token of his having performed this holy journey." — Has- 
selqiiist. 

< This form of notice to the caravans to prepare for march- 
ing was applied by Hafiz to the necessity of relinquishing 
the pleasures of this world, and preparing for death : — " For 
me what room is there for pleasure in the bower of Beauty 
when every moment the bell makes proclamation, ' Bind on 
your burdens.' ' " 

6 The watchmen, in the camp of the caravans, go theil 
rounds, crying one after another, "God is cne," fee. &c. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 319 


Kindling quick from man to man, 




Hail our coming caravan : ' 


SONG. 


Think what bliss that hour -will be ! 




Looks of home again to see, 


No life is like the mountaineer's, 


And our names again to hear 


His home is near the sky. 


Murmur' d out by voices dear. 


Where, throned above this world, he hears 




Its strife at distance die. 




Or, should the sound of hostile drum 




Proclaim below, "We come — we come," 


So pass'd the desert dream away. 


Each crag that towers in air 


Fleeting as his who heard this lay. 


Gives answer, " Come who dare ! " 


Nor long the pause between, nor moved 


WhillD, like bees, from dell and dingle. 


'J'he spell-bound audience from that spot ; 


Swift the swarming warriors mingle, 


Wliilc still, as usual, Fancy roved 


And their cry " Hurrah ! " will be, 


On to the joy that yet was not ; — 


" Hurrah, to victory ! " 


Fancy, who hath no present home. 




But builds her bower in scenes to come, 


Then, when battle's hour is over. 


Walking forever in a light 


See the happy mountain lover. 


That flows from regions out of sight. 


W^ith the nymph, who'll soon be bride, 




Seated blushing by his side, — 


Eut see, by gradual dawn descried. 


Every shadow of his lot 


A mountain realm — rugged as e'er 


In her sunny smile forgot. 


Ujirais'd to hcav'n its summits bare. 


0, no life is like the mountaineer's, 


Or told to earth, with frown of pride, 


His home is near the sky. 


That Freedom's falcon nest was there. 


Where, throned above this world, he hears 


Too high for hand of lord or king 


Its strife at distance die. 


To hood her brow, or chain her wing. 


Nor only thus through summer suns 




His blithe existence cheerly runs — 


'Tis Maina's land — her ancient hills. 


Ev'n winter, bleak and dim. 


The abode of nymphs ^ — her countless rills 


Brings joyous hours to him ; 


And torrents, in their downward dash. 


When, his rifle behind him flinging, 


Shining, like silver, through the shade 


He watches the roebuck springing. 


Of the sea pine and flowering ash — 


And away, o'er the hills away 


All with a truth so fresh portray' d 


Reechoes his glad " hurrah." 


As wants but touch of life to be 




A world of warm reality. 


Then how blest, when night is closing. 




By the kindled hearth reposing. 


And now, light bounding forth, a band 


To his rebec's drowsy song. 


Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance — 


He beguiles the hour along ; 


Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 


Or, provoked by merry glances. 


Link'd in the Ariadne dance ;' 


To a brisker movement dances, 


And while, apart from that gay throng. 


Till, weary at last, in slumber's chain, 


A minstrel youth, in varied song. 


He dreams o'er chase and dance again. 


Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills 


Dreams, dreams them o'er again. 


Of these wild children of the hills, 




The rest by turns, or fierce or gay, 




As war or sport inspires the lay. 




Follow each change that wakes the strings. 


As sloAv that minstrel, at the close. 


A-nd act what thus the lyrist sins : — 


Sunk, while he sung, to feign'd repose, 




Aptly did they, whose mimic art 




FoUow'd the changes of his lay. 


» " It was customary," says Irwin, « to light up (ires on 


2 virginibus bacchata Laconis 


the mountains, witliin view of Cosseir, to give notice of the 


Taygeta. V.»a 


approach of the carav.ids that came from tlie Nile." 


3 See, for an account of this dance, De Guy's Trave » 



320 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



Portray the lull, ttie nod, the start, 

Through which, as faintly died away 
His lute and voice, the minstrel pass'd, 
'Till voice and lute lay hush'd at last. 

But now far other song came o'er 

Their startled ears — song that, at first, 
As solemnly the night wind bore 

Across the wave its mournful burst, 
Seein'd to the fancy, like a dirge 

Of some lone Spii-it of the Sea, 
Singing o'er Helle's ancient surge 

The requiem of her Brave and Free. 

Sudden, amid their pastime, pause 

The wondering nj-mphs ; and, as the sound 

Of that strange music nearer draws. 
With mute inquiring eye look round, 

Asking each other what can be 

The source of this sad minstrelsy ? 

Nor longer can they doubt, the song 

Comes from some island bark, which now 

Courses the bright -waves swift along. 
And soon, perhaps, beneath the brow 
Of the Saint's Rock will shoot its prow. 

Instantly all, ■with hearts that sigh'd 
'Twixt fear's and fancy's influence. 
Flew to the rock, and saw from thence 
A red-sail'd pinnace towards them glide, 
"Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, 
Scatter'd the moonlight's smiles away. 
Soon as the mariners saw that throng 

From the cliff gazing, young and old. 
Sudden they slack'd their sail and song. 
And, while their pinnace idly roU'd 
On the light surge, these tidings told : — 

'Twas from an isle of mournful name. 
From Missolonghi, last they came — 
Sad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet 
O'er him, the noblest Star of Fame 

That e'er in life's young glory set ! — 
And now were on their mournful way, 

AVafting the news through Helle's isles ; — 
News that w'ould cloud ev'n Freedom's ray. 

And sadden Victory 'mid her smiles. 
Their tale thus told, and heard, with pain, 
Out spread the galliot's wings again ; 
And, as she sped her swift career. 
Again that Hymn rose on the ear — 
<• Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! " 

As oft 'twas sung in ages flown. 
Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed 

A tyrant's blood, pour'd out his own. 



SONG. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! ' 

No, dearest Harraodius no. 
Thy soul, to realms above us fled, 
Though, like a star, it dwells o'erhead. 

Still lights this world below. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Ilarmodius, no. 

Through isles of light, where heroes tread 

And flowers ethereal blow, 
Thy godlike Spirit now is led. 
Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed. 

Forgets all taste of woe. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

The myrtle, round that falchion spread 
Which struck the immortal blow, 

Throughout all time, with leaves unshed — 

The patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread — 
Round Freedom's shrine shall grow. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Where hearts like thine have broke or bled, 
Though quench'd the vital glow. 

Their memory lights a flame, instead. 

Which, ev'n from out the narrow bed 
Of death its beams shall throw. 

Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 

Thy name, by myriads sung and said. 

From age to age shall go. 
Long as the oak and ivy wed. 
As bees shaU haunt Hymettus' head. 

Or Helle's waters flow. 
Thou art not dead — thou art not dead ! 

No, dearest Harmodius, no. 



'Mong those who linger' d listening there, — 

Listening, with ear and eye, as long 
As breath of night could towards them bear 

A murmur of that mournful song, — 
A few there were, in whom the lay 

Had call'd up feelings far too sad 
To pass with the brief strain away, 

Or turn at once to theme more glad , 
And who, in mood untuned to meet 

The 'ight laugh of the happier train, 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



321 



Wander' d to seek some moonlight seat 
Where they might rest, in converse sweet, 
Till vanish'd smiles should come again. 

A.nd seldom e'er hath noon of night 
To sadness lent more soothing light. 
On one side, in the dark-blue sky, 
Lonely and radiant, was the eye 
Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 

'Mong tiny stars that round her gleam'd. 
The young moon, like the Roman mother 

Among her living "jewels," beamed. 

Touch' d by the lovely scenes around, 

A pensive maid — one who, though young. 

Had known what 'twas to see unwound 
The ties by which her heart had clung — 

Waken'd her soft tamboura's sound. 
And to its faint accords thus sung : — 



SONG. 

Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 

In sleep the smiling infant lies. 

So, watch'd by aU the stars of night. 

Yon landscape sleeps in light. 

And while the night breeze dies away, 

Like relics of some faded strain. 
Loved voices, lost for many a day. 

Seem whispering round again. 
youth ! O love ! ye dreams, that shed 
Such glory once — where are ye fled ? 

Pure ray of light that, down the sky, 

Art pointing, like an angel's wand. 
As if to guide to realms that lie 

In that bright sea beyond : 
Who knows but, in some brighter deep 

Than even that tranquil, moonlit main. 
Some land may lie, where those who weep 

Shall wake to smile again ! 



With cheeks that had regain'd their power 
And play of smiles, — and each bright eye, 
Like violets after morning's shower. 
The brighter for the tears gone by. 
Back to the scene such smiles should grace 
These wandering nymphs their path retrace, 
And reach the spot with rapture new, 
Just as the veils asunder flew, 
And a fi-esh vision burst to view. 
41 



There, by her own bright Attic flood. 
The blue-ey'd Queen of Wisdom stood; — 
Not as she haunts the sage's dreams. 

With brow unveil'd, divine, severe ; 
But soften' d, as on bards she beams, 

W^hen fresh from Poesy's high sphere, 
A music, not her own, she brings, 
And, through the veil which Fancy flings 
O'er her stern features, gently sings. 

But who is he — that urchin nigh, 

With quiver on the rose trees hung, 
Who seems just dropp'd from yonder sky. 
And stands to watch that maid, with eye 

So full of thought, for one so young ? — 
That child — but, silence ! lend thine ear. 
And thus in song the tale thou'lt hear : — 



SONG. 

As Love, one summer eve, was straying. 
Whom should he see, at that soft hour, 

But young Minerva, gravely playing 
Her flute within an olive bower ! 

I need not say, 'tis Love's opinion 
That, grave or merry, good or ill. 

The sex all bow to his dominion. 

As woman will be woman still. 

Though seldom yet the boy hath given 

To learned dames his smiles or sighs. 
So handsome Pallas look'd, that even. 

Love quite forgot the maid was wise. 
Besides, a youth of his discerning 

Knew well that, by a shady rill. 
At sunset hour, whate'er her learning, 

A woman will be woman still. 

Her flute he praised in tenns ecstatic, — 

Wishing it dumb, nor cared how soon ; — 
For W^isdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, 

To Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he found face to flatter. 

The nymph found breath to shake and thrill ; 
As, weak or wise — it doesn't matter — 

Woman, at heart, is woman still. 

Love changed his plan, with warmth exclaiming 
" How rosy was her lips' soft dye ! " 

And much that flute, the flatterer, blaming, 
For twisting lips so sweet awry. 

The nymph look'd down, beheld her features 
Reflected in the passing rill, 



S22 EVENINGS 


[N GREECE. 


And started, shock'd — for, ah, ye creatures ! 


That Siren, singing 


Ev'n when divine, you're women still. 


To the hush'd tide. 


Quick from the lips it made so odious. 


" Stay," said the shepherd boy, 


That graceless flute the Goddess took, 


" Fairy boat, stay, 


And, while yet fiU'd with breath melodious, 


" Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 


Flung it into the glassy brook ; 


" Linger, a day." 


Where, as its vocal life was fleeting 


But vain his pleading, j 


Adown the current, faint and shrill, 


Past him, unheeding, 


'Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating. 


Song and boat, speeding, 


" Woman, alas, vain woman still ! " 


Glided away. 




So to our youthful eyes 


An interval of dark repose — 


Joy and hope shone ; 


Such as the summer lightning knows. 


So, while we gazed on them, 


'Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright 


Fast they flew on ; — 


The quick revealment comes Snd goes, 


Like flowers, declining 


Opening o«ch time the veils of night. 


Ev'n in the twining. 


To show, within, a world of light — 


One moment shining. 


Such pause, so brief, now pass'd between 


And, the next, gone ! 


This last gay vision and the scene, 




Which now its depth of light disclosed. 




A bower it seem'd, an Indian bdwer, 




Within whose shade a nymph reposed. 


Soon as the imagin'd dream went by. 


Sleeping away noon's sunny hour — 


Uprose the nymph, with anxious eye 


Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves 


Turn'd to the clouds, as though some boon 


Ilcr mansion of sweet Durva leaves, 


She waited from that sun-bright dome. 


And there, as Indian legends say, 


And marvell'd that it came not soon 


Dreams the long summer hours away. 


As her young thoughts would have it come. 


And mark, how charm'd this sleeper seems 




With some hid fancy — she, too, dreams ! 


But joy is in her glance ! — the wing 


for a wizard's art to tell 


Of a white bird is seen above ; 


The wonders that now bless her sight ! 


And 0, if round his neck he bring 


'Tis done — a truer, holier spell 


The long- wished tidings from her love, 


Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell 


Not half so precious in her eyes 


Thus brings her vision all to light : — 


Ev'n that high-omen'd bird ' would be, 




Who dooms the brow o'er which he flies 




To wear a crown of Royalty. 


SONG. 


She had herself, last evening, sent 


" Who comes so gracefully 


A winged messenger, whose flight 


" Gliding along, 


Through the clear, roseate element, 


" While the blue rivulet 


She watch'd till, lessening out of sight. 


Sleeps to her song ; 


Far to the golden West it went. 


" Song, richly vying 


Wafting to him, her distant love. 


" With the faint sighing 


A missive in that language wrought 


" Which swans, in dying, 


Which flowers can speak, when aptly wove, 


•• Sweetly prolong ? " 


Each hue a word, each leaf a thought. 


So sung the shepherd boy 


And now — speed of pinion, kno\vn 


By the stream's side. 


To love's light messengers alone ! — 


Watching that fairy boat 


Ere yet another evening takes 


Down the flood glide. 


Its farewell of the golden lakes. 


Like a bird winging. 




Through the waves bringing 


1 The Huma. 



EVENINGS IN GREECE. 



She sees another envoy fly, 

With the wish'd answer, through the sky. 



Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air 
winging. 
Swift hast thou come o'er the far-shining 
sea, 
Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing 

Love's written vows from my lover to me. 
0, in thy absence, what hours did I number ! — 

Saying oft, "Idle bird, how could he rest?" 
But thou art come at last, take now thy slum- 
ber, 
And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best. 

Yet dost thou droop — even now while I utter 

liOve's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away ; 
CJhcer thee, my bird — were it life's ebbing 
flutter, 

This fondling bosom should woo it to stay. 
l?ut no — thou'rt dying — thy last task is over, 

Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me ! 
The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my 
lover, 

Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee. 



Willie thus this scene of song (their last 
For the sweet summer season) pass'd, 
A few presiding nymphs, whose care 

Watch'd over all, invisibly, 
As do those guardian sprites of air, 

W'hose watch we feel, but cannot see, 
Had from the circle — scarcely missed, 

Ere they were sparkling there again — 
Glided, like fairies, to assist 

Their handmaids on the moonlight plain. 
Whore, hid by intercepting shade 

From the stray glance of carious eyes, 
A feast of fruits and wines was laid — 

Soon to shine out, a glad surprise ! 

And now the moon, her ark of light 

Steering through Heaven, as though she bore 
In safety through that deep of night. 
Spirits of earth, the good, the bright, 

To some remote immortal shore. 
Had half way sped her glorious way. 

When, round reclined on hillocks green, 
In groups, beneath that tranquil ray, 

The Zep.ns at their feast were seen. 
Gay was the picture — every maid 
Whom late the lighted scene display'd. 
Still in her fancy garb array'd ; — 



Tlie Arabian pilgrim, smiling here 

Beside the nymph of India's sky ; 
While there the Mainiote mountaineer 
Whisper' d in young Minerva's ear, 
And urchin Love stood laughing by. 

Meantime the elders round the board. 

By mirth and wit themselves made young, 

High cups of juice Zacynthian pour'd 

And, while the flask went round, thus sung : ■ 



SONG. 

Up with the sparkling brimmer, 

Up to the crystal rim ; 
Let not a moonbeam glimmer 

'Twixt the flood and brim. 
When hath the world set eyes on 

Aught to match this light, 
Which, o'er our cup's horizon. 

Dawns in bumpers bright ? 

Truth in a deep well lieth — 

So the wise aver : 
But Truth the fact denieth — 

W"ater suits not her. 
No, her abode's in brimmers, 

Like this mighty cup — 
Waiting till we, good swimmers, 

Dive to bring her up. 



Thus circled round the song of glee, 
And all was tuneful mirth the while, 
Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile, 

As fix'd they gaze upon the sea, 

Turns into paleness suddenly ! 

What see they there ? a bright blue light 
That, like a meteor, gliding o'er 

The distant wave, grows on the sight. 
As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's shore. 

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze, 

It seem'd the night light, far away. 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 

Of pine torch, luring on his prey; 
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth. 

They breath'd the bless'd Panaya's ' name, 
Vow'd that such light was not of earth, 

But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame. 
Which mariners see on sail or mast. 
When Death is coming in the blast. 

1 The name which the Greeks give to the Virgin Mary 



824 



EVENINGS IN GIIEECE. 



While marvelling thus they stood, a maid, 

Who sate apart, with downcast eye, 
Nor yet had, like the rest, surveyed 

That coming light which now was nigh, 
Soon as it met her sight, with cry 

Of pain-like joy, " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! " 
Loud she exclaim'd, and, hurrying by 

The assembled throng, rush'd towards the sea. 

At burst so wild, alarm'd, amazed. 

All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed 

Into each other's eyes, to seek 

What meant such mood, in maid so meek ? 

Till now, the tale was known to few, 
But now from lip to lip it flew : — 
A youth, the flower of all the band. 

Who late had left this sunny shore. 
When last he kiss'd that maiden's hand. 

Lingering, to kiss it o'er and o'er. 
By his sad brow too plainly told 

Th' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd him 
then, 
That once those hands should lose their hold, 

They ne'er would meet on earth again ! 
In vain his mistress, sad as he. 
But with a heart from Self as free 
As generous woman's only is, 
Veil'd her own fears to banish his : — 
With frank rebuke, but still more vain, 

Did a rough warrior, who stood by. 
Call to his mind this martial strain, 

His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye 

Had taught his soldier heart to sigh : — 



SONG. 

March ! nor heed those arms that hold thee. 

Though so fondly close they come ; 
Closer still will they infold thee. 

When thou bring' st fresh laurels home. 
Dost thou dote on woman's brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath ? 
March ! — one hour of victory now 

Wins thee woman's smile till death. 

O what bliss, when war is over, 

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet. 
And, when wreaths our temples cover. 

Lay them shining at her feet. 
Who would not, that hour to reach. 

Breathe out life's expiring sigh, — 
Proud as waves that on the beach 

Lay their war crests down, and die. 



There ! I see thy soul is burning — 

She herself, who clasps thee so. 
Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning, 

And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given. 

One last glowing tear, and then — 
March ! — nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 

Brings thee to those arms again. 



Even then, ere loath their hands could part, 

A promise the youth gave, which bore 
Some balm unto the maiden's heart. 

That, soon as the fierce fight was o'er. 
To home he'd speed, if safe and free — 

Nay, ev'n if dying, still would come. 
So the blest word of " Victory ! " 

Might be the last he'd breathe at home. 
" By day," he cried, "thou'lt know my barkj 
" But, should I come through midnight dark, 
" A blue light on the prow shall tell 
" That Greece hath won, and all is well ! " 

Fondly the maiden, every night, 
Had stolen to seek that promised light ; 
Nor long her eyes had now been turn'd 
From watching, when the signal burn'd. 
Signal of joy — for her, for all — 

Fleetly the boat now nears the land, 
While voices, from the shore edge, call 

For tidings of the long- wish' d band. 

O the blest hour, when those who've been 
Through peril's paths by land or sea, 

Lock'd in our arms again are seen 
Smiling in glad security ; 

When heart to heart we fondly strain, 
Questioning quickly o'er and o'er — 

Then hold them off', to gaze again, 
And ask, though answer' d oft before. 
If they, indeed, are ours once more ? 

Such is the scene, so full of joj'', 
"WTiich welcomes now this warrior boy, 
As fathers, sisters, friends all run 
Bounding to meet him — all but one, 
Who, slowest on his neck to fall. 
Is yet the happiest of them all. 

And now behold him, circled round 
With beaming faces, at that board. 

While cups, with laurel foliage crown'd, 
Are to the coming warriors pour'd -- 

Coming, as he, their herald, told, 

With blades from victory scarce yet cold, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



With hearts untouch'd by Moslem steel, 

And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal. 

"Ere morn," said he, — and, while he spoke, 

Turn'd to the east, where, clear, and pale, 
The star of dawn already broke — 

" W« '11 greet, on yonder wave, their sail ! " 
Then, wherefore part ? all, all agree 

To wait them here, beneath this bower ; 
And thus, while even amidst their glee, 
Each eye is turn'd to watch the sea, 

With song they cheer the anxious hour. 



SONG. 

" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " said the cup- 
loving boy. 
As he saw it spring bright from the earth. 
And call'd the young Genii of Wit, Love, and 
Joy, 
To witness and hallow its birth. 
The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flamed 
Till the sunbeam that kiss'd it look'd pale : 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " ev'ry Spirit 
exclaim' d, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine Tree, all hail ! " 

First, fleet as a bird, to the summons Wit 
flew, 
While a light on the vine leaves there broke, 



In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew 

'Twas the light from his lips as he spoke. 
'• Bright tree ! let thy nectar but cheer me," he 
cried, 
" And the fount of Wit never can fail : " 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " hills and val- 
leys reply, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine Tree, all hail ! " 

Next, Love, as he leaned o'er the plant to admire 

Each tendril and cluster it wore. 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath of 
desire, 

As made the tree tremble all o'er. 
O, never did flower of the earth, sea, or sky. 

Such a soul-giving odor inhale : 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine ! " all reecho the 
cry, 

" Hail, hail to the Wine Tree, all hail ! " 

Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit die. 

Came to crown the bright hour Avith his ray ; 

And scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his 

eye, 

When a laugh spoke what Joy could not 

say ; — 

A laugh of the heart, which was echoed around 

Till, like music, it swell'd on the gale ; 
" 'Tis the Vine ! 'tis the Vine I " laughing 
myriads resound, 
" Hail, hail to the Wine Tree, all hail ! " 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



THE MISS FEILDINGS, 
THIS VOLUME 

IS UrSCBIBED, BT TBEIB FAITHFUL FKIEND AND SERVANT, 

THOMAS MOORE. 



THE VOICE. 

It came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days. 
When love, only love, was the light of her ways ; 
And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago. 
It whisper' d her name from the garden below. 



"Alas," sigh'd the maiden, "how fancy can 

cheat ! 
" The world once had lips that could whisper 

thus sweet ; 
" But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep, 
" Where, O that beside them this heart too could 

sleep ! " 

She sunk on her pillow — but no, 'twas in 

vain 
To chase the illusion, that Voice came again ! 
She flew to the casement — but, hush'd as the 

grave. 
In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and 



J26 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



•« O sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she 

said, 
" From that call of the buried, that cry of the 

Dead ! " 
And sleep came around her — but, starting, she 

woke. 
For stilJ from the garden that spirit Voice spoke ! 

" I come," she exclaimed, " be thy home where 

it may, 
" On earth or in heaven, that call I obey ; " 
Then forth through the moonlight, with heart 

beating fast 
And loud as a death watch, the pale maiden 

pass'd. 

Still round her the scene all in loveliness shone ; 
And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on ; 
But whither she wander'd, by wave or by 

shore. 
None ever could tell, for she came back no more. 

No, ne'er came she back, — but the watchman 

who stood. 
That night, in the tower which o'ershadows the 

flood. 
Saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moon-lighted spray 
A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. 



CUPID AND PSYCKE. 

They told her that he, to whose vows she had 

listen'd 

Through night's fleeting hours, was a Spirit 

unbless'd ; — 

Unholy the eyes, that beside her had glisten' d. 

And evil the lips she in darkness had press'd. 

•' When next in thy chamber the bridegroom 
reclineth, 
" Bring near hira thy lamp, when in slumber 
he lies ; 
«' And there, as the light o'er his dark features 
shineth, 
" Thou' It see what a demon hath won all thy 
sighs ! " 

Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet 
fearing, 
When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her 
hght; 
And saw — such a vision ! — no image appearing 
To bards in their daydreams, was ever so 
bright. 



A youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet 
morning. 
While round him still linger'd its innocent 
ray ; 
Though gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids 
gave warning 
Of summer-noon lightnings that under them 
lay. 

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, 

While, glossy as gold from a fairyland mine. 

His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that 

crown' d it 

Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some garden 

divine. 

Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle 
gazing, 
What late was but love is idolatry now ; 
But, ah — in her tremor the fatal lamp raising — 
A sparkle flew from it and dropp'd on his 
brow. 

All's lost — with a start from hia rosy sleep 
waking. 
The Spii-it flash'd o'er her his glances of fire ; 
Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms 
breaking. 
Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire : 
" Farewell — what a dream thy suspicion hath 
broken ! 
•' Thus ever Affection's fond vision is cross'd ; 
" Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but 
spoken, 
" And love, once distrusted, forever is lost ! " 



HERO AND LEANDER. 

" The night wind is moaning with mournfu. 

sigh, 
" There gleameth no moon in the misty sky, 

" No star over Helle's sea ; 
" Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, 
'< One love-kindled star through the deep of 
night, 
" To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee ! " 

Thus sajang, he plunged in the foamy stream, 
Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam 

No eye but a lover's could see ; 
And still, as the surge swept over his head, 
" To-night," he said tenderly, " living or dead, 

" Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee ! " 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



327 



But fier:er around him the wild waves speed ; 
O, Love ! in that hour of thy votary's need, 

Vf'h«*re, where could thy Spirit be ? 
He struggles — he sinks — while the hurricane's 

Lreath 
Bears rudely away his last farewell in death — 

" Sweet Hero, I die for thee ! " 



THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. 

" Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee, 
" So may the stars obey thee, 

'♦ So may each airy 

" Moon elf and fairy 
" Nightly their homage pay thee ! 
" Say, by what spell, above, below, 
" In stars that wink or flowers that blow, 

" I may discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me, or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 

" Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 

♦' Hath charms no gold could buy thee ; 

" Its stem enchanted, 

" By moon elves planted, 
" Will all thou seek'st supply thee. 
" Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, 
" Bring thence their fairest leaf below ; 

" And thou'lt discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether thy love loves thee or no, 
" Whether thy love loves thee." 

" See, up the dark tree going, 

" With blossoms round me blowing, 

" From thence, O Father, 

" This leaf I gather, 
" Fairest that there is growing. 
" Say, by what sign I now shall know 
"If in this leaf lie bliss or woe ; 

" And thus discover, 

" Ere night is over, 
" Whether my love loves me or no, 
" Whether my love loves me." 

'♦ Fly to yon fount that's welling 

" Where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, 



1 The ancients had a mode of divination somewhat simi- 
ir to this ; and we ^aid the Emperor Adrian, wlien he went 



" Dip in its water 

" That leaf, O Daughter, 
" And mark the tale 'tis telling ; • 
" Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, 
" List thou, the while, that fountain's flow, 

" And thou'lt discover 

" Whether thy lover, 
" Loved as he is, loves thee or no, 
'• Loved as he is, loves thee." 

Forth flew the nymph, delighted. 
To seek that fount benighted ; 

But, scarce a minute 

The leaf lay in it. 
When lo, its bloom was blighted ! 
And as she ask'd, with voice of woe — 
Listening, the while, that fountain's flow — 

•' Shall I recover 

" My truant lover ? " 
The fountain seem'd to answer, " No ; " 
The fountain answered, " No." 



CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 

A HUNTER once in that grove reclined. 

To shun the noon's bright eye. 
And oft he wooed the wandering wind. 

To cool his brow with its sigh. 
While mute lay even the wUd bee's hum. 

Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair. 
His song was still " Sweet air, O come ! " 

While Echo answered, " Come, sweet Air ! " 

But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise ! 

AVhat meaneth that rustling spray ? 
" 'Tis the white-horn'd doe," the Hunter cries, 

" I have sought since break of day." 
Quick o'er the sunny glade he springs. 

The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 
" Hilliho — hQliho ! " he gayly sings. 

While Echo sighs forth " Hilliho ! " 

Alas, 'twas not the white-horn'd doe 

He saw in the rustling grove. 
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, 

Of his own young wedded love. 
And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, 

For pale at his feet he sees her lie ; — 
" I die, I die," was all she said, 

While Echo murmur' d, " I die, I die !" 



to consult the Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay leaf and 
dipping it into tlie sacred water. 



328 



LEGENDABY BALLADS. 



YOUTH AND AGE.> 

" Tell me, what's Love ? " said Youth, one day, 
To drooping Age, who crossed his way. — 
•' It is a sunny hour of play, 
" For which repentance dear doth pay ; 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
" And this is Love, as wise men say." 

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once 

more; 
Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore. — 
" Soft as a passing summer's wind, 
" AVouldst know the blight it leaves behind ? 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! 
<' And this is Love — when love is o'er." 

" Tell me, what's Love ? " said Youth again, 
Trusting the bUss, but not the pain. 
'♦ Sweet as a May tree's scented air — 
'♦ Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, 

'• Repentance ! Repentance ! 
" This, this is Love — sweet Youth, beware." 

Just then, young Love himself came by, 
And cast on Youth a smiling eye ; 
"Who could resist that glance's ray ? 
In vain did Age his warning sa)', 

" Repentance ! Repentance ! " 
Youth laughing went with Love away. 



THE DYING WARRIOR. 

A WOUNDED Chieftain, lying 
By the Danube's leafy side, 

Thus faintly said, in dying, 
" O, bear, thou foaming tide, 
•* This gift to my lady bride." 

'Twas then, in life's last quiver, 

He flung the scarf he wore 
Into the foaming river, 

Which, ah too quickly, bore 

That pledge of one no more ! 

With fond impatience burning. 
The Chieftain's lady stood. 

To watch her love returning 
In triumph down the flood. 
From that day's field of blood. 

1 The air, to which I have adapted these words, was 
composed by Mrs. Arkwright to some old verses, " Tell me 
what's love, kind shepherd, pray ? " and it has been my ob- 



But, field, alas, ill fated ! 

The lady saw, instead 
Of the bark whose speed she waited. 

Her hero's scarf, all red 

With the drops his heart had shed. 

One shriek — and all was over - 
Her life pulse ceased to beat ; 

The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal flower so sweet. 
And the scarf is her winding sheet ! 



THE MAGIC MIRROR. 

'* Come, if thy magic Glass have power 
" To call up forms we sigh to see ; 

•' Show me my love, in that rosy bower, 
" Where last she pledged her truth to me." 

The Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, 
Where lone and pale in her bow'r she lay ; 

" True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, 
" She's thinking of one, who is far away." 

But, lo ! a page, with looks of joy, 

Brings tidings to the lady's ear ; 
" 'Tis," said the Knight, •' the same bright 
boy 

" Who used to guide me to my dear." 

The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree. 
Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flower ; 

" Such," he exclaim'd, " was the gift that she 
" Each morning sent me from that bower ! " 

She gives her page the blooming rose, 

With looks that say, " Like lightning, fly ! " 

•' Thus," thought the Knight, "she soothes her 
woes, 
♦' By fancying, still, her true love nigh." 

But the page returns, and — O, what a sight, 
For trusting lover's eyes to see ! — 

Leads to that bower another Knight, 
As young, and, alas, as loved as he ! 

" Such," quoth the Youth, " is Woman's love ! " 
Then, darting forth, with furious bound, 

Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove. 
And strew' d it all in fragments round. 



ject to retain as much of the structure and phraseology ol 
the original words as possible. 



LEGENDAllY BALLADS. 



329 



Such ills would never have come to pass, 
Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; 

The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, 
And the Knight still thought liis Lady true. 



THE PILGRIM. 

Still thus, when twilight gleam'd, 
Far off his Castle seem'd, 

Traced on the sky ; 
And still, as fancy bore him 
io those dim towers before him, 
He gazed, with wishful eye. 

And thought his home was nigh. 

•' Hall of my Sires ! " he said, 
" How long, with weary tread, 

" Must I toil on ? 
" Each eve, as thus I wander, 
*' Thy towers seem rising yonder, 
" But, scarce hath daylight shone, 

" When, like a dream, thou'rt gone ! ' 

■so went the Pilgrim stiU, 
Down dale and over hiU, 

Day after day ; 
That glimpse of home, so cheering, 
At twilight still appearing. 
But still, with morning's ray. 

Melting, Hke mist, away ! 

Where rests the Pilgrim now ? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 

Closed his career ; 
That dream, of fancy's weaving, 
No more his steps deceiving. 
Alike past hope and fear. 

The Pilgrim's home is here. 



THE HIGH-BORN LADYE. 
[n vain all the Knights of the Underwald wooed 
her. 
Though brightest of maidens, the proudest 
was she ; 
Brave chieftains they sought, and young min- 
strels they sued her. 
But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. 

" Whomsoever I wed," said this maid, so ex- 
ceiling, 
"That Knight must the conqu'ror of con- 
querors be ; 

42 



" He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to 
dwell in ; — 
«' None else shall be Lord of the high-born 
Ladye ! " 

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn look- 
ing round her 
On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree ; 
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found 
her. 
And worshipp'd at distance the high-born 
Ladye. 

At length came a Knight, from a far land to 
woo her. 
With plumes on his helm like the foam of 
the sea ; 
His visor was down — but, -with voice that 
thrUI'd through her, 
He whisper'd. his vows to the high-born Ladye. 

" Proud maiden ! I come with high spousals to 
grace thee, 
" In me the great conqu'ror of conquerors see ; 
" Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs I'll place 
thee, 
" And mine thou'rt forever, thou high-born 
Ladye ! " 

The maiden she smiled, and in jewels array'd her, 
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she ; 

And proud was the step, as her bridegroom con- 
vey'd her 
In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye. 

" But whither," she starting, exclaims, " have 
you led me ? 
" Here's nought but a tomb and a dark cy- 
press tree ; 
" Is this the bright palace in which thou woutdst 
wed me ? " 
With scorn in her glance said the high-born 
Ladye. 

" 'Tis the home," he replied, " of earth's loftiest 
creatures " — 
Then lifted his helm for the fair one to see ; 
But she sunk on the ground — 'twas a skeleton's 
features. 
And Death was the Lord of the high-born 
Ladye ! 

THE INDIAN BOAT. 

'TwAS midnight dark, » 

The seaman's bark, 



LEGENDARY BALLADS. 



Swift o'er the waters bore him, 

When, through the night. 

He spied a light 
Shoot o'er the wave before him. 
" A sail ! a sail ! " he cries ; 

*• She comes from the Indian shore, 
" And to-night shall be our prize, 
" With her freight of golden ore : 

" Sail on ! sail on ! " 

When morning slione 
He saw the gold still clearer ; 

But, though so fast 

The waves he pass'd. 
That boat seem'd never the nearer. 

Bright daylight came. 

And still the same 
Kich bark before him floated ; 

While on the prize 

His wishful eyes 
Like any young lover's doated : 
" More sail ! more sail ! " he cries. 

While the waves o'ertop the mast ; 
And his bounding galley flies. 
Like an arrow before the blast. 

Thus on, and on, 

Till day was gone. 
And the moon through heaven did hie her. 

He swept the main. 

But all in vain. 
That boat seem'd never the nigher. 

And many a day 

To night gave way, 
And many a morn succeeded : 

While still his flight, 

Through day and night, 
That restless mariner speeded. 
Who knows — who knows what seas 

He is now careering o'er ? 
Behind, the eternal breeze. 

And that mocking bark, before ! 

For, O, till sky 

And earth shall die. 
And their death leave none to rue it. 

That boat must flee 

O'er the boundless sea, 
And that ship in vain pursue it. 



THE STRANGER. 
Come list, while I tell of the heart-wounded 

Stranger 
, "WTio sleeps her last slumber in this haunted 

ground ; 



Where often, at midnight, the lonely wood 
ranger 
Hears soft fairy music reecho around. 

None e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken 
lady. 
Her language, though sweet, none could e'er 
understand ; 
But her features so sunn'd, and her eyelash so 
shady. 
Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land. 

'Twas one summer night, when the village lay 
sleeping, 
A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears ; 
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half 
weeping, 
Like music that Sorrow had steep' d in her 
tears. 

We thought 'twas an anthem some angel had 
sung us ; — 
But, soon as the daybeams had gush'd from 
on high. 
With wonder we saw this bright stranger among 
us. 
All lovely and lone, as if stray'd £i-om the sky. 

Nor long did her life for this sphere seem in- 
tended, 
For pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like 
hue, 
Which comes when the day of this world i» 
nigh ended. 
And light from another already shines through 

Then her eyes, when she sung — O, but once to 
have seen them — 
Left thoughts in the soul that can never de- 
part; 
While her looks and her voice made a language 
between them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to the 
heart. 

But she pass'd like a daydream, no skill could 

restore her — 

Whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast ; 

She died with the same spell of mystery o'er her, 

That song of past days on her lips to the 

last. 

Nor ev'n in the grave is her sad heart reposing 

Still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb , 
For oft, when the shadows of midnight are 
closing, 
The same strain of music is heard through 
the gloom. 



A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 



A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

These verses -were written for a Benefit at 
■the Dublin Theatre, and Avere spoken by Miss 
Smith, with a degree of success, which they 
owed solely to her admirable manner of reciting 
them. I wrote them in haste; and it very 
rarely happens that poetry, which has cost but 
little labor to the writer, is productive of any 
great pleasure to the reader. Under this im- 
pression, I certainly should not have published 
them if they had not found their way into some 
of the newspapers, with such an addition of 
errors to their own original stock, that I thought 
it but fair to limit their responsibility to those 
faults alone which really belong to them. 

With respect to the title which I have in- 
vented for this Poem, I feel even more than the 
scruples of the Emperor Tiberius, when he 
humbly asked pardon of the Roman Senate for 
using " the outlandish term, vionopoly." But 
the truth is, having written the Poem with the 
sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought that 
an unintelligible word of this kind would not 
be without its attraction for the multitude, with 
whom, " If 'tis not sense, at least 'tis Greek." 
To some of my readers, however, it may not be 
superfluous to say, that by " Melologue," I 
mean that mixture of recitation and music, 
which is frequently adopted in the performance 
of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and of which 
the most striking example I can remember is 
the prophetic speech of Joad in the Athalie of 
Racine. T. M. 



A SHORT Strain of Music from the Orchestra. 

There breathes a language, known and felt 

Far as the pure air spreads its living zone ; 
"Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt. 
That language of the soul is felt and known. 
From those meridian plains. 
Where oft, of old, on some high tower, 



1 " A certain Spaniard, one night late, met an Indian 
woman in the streets of Cozco, and would liave taken her 
Id his home, but she cried out, ' For God's saice, Sir, let nie 
o; fur that pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls me 



The soft Peruvian pour'd his midnight straits, 
And call'd his distant love with such sweet 
power, 
That, when she heard the lonely lay. 
Not worlds could keep her from his arms away 
To the bleak climes of polar night, 
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly. 
And sings along the lengthening waste of sn( w, 
Gayly as if the blessed light 
Of vernal Phojbus burn'd upon his brow; 
O Music ! thy celestial claim 
Is still resistless, still the same ; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o'er its realm presides, 
The spell-bound tides 
Of human passion rise and fall for thee ! 

Greek Air. 
List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Uissus' silvery springs, 
She draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn 
And by her side, in Music's charm dissolving. 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, 
Dreams of bright days that never can return ; 
When Athens nursed her olive bough. 

With hands by tjTant power unchain'd ; 
And braided for the muse's brow 
A wreath by tyrant touch unstain'd. 
When heroes trod each classic field 

Where coward feet now faintly falter ; 

When every arm was Freedom's shield, 

And every heart was Freedom's altar 1 

Flourish of Trumpets. 
Hark ! 'tis the sound that charms 
The war steed's wakening ears ! — 
O, many a mother folds her arms 
Round her boy-soldier when that call she hears : 
And, though her fond heart sink with fears, 
Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 
With valor's fever at the sound. 
See, from his native hills afar 
The rude Helvetian flies to war , 



with great passion, and I cannot refuse the summons ; for 
love constrains me to go, that I may be his wife, and he my 
husband. ' "—Oarcilasso de It Vega, in Sir Paul Rycaut'f 
translation. 



332 SET OF 


GLEES. I 


Careless for what, for whom he fights, 


And, like Heaven's lightning, sacredly de- 


Per slave or despot, wrongs or rights ; 


stroys. 


A conqueror oft— a hero never — 


Nor, Music, through thy breathing sphere. 


Yet lavish of his lifeblood still, 


Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear 


As if 'twere like his mountain rill, 


Of Him who made all harmony. 


And gush'd forever ! 


Than the bless'd sound of fetters breaking, 




And the first hymn that man, awaking 


Yes, Music, here, even here. 


From Slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty. 


Amid this thoughtless, vague career. 




Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power, 


Spanish Chobus. 


There's a wild air which oft, among the rocks 


Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 


Of his own lov'd land, at evening hour. 


Bursts the bold, enthusiast strain, 


Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe 


Like morning's music on the air ; 


their flocks, 


And seems, in every note, to swear 


Whose every note hath power to thrill his mind 


By Saragossa's ruin'd streets. 


With tenderest thoughts ; to bring around 


By brave Gerona's deathful story, 


his knees 


That, while one Spaniard's lifeblood beats. 


The rosy children whom he left behind. 


That blood shall stain the conqueror's 


And fill each little angel eye 


glory. 


With speaking tears, that ask him why 




He wander' d from his hut for scenes like 


Spanish Air. — " Ya Desperto." 


these. 


But ah! if vain the patriot's zeal. 


Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar ; 


If neither valor's force nor wisdom's light 


Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears ; 


Can break or melt that blood-cemented seal. 


And the stern eyes, that look'd for blood before. 


Which shuts so close the book of Europe's 


Now melting, mournful, lose themselves in 


right — 


tears. 


What song shall then in sadness tell 




Of broken pride, of prospects shaded, 


Swiss Air. — " Ranz des Vaches. 


Of buried hopes, remember' d well, 


But wake the trumpet's blast again, 


Of ardor quench'd, and honor faded ? 


And rouse the ranks of warrior men ! 


What muse shall mourn the breathless brave, 


War, when Truth thy arm emploj's, 


In sweetest dirge at Memory's shrine ? 


And Freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm, 


What harp shall sigh o'er Freedom's grave ? 


•Tis then thy vengeance takes a hallow' d form, 


Erin, Thine ! 


SET OP 


GLEES. 


MUSIC B^ 


I MOORE. 


THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. 


Then sails are back'd, we nearer come, 




Kind words are said of friends and home ; 


When o'er the silent seas alone, 


And soon, too soon, we part with pain. 


For days and nights we've cheerless gone, 


To sail o'er silent seas again. 


they who've felt it know how sweet, 




Some sunny morn a sail to meet. 






HIP, HIP, HURRAH! 


' Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye. 




" Ship ahoy ! " our joyful cry ; 


Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, 


While answering back the sounds we hear. 


He who shrinks from a bumper I pledge not to 


" Ship ahoy ! " what cheer ? what cheer ? 


him ; 

1 



SET OF 


GLEES. 333 


Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of 


" Hark, hark, 'tis he ! " 


what hue, 


The night elves cry. 


Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true. 


And hush their fairy harmony. 


Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah ! 


While he steals by ; 




But if his silv'ry feet 


Come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full 


One devvdrop brush. 


■wine 


Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 


Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight 


Whispering " Hush, hush ! " 


may shine; 




Here's "the friends of our youth —though of 




some we're bereft, 


THE PARTING BEFORE THE BAFfLB. 


May the links that are lost but endear what are 




left ! " 


HE. 


Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah ! 


On to the field, our doom is seal'd, 




To conquer or be slaves ; 


Once more fiU a bumper — ne'er talk of the 


This sun shall see our nation free, 


hour; 


Or set upon our graves. 


On hearts thus united old Time has no power. 




May our lives, though, alas ! like the wine of 


SHE. 


to-night. 


Farewell, farewell, my love. 


They must soon have an end, to the last flow as 


May Heaven thy guardian be. 


bright. 


And send bright angels from above 


Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah ! 


To bring thee back to me. 


Quick, quick, now I'll give you, since Time's 


HE. 


glass will run 


On to the field, the battle field. 


Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one, 


Where freedom's standard waves, 


Here's the poet who sings — here's the warrior 


This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 


who fights — 


Or shine upon our graves. 


Here's the statesman who speaks, in the cause 




of men's rights ! 




Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hiirrah, hurrah ! 


THE WATCHMAN. 


Come, once more a bumper ! — then drink as 


A TRIO. 


you please. 




Though, who could fiU half way to toast such as 


WATCHMAN. 


these ? 


Past twelve o'clock — past twelve. 


Here's our next joyous meeting — and when 


Good night, good night, my dearest — 


we meet. 


How fast the moments fly ! 


May our wine be as bright and our union as 


'Tis time to part, thou hearest 


sweet ! 


That hateful watchman's cry. 


Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurrah, hurrah ! 






WATCHMAN. 




Past one o'clock — past one. 


HUSH, HUSH! 






Yet stay a moment longer — 


" Hush, hush ! " — how well 


Alas ! why is it so. 


That sweet word sounds. 


The wish to stay grows stronger. 


"When Love, the little sentinel, 


The more 'tis time to go ? 


Walks his night rounds ; 




Then, if a foot but dare 


WATCHMAW. 


One rose leaf crush. 


Past two o'clock — past two. 


Myriads of voices in the air 




Whisper, " Hush, hush ! '' 


Now wrap thy cloak about thee — 


• 


The hours must sure go wrong, 

- 1 



834 BALLADS. SONGS, ETC. 


For when they're pass'd without thee, 


The Polish lady, by her lover led, 


They're, 0, ten times as long. 


Delights through gay saloons with step untired 




to tread. 


WATCHMAN. 


Or Pweeter still, through moonlight walks 


Past three o'clock — past three. 


Whose shadows serve to hide 




The blush that's raised by him who talks 


Again that dreadful warning ! 


Of love the while by her side. 


Had ever time such flight? 


Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating 


And see the sky, 'tis morning — 


sound 


So now, indeed, good night. 


Like dreams we go gliding around, 




Say, which shall we dance ? which shall -we 


WATCHMAN. 


dance ? 


Past three o'clock — past three. 




Good night, good night. 






THE EVENING GUN. 


SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE? 


Remember' ST thou that setting sun, 
The last I saw with thee. 


Say, what shall we dance ? 


When loud we heard the evening gun 


Shall we bound along the moonlight plain. 


Peal o'er the twilight sea ? 


To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain ? 


Boom ! — the sounds appear' d to sweep 


Say, what shall we dance ? 


Far o'er the verge of day, 


Shall we, like those who rove 


Till, into realms beyond the deep. 


Through bright Grenada's grove. 


They seem'd to die away. 


To the light Bolero's measures move ? 




Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay. 


Oft, when the toils of day are done, 


And thus to its sound die away ? 


In pensive dreams of thee. 




I sit to hear that evening gun. 


Strike the gay chords, 


Peal o'er the stormy sea. 


Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore 


Boom ! — and while o'er billows curl'd. 


That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. 


The distant sounds decay. 


Hark ! 'tis the light march, to whose measured 


I weep and wish, from this rough world 


time. 


Like them to die away. 


BALLADS, SONGS, MISCE 


LLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. 


TO-DAY, DEAREST! IS OURS. 


Though now, blooming and young. 


To -DAY, dearest ! is ours ; 

Why should Love carelessly lose it ? 
This life shines or low'rs 

Just as we, weak mortals, use it. 
'Tis time enough, when its flow'rs decay. 


Thou hast me devoutly thy lover, 
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse. 

Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps. 

Or I less in love to-morrow. 


To think of the thorns of Sorrow ; 




And Joy, if left on the stem to-day. 




May wither before to-morrow. 


WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS 


Then why, dearest ! so long 


When on the lip the sigh delays, 


Let the sweet moments fly over? 


As if 'twould linger there forever ; 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 335 


U'hen eyes would give the world to gaze. 
Yet still look down, and venture never ; 


O, CALL IT BY SOME BETl'ER NAME. 


When, though with fairest nymphs we rove, 


O, CALL it by some better name. 


There's one we dream of more than any — 


For Friendship sounds too cold, 


If aU this is not real love, 


While Love is now a worldly flame, 


'Tis something wond'rous like it, Fanny ! 


Whose shrine must be of gold < 




And Passion, like the sun at noon. 


To think and ponder, when apart. 


That burns o'er all he sees. 


On all we've got to say at meeting ; 


A while as warm, will set as soon — 


And yet when near, with heart to heart, 


Then, call it none of these. 


Sit mute, and listen to their beating : 




To see but one bright object move. 


Imagine something purer far. 


The only moon, where stars are many — 


More free from stain of clay 


If all this is not downright love. 


Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 


I prithee say what is, my Fanny ! 


Yet human still as they : 




And if thy lip, for love like this, 


When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 


No mortal word can frame, 


Though Reason on the darkest reckons ; 


Go, ask of angels what it is. 


When Passion drives us to the west, 


And call it by that name ! 


Though Prudence to the eastward beckons ; 




When all turns round, below, above, 





And our own heads the most of any — 




If this is not stark, staring love, 


POOR WOUNDED HEART. 


Then you and I are sages, Fanny. 


Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 




Thy hour of rest is come ; 




Thou soon -wilt reach thy home, 




Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 




The pain thou'lt feel in breaking 


HERE, TAKE MY HEART. 


Less bitter far will be, 


Here, take my heart — 'twill be safe in thy 


Than that long, deadly aching, 
This life has been to thee. 


keeping, 




While I go wand'ring o'er land and o'er sea ; 
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping. 


There — broken heart, farewell ! 
The pang is o'er — 


What need I care, so my heart is with thee ? 


The parting pang is o'er ; 




Thou now wilt bleed no more, 


If, in the race we are destined to run, love. 


Poor broken heart, farewell ! 


They who have light hearts the happiest be. 


No rest for thee but dying — 


Then, happier still must be they who have none, 


Like waves, whose strife is pass'd, 


love, 


On death's cold shore thus lying, 


And that will by mij case when mine is with 


Thou sleep'st in peace at last — 


thee. 


Poor broken heart, farewell ! 


It matters not where I may now be a rover. 




I care not how many bright eyes I may see ; 




Should Venus herself come and ask me to love 
her, 
I'd tell her I couldn't — my heart is with thee. 


THE EAST INDIAN. 


Come, May, with all thy flowers, 




Thy sweetly-scented thorn. 


And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonder — 


Thy cooling ev'ning showers. 


For, even should Fortune turn truant to me. 


Thy fragrant breath at morn : 


Why, let her go — I've a treasure beyond 


When May flies haunt the willow, 


her. 


When May birds tempt the bee 


As long as my heart's out at int'rest with 


Then o'er the shining billow 


thee ! 


My love will come to me. 



336 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



From Eastern Isles she's winging 

Through wat'ry wilds her way. 
And on her cheek is bringing 

The bright sun's orient ray : 
O, come and court her hither, 

Ye breezes mild and warm — 
One winter's gale would wither 

So soft, 80 pvire a form. 

The fields where she was straying 

Are blest with endless light, 
With zephyrs always playing 

Through gardens always bright. 
Then now, sweet May ! be sweeter 

Than e'er thou'st been before ; 
Let sighs from roses meet her 

"When she comes near our shore. 



POOR BROKEN FLOWER. 

Poor broken flow'r ! what art can now recover 
thee? 
Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath — 
In vain the sunbeams seek 
To warm that faded cheek ; 
The dews of heav'n, that once like balm fell over 
thee, 
Now are but tears, to weep thy early death. 

So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken 
her, — 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou ; 
In vain the smiles of all 
Like sunbeams round her fall ; 
The only smile that could from death awaken her, 
That smile, alas ! is gone to others now. 



THE PRETTY ROSE TREE. 

Being weary of love, 

I flew to the grove. 
And chose me a tree of the fairest ; 

Saying, *' Pretty Rose Tree, 

" Thou my mistress shalt be, 
•' And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. 
" For the hearts of this world are hollow, 
" And flckle the smiles we follow ; 

" And 'tis sweet, when all 

" Their witch'ries pall 
" To have a pure love to fly to : 

" So my pretty Rose Tree, 

«' Thou my mistress shalt be, 
" And the only one now I shall sigh to." 



When the beautiful hue 

Of thy cheek through the dew 

Of morning is bashfully peeping, 
" Sweet tears," I shall say 
(As I brush them away), 

" At least there's no art in this weeping. 
Although thou shouldst die to-morrow 
'Twill not be from pain or sorrow ; 
And the thorns of thy stem 
Are not like them 

With which men wound each other : 
So my pretty Rose Tree, 
Thou my mistress shalt be. 

And I'U ne'er again sigh to another. 



SHINE OUT, STARS! 

Shine out, Stars ! let Heav'n assemble 

Rovmd us every festal ray. 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

All to grace this Eve of May. 
Let the flow'r beds all lie waking, 

And the odors shut up there. 
From their dowTiy prisons breaking, 

Fly abroad through sea and air. 

And would Love, too, bring his sweetness. 

With our other joys to weave, 
O what glory, what completeness, 

Then would crown this bright May Eve 1 
Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble 

Round us every festal ray, 
Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 

To adorn this Eve of May. 



THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA 

0, THE joys of our ev'ning posada, 

Where, resting at close of day. 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 

Sit and sing the sunshine away ; 
So merry, that even the slumbers. 

That round us hung, seem gone ; 
Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers 

Again beguile them on. 
O the joys, &c. 

Then as each to his lov'd sultana 
In sleep stiU breathes the sigh. 

The name of some black-eyed Tirana 
Escapes our lips as we lie. 

liU, with morning's rosy twinkle, 
Again we're up and gone — 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



Whilfc the mule bell's drowsy tinkle 
Beguiles the rough way on. 

O the joys of our merry posada, 
Where, resting at close of day, 

We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 
Thus sing the gay moments away. 



TELL HER, O, TELL HER. 

Tell her, O, tell her, the lute she left lying 
Beneath the green arbor, is still lying there ; 

And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, 
But not a soft whisper replies to their pray'r. 

Tell her, O, tell her, the tree that, in going, 
Beside the green arbor she plaj-fully set, 

As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing. 
And not a bright leaflet has fall'n from it yet. 

So while away from that arbor forsaken. 
The maiden is wandering, still let her be 

As true as the lute, that no sighing can waken. 
And blooming forever, unchanged as the tree ! 



NIGHTS OF MUSIC. 

Nights of music, nights of loving, 

Lost too soon, remember'd long, 
When we went by moonlight roving, 

Hearts all love and lips all song. 
When this faithful lute recorded 

All my spirit felt to thee ; 
And that smile the song rewarded — 

Worth whole years of fame to me ! 

Nights of song, and nights of splendor, 

Fill'd with joys too sweet to last — 
Joys that, like the starlight, tender, 

While they shone, no shadow cast. 
Though all other happy hours 

From my fading mem'ry fly, 
Of that starlight, of those bowers, 

Not a beam, a leaf shall die ! 



OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. 

Our first young love resembles 
That short but brilliant ray, 

Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles 
Through April's earliest day. 

And not all life before us, 
Howe'er its lights may play, 
43 



Can shed a lustre o'er us 
Like that first April ray. 

Our summer sun may squandei 

A blaze serener, grander ; 

Our autumn beam 

May, like a dream 

Of heaven, die calm away ; 

But, no — let life before us 

Bring all the light it may, 

'Twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us 

Like that first youthful ray. 



BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 

The brilliant black eye 

May in triumph let fly 
All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 

But the soft eye of blue. 

Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em — 

Dear Fanny ! 
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em. 

The black eye may say, 

" Come and worship my ray — 
" By adoring, perhaps you may move me ! " 

But the blue eye, half hid, 

Says, from under its lid, 
" I love, and am yours, if you love me ! " 

Yes, Fanny! 

The blue eye, half hid, 

Saj's, from under its lid, 
" I love, and am yours, if you love me ! " 

Come tell me, then, why, 

In that lovely blue eye. 
Not a charm of its tint I discover ; 

O why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said " No " to a lover ? 

Dear Fanny ! 

O, why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said " No " to a lover ? 



DEAR FANNY. 

" She has beauty, but still you must keep yom 
heart cool ; 
" She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so : " 
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool. 



J38 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, 

Dear Fanny. 
'Tis not the first time I have thought so. 

" She is lovely ; then love her, nor let the bliss fly ; 

" 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season : " 
Thus Love has advised me, and -who v>ill deny 

That Love reasons much better than Reason, 
Dear Fanny ? 

Love reasons much better than Reason. 



FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 

From life without freedom, say, who would 

not fly? 
For one day of freedom, 0, who would not die, 
Hark ! — hark ! 'tis the trumpet ! the call of 

the brave, 
The death song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. 
Our country lies bleeding — haste, haste to her 

aid ; 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — 
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains, 
On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed 
For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. 
And O, ev'n if Freedom from this world be driven, 
Despair not — at least we shall find her in heaven. 



HERE'S THE BOWER. 

Here's the bower she loved so much, 

And the tree she planted ; 
Here's the harp she used to touch — 

O, how that touch enchanted ! 
Roses now unheeded sigh ; 

Where's the hand to wreathe them ? 
Songs around neglected lie ; 

Where's the lip to breathe them ? 
Here's the bower, &c. 

Spring may bloom, but she we loved 

Ne'er shall feel its sweetness ; 
Time, that once so fleetly moved. 

Now hath lost its fleetness. 
Years were days, when here she stray' d. 

Days were moments near her j 
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid, 

Noi Pity wept a dearer ! 

Iloi-e's the bower, &c. 



I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. 

A FINLAND LOVE BONO. 

I SAW the moon rise clear 

O'er hills and vales of snow, 
Nor told my fleet reindeer 

The track I wish'd to go. 
Yet quick he bounded forth ; 

For well my reindeer knew 
I've but one path on earth — 

The path which leads to you. 

The gloom that winter cast 

How soon the heart forgets, 
When Summer brings, at last, 

Her sun that never sets ! 
So dawn'd my love for you ; 

So fix'd through joy and pain, 
Than summer sun more true, 

'Twill never set again. 



LOVE AND THE SUNDIAL. 

Young Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade. 
Where man ne'er had wander'd nor sunbeam 

play'd ; 
" Why thus in darkness lie ? " whisper'd young 

Love, 
" Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should 

move." 
" I ne'er," said the Dial, " have seen the warm 

sun, 
" So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are 

one." 

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade. 
And placed her where Heav'n's beam warmly 

play'd. 
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye. 
While, mark'd all with sunshine, her hours 

flew by. 
" O, how," said the Dial, '< can any fair maid, 
"That's born to be shone upon, rest in the 

shade ? " 

But night now comes on, and the sunbeam's o'er, 
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more. 
Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds 
Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds 
That Love had but number'd a few sunn^^ 

hours, — 
Then left the remainder to daikness and showers 1 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 339 




0, if there be a charm 


LOVE AND TIME. 


In love, to banish harm — 


'Tis said — but wliether true or not 


If pleasure'* truest spell 


Let bards declare who've seen 'em — 


Be to love well. 


That Love and Time have only got 


Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 


One pair of wings between 'em. 


Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : 


In courtship's first delicious hour. 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, 


The boy full oft can spare 'em ; 


Love's light summer cloud sweetly shall cast 


So, loitering in his lady's bower. 




lie lets the graybeard wear 'em. 




Then is Time's hour of play ; 


LOVE, WAND'RING THROUGH THE 


0, how he flies, flies away ! 


GOLDEN MAZE. 


But short the moments, short as bright, 


Love, wand'ring through the golden maze 


When he the wings can borrow ; 


Of my beloved's hair. 


K Time to-day has had his flight, 


Traced every lock with fond delays, 


Love takes his turn to-morrow. 


And, doting, linger'd there. 


Ah ! Time and Love, your change is then 


And soon he found 'twere vain to fly ; 


The saddest and most trying. 


His heart was close confined, 


When one begins to limp again. 


For, every ringlet was a tie — 


And t'other takes to flying. 


A chain by beauty twined. 


Then is Love's hour to stray ; 




0, how he flies, flies away ! 




But there's a nymph, whose chains I feel. 


MERRILY EVERY BOSOM BOUNDETH. 


And bless the silken fetter, 






THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. 


Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 




With Love and Time much better. 


Merrily every bosom boundeth, 


So well she checks their wanderings, 


Merrily, ! 


So peacefully she pairs *em. 


Where the song of Freedom soundeth.. 


That Love with her ne'er thinks of wings, 


Merrily, ! 


And Time forever wears 'em. 


There the warrior's arms 


This is Time's holiday ; 


Shed more splendor ; 


0, how he flies, flies away ! 


There the maiden's charms 




Shine more tender ; 




Every joy the land surroundeth. 




Merrily, 0, merrUy, ! 


LOVE'S LIGHT SUMMER CLOUD. 


, 


Pain and sorrow shall vanish before us — 


WearUy every bosom pineth, 


Youth may wither, but feeling will last ; 


Wearily, ! 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us. 


Where the bond of slavery twinetn 


Love's light summer cloud only shall cast. 


Wearily, ! 


0, if to love thee more 


There the warrior's dart 


Each hour I number o'er — 


Hath no fleetness ; 


If this a passion be 


There the maiden's heart 


Worthy of thee. 


Hath no sweetness — 


Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 


Every flower of life declineth. 


Charms may wither, but feeling shall last : 


Wearily, ! wearily, ! 


All the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee. 




Love's light summer cloud sweetly shall cast. 


Cheerily then from hill and valley, 




Cheerily, ! 


Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, 


Like your native fountains sally, 


Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal ; 


Cheerily, ! 


Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee, 


If a glorious dea^h, 


Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. 


Won by bravery, 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh'd in slavery, 
Round the flag of Freedom rally, 
Cheerily, O ! cheerily, ! 



REMEMBER THE TIME. 

THE CASTILIAN MAID. 

Remember the time, in La Mancha's shades. 

When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
"When you caU'd me the flower of Castilian 
maids, 

And I blush'd to be caU'd so by you ; 
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille, 

And to dance to the light castanet ; 
O, never, dear youth, let you roam where you 
will, 

The delight of those moments forget. 

They tell me, you lovers from Erin's green isle. 

Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some lovelier 
smile, 

You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the battle you 
are. 

Or they never could think you would rove ; 
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war 

That is fondest and truest in love. 



O, SOON RETURN. 

Our white sail caught the evening ray. 

The wave beneath us seem'd to burn, 
When all the weeping maid could say 

Was, " O, soon return ! " 
Tlirough many a clime our ship was driven. 

O'er many a billow rudely thrown ; * 
Now chill' d beneath a northern heaven, 

Now sunn'd in summer's zone : 
And still, where'er we bent our our way. 

When evening bid the west wave burn, 
.1 fancied still I heard her say, 

•' O, soon return ! " 

If ever yet my bosom found 

Its thoughts one moment turn'd from thee, 
'Twas when the combat raged around. 

And brave men look'd to me. 
But though the war field's wild alarm 

For gentle Love was all unmeet, 
He lent to Glory's brow the charm. 

Which made even danger sweet. 



And still, when victory's calm came o'er 
The hearts where rage had ceased to bum, 

Those parting words I heard once more, 
" O, soon return ! — 0, soon return I " 



LOVE THEE? 

Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me. 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty. 

Were worthless without thee. 
Though brimm'd with blessings, pure and rare, 

Life's cup before me lay. 
Unless thy love were mingled there, 

I'd spurn the draught away. 
Love thee ? — so well, so tenderly 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me. 
Fame, fortune, wealth, and Uberty, 

Are worthless without thee. 

Without thy smile, the monarch's lot 

To me were dark and lone. 
While, with it, ev'n the humblest cot 

Were brighter than his throne. 
Those worlds, for which the conqueror sigh^ 

For me would have no charms ; 
My only world thy gentle eyes — 

My throne thy circling arms ! 
O, yes, so well, so tenderly « 

Thou'rt loved, adored by me. 
Whole realms of light and liberty 

Were worthless without thee. 



ONE DEAR SMILE. 
CouLDST thou look as dear as when 

First I sigh'd for thee ; 
Couldst thou make me feel again 
Every wish I breath' d thee then, 

O, how blissful life would be ! 
Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 

Joys, that lie in slumber cold — 
All would wake, couldst thou but give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 

No — there's nothing left us now, 

But to mourn the past ; 
Vain was every ardent vow — 
Never yet did Heaven allow 

Love so warm, so wild, to last. 
Not even hope could now deceive me — 

Life itself looks dark and cold : 
O, thou never more canst give me 

One dear smile like those of old. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 341 




The song of war shall echo through our moxm- 


YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 


tains, 


Ves, yes, -when the bloom of Love's boyhood is 


Till Victory's self shall, smiling, say, 


o'er, 


" Your cloud of foes hath pass'd away. 


He'll turn into friendship that feels no decay ; 


" And Freedom comes, with new-born ray, 


And, though Time may take from him the -wings 


" To gild your vines and light your fountains.' 


he once wore. 


0, never till that glorious day 


The charms that remain will be bright as before. 


Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 


And he'll lose but his young trick of flying 


Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay 


away. 


Resounding through her sunny mountains. 


Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, 




That Friendship our last happy moments will 


THE YOUNG ROSE. 


crown : 




Like the shadows of morning. Love lessens 


The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright. 


away, 


Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of 


While Friendship, like those at the closing of 


night, 


day. 


Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath 


Will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes 


hung. 


down. 


And thrill'd every leaf with the wild lay ho 




sung. 


THE DAY OF LOVE. 


0, take thou this young rose, and let her life be 


The beam of morning trembling 


Prolong'd by the breath she will borrow from 


Stole o'er the mountain brook, 


thee; 


With timid ray resembling 


For, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes sha'l 


Affection's early look. 


thrm. 


Thus love begins — sweet morn of love ! 


She'll think the sweet night bird is courung 




her still. 


The noontide ray ascended. 




And o'er the valley's stream 


WHEN 'MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 


Diffused a glow as splendid 




As passion's riper dream. 


When 'midst the gay I meet 


Thus love expands — warm noon of love ! 


That gentle smile of thine, 




Though still on me it turns most sweet 


But evening came, o'ershading 


I scarce can call it mine : 


The glories of the sky, 


But when to me alone 


Like faith and fondness fading 


Your secret tears you show, 


From passion's alter'd eye. 


0, then I feel those tears my own. 


Thus love declines — cold eve of love ! 


And claim them while they flow. 




Then still with bright looks bless 




The gay, the cold, the free ; 




Give smiles to those who love you less. 


LUSITANIAN WAR SONG. 


But keep your tears for me. 


The song of war shall echo through our moun- 


The snow on Jura's steep 


tains. 


Can smile in many a beam. 


Till not one hateful link remains 


Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 


Of slavery's lingering chains ; 


How bright soe'er it seem. 


Till not one tyrant tread our plains. 


But, when some deep-felt ray, 


Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 


Whose touch is fire, appears. 


No ! never till that glorioi;s day 


0, then the smile is warm'd away. 


Shall Lusitania's sons be gay, 


And, melting, turns to tears. 


Or hear, Peace, thy welcome lay 


Then stUl with bright looks bless 


Resounding through her sunny mountains. 


The gay, the cold, the free ; 



342 BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Give smiles to those who love you less. 




But keep your tears for me. 


HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 




How happy, once, though wing'd with sighs^ 




My moments flew along, 


WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS. 


While looking on those smiling eyes, 
And list'ning to thy magic song ! 


When twilight dews are falling soft 


But vanish'd now, like summer dreams, 


Upon the rosy sea, love, 


Those moments smile no more ; 


I watch the star, whose beam so oft 


For me that eye no longer beams, 


Has lighted me to thee, love. 


That song for me is o'er. 


And thou too, oi that orb so dear, 


Mine the cold brow, 


Dost often gaze at even, 


That speaks thy alter' d vow. 


A.nd think, though lost forever here, 


While others feel thy sunshine now. 


Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven. 






0, could I change my love like thee, 


There's not a garden walk I tread. 


One hope might yet be mine — 


There's not a tlower I see, love. 


Some other eyes as bright to see. 


But brings to mind some hope that's fled. 


And hear a voice as sweet as thine ; 


Some joy that's gone with thee, love. 


But never, never can this heart 


And still I wish that hour was near, 


Be waked to life again ; 


When, friends and foes forgiven, 


With thee it lost its vital part, 


The pains, the ills we've wept through here, 


And wither'd then ! 


May turn to smiles in heaven. 


Cold its pulse lies, 




And mute are ev'n its sighs, 




All other grief it now defies. 


YOUNG JESSICA. 




YouNO Jessica sat all the day, 

With heart o'er idle love thoughts pining ; 


I LOVE BUT THEE. 


Her needle bright beside her lay, 


If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, 


So active once ! — now idly shining. 


And think this heart to other loves will stray. 


Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts 


If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, heai 


That love and mischief are most nimble ; 


me; 


The safest shield against the darts 


By ev'ry dream I have when thou'rt away, 


Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 


By ev'ry throb I feel when thou art near me, 




I love but thee — I love but thee ! 


The child, who with a magnet plays, 




Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 


By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing. 


The tempter near a needle lays. 


Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds his 


And laughing says, " We'll steal it slyly." 


throne. 


The needle, having nought to do. 


And by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt 


Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle ; 


saying. 


Till closer, closer come the two, 


Or grave or gay, a music of its owe, 


And — off, at length, elopes the needle. 


A music far beyond all minstrel's playing. 




I love but thee — I love but thee ! 


Now, had this needle turn'd its eye 




To some gay reticule's construction. 


By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes. 


It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie. 


As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow, 


Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. 


And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush dis- 


Thus, girls would you keep quiet hearts. 


closes 


Your snowy fingers must be nimble ; 


A hue too bright to bless this world below, 


The safest shield against the darts 


And only fit to dwell on Eden's roses. 


Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. 


I love but thee — I love but thee ! 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



343 



LET JOY AI.ONE BE IlEMEMBER'D NOW. 

Let thy joys alone be remember'd now, 

Let thy sorrows go sleep a while ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy 
brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 
For thus to meet, and thus to find. 

That Time, whose touch can chill 
Each flower of form, each grace of mind, 

Hath left thee blooming still, — 
O, joy alone should be thought of now, 

Let our sorrows go sleep a while ; 
Or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy 
brow, 

Let Love light it up with his smile. 

When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, 

If but one bright leaf remain. 
Of the many that once its glory made, 

It is not for us to complain. 
But thus to meet and thus to wake 

In all Love's early bliss ; 
O, Time all other gifts may take. 

So he but leaves us this ! 
Then let joy alone be remember'd now. 

Let our sonows go sleep a while ; 
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the 
brow. 

Let Love light it up with his smile ? 



LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? 

Love thee, dearest ? love thee ? 

Yes, by yonder star I swear. 
Which through tears above thee 

Shines so sadly fair ; 
Though often dim. 
With tears like him, 
Jiike him my truth will shine. 

And — love thee, dearest ? love thee ? 
Yes, till death I'm thine. 

Leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 

No, that star is not more true ; 
When my vows deceive thee, 

He will wander too. 
A cloud of night 
Jlay veil his light. 
And death shall darken mine — 

But — leave thee, dearest ? leave thee ? 
No, till death I'm thine. 



MY HEAllT AND LUTE. 

I GIVE thee all — I can no mor«» 

Though poor the ofTring be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 

That I can bring to thee. 
A lute whose gentle song reveals 

The soul of love full well ; 
And, better far, a heart that feels 

Much more than lute could tell. 

Though love aod song may fail, alas ' 

To keep life's cloud away. 
At least 'twill make them lighter pass, 

Or gild them if they stay. 
And ev'n if Care, at moments, flings 

A discord o'er life's happy strain. 
Let Love but gently touch the strings, 

'Twill all be sweet again ! 



PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S GONE I 

When I am dead. 

Then lay my head 
In some lone, distant dell, 

Where voices ne'er 

Shall stir the air. 
Or break its silent spell. 

If any sound 

Be heard around. 
Let the sweet bird alone, 

That weeps in song. 

Sing all night long, 
" Peace, peace to him that's gone ! " 

Yet, O, were mine 

One sigh of thine. 
One pitying word from thee, 

Like gleams of heaven, 

To sinners given. 
Would be that word to me. 

Howe'er unblest. 

My shade would rest 
While list'ning to that tone ; 

Enough 'twould be 

To hear from thee, 
" Peace, peace to him that's gone ! " 



ROSE OF THE DESERT. 

Rose of the Desert ! thou, whose blushing ray 
Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away ; 



344 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh, — 
In vestal silence left to live and die, — 
Rose of the Desert ! thus should woman be, 
Shining, uncourted, lone and safe, like thee. 

Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom ! 
Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom : 
Cull'd e'er thy beauty lives through half its day ; 
A moment cherish'd, and then cast away ; 
Rose of the Garden ! such is woman's lot, — 
Worshipp'd, while blooming — when she fades, 
forgot. 

'TIS ALL FOR THEE. 

If life for me hath joy or light, 

'Tis all from thee, 
My thoughts by day, my dreams by night. 

Are but of thee, of only thee. 
Whate'er of hope or peace I know, 
My zest in joy, my balm in woe, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 

'Tis all from thee. 

My heart, ev'n ere I saw those eyes, 

Seem'd doom'd to thee ; 
Kept pure till then from other tics, 

'Twas all for thee, for only thee. 
Like plants that sleep, till sunny May 
Calls forth their life, ray spirit lay, 
Till, touch'd by Love's awak'ning ray, 

It lived for thee, it lived for thee. 

When Fame would call me to her heights. 

She speaks by thee ; 
And dim would shine her proudest lights. 

Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. 
Whene'er I seek the Muse's shrine, 
Where Bards have hung their wreaths divine, 
And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 

'Tis all for thee, for only thee. 



THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.' 

There's a song of the olden time. 

Falling sad o'er the ear. 
Like the dream of some village chime. 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 
And ev'n amidst the grand and gay. 

When Music tries her gentlest art, 



I In this song, which is one of the many set to music by 
myself, the occasional lawlessness of the metre arises, I need 
ba-dly say, from the peculiar structure of the air. 



I never hear so sweet a lay. 

Or one that hangs so round my heart, 
As that song of the olden time, 

Falling sad o'er the ear. 
Like the dream of some village chime, 

Which in youth we loved to hear. 

And when all of this life is gone, — 

Ev'n the hope, ling' ring now. 
Like the last of the leaves left on 

Autumn's sere and faded bough, — 
'Twill seem as still those friends were neai 

Who loved me in youth's early day. 
If in that parting hour I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away, — 
To that song of the olden time, 

Breath'd, like Hope's farewell strain, 
To say, in some brighter clime. 

Life and youth will shine again ! 



WAKE THEE, MY DEAR. 

Wake thee, my dear — thy dreaming 
Till darker hours will keep ; 

While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep. 

Moments there are we number, 

Moments of pain and care. 
Which to oblivious slumber 

Gladly the wretch would spare. 
But now, — who'd think of dreaming 

When Love his watch should keep i 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep. 

If e'er the fates should sever 

My life and hopes from thee, love. 
The sleep that lasts forever 

Would then be sweet to me, love ; 
But now, — away with dreaming ! 

Till darker hours 'twUl keep : 
While such a moon is beaming, 

'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep. 



THE BOY OF THE ALPS* 

Lightly, Alpine rover. 
Tread the mountains over; 



2 This and the Songs that follow (as far as page 3fi6,) havo 
been published, with music, by Messrs. AdJison and Beale, 
Regent Street. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



345 



Rude is the path thou'st j-et to go ; 

Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, 

Fields of ice before thee. 
While the hid torrent moans below. 
Hark, the deep thunder, 
Through the vales yonder ! 
'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast : 

From rock to rock 

Rebounds the shock. 
But courage, boy ! the danger's past. 

Onward, youthful rover. 

Tread the glacier over. 
Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. 
On, ere light forsake thee. 
Soon will dusk o'ertake thee : 
O'er yon ice bridge lies thy way ! 

Now, for the risk prepare thee : 

Safe it yet may bear thee. 
Though 'twill melt in morning's ray. 

Hark, that dread howling ! 
'Tis the wolf prowling, — 
Scent of thy track the foe hath got ; 

And cliff and shore 

Resound his roar. 
But courage, boy, — the danger's past ! 

Watching eyes have found thee, 

Loving arms are round thee, 
Safe hast thou reach'd thy father's cot. 



FOR THEE ALONE. 

For thee alone I brave the boundless deep, 
Those eyes my light through every distant 
sea; 
My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my 
sleep. 
The noontide rev'ry, are all given to thee. 
To thee alone, to thee alone. 

Though future scenes present to Fancy's eye 
Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air, 

When nearer view'd, the fairy phantoms fly, 
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there. 
Thou, thou alone. 

To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore, 
"While Hope's sweet voice is heard in every 
blast, 
Uill whisp'ring on, that when some years are 
o'er, 
One bright reward shall crown my toil at last, 
Thy smile alone, thy smile alone. 
44 



O place beside the transport of that hour 

All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright. 
Wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of 
power, — 
Then ask where first thy lover's choice would 
light? 
On thee alone, on thee alone. 



HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. 

Her last words, at parting, how can I forget ? 
Deep treasured through life, in my heart they 
shall stay ; 
Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers 5'et, 
When its sounds from the ear have long 
melted away. 
Let Fortune assail me, her threat'nings are vain ; 
Those still-breathing words shall my talisman 
be,— 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 
" There's one heart, unchanging, that beats 
but for thee." 

From the desert's sweet well though the pil- 
grim must hie. 
Never more of that fresh-springing fountain 
to taste. 
He hath still of its bright drops a treasured 
supply. 
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips through 
the waste. 
So, dark as my fate is still doom'd to remain. 
These words shall my well in the wilderness 
be, — 
" Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, 
•'There's one heart, unchanging, that beats 
but for thee." 



LET'S TAKE THIS WORLD AS SOME 
WIDE SCENE. 

Let's take this world as some wide scene 

Through which, in fraQ, but buoyant boat, 
With skies now dark and now serene, 

Together thou and I must float ; 
Beholding oft, on either shore. 

Bright spots where we should love to stay ; 
But Time plies swift liis flying oar, 

And away we speed, away, away. 

Should chilling winds and rains come on. 
We'll raise our awning 'gainst the show'r ; 



5-16 BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Sit closer till the storm is gone, 


" To seek in their water 


And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 


" Some bright gem for thee. 


And if that sunnier hour should shine, 


" Where diamonds were sleeping. 


We'll know its brightness cannot stay, 


" Their sparkle I sought. 


But happy, while 'tis thine and mine. 


" Where crystal was weeping, 


Complain not when it fades away. 


•' Its tears I have caught. 


So shall we reach at last that Fall 


" The sea nymph I've courted 


Down which life's currents all must go, — 


" In rich coral halls ; 


The dark, the brilliant, destined all 


" With Naiads have sported 


To sink into the void below. 


" By bright waterfalls. 


Nor ev'en that hour shall want its charms 


•' But sportive or tender. 


If, side by side, still fond we keep. 


" Still sought I around 


And calmly, in each other's arms 


" That gem, with whose splendor 


Together link'd, go down the steep. 


" Thou yet shalt be crown' d. 




" And see, while I'm speaking, 


LOVE'S VICTORY. 


" Yon soft light afar ; — 


Sing to Love — for, 0, 'twas he 
Who won the glorious day ; 

Strew the wreaths of victory 
Along the conqu'ror's way. 

Yoke the Muses to his car, 

Let them sing each trophy won ; 


" The pearl I've been seeking 
" There floats like a star ! 

" In the deep Indian Ocean 
" I see the gem shine, 

" And quick as light's motion 
" Its wealth shall be thine." 


While his mother's joyous star 


Then eastward, like lightning, 


Shall light the triumph on. 


The hero god flew. 


Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 


His sunny looks bright'ning 
The air he went through. 


Let spirits sing around ; 


And sweet was the duty, 


While the hill, the dale, and grove. 


And hallow' d the hour, 


With " mighty Love " resound ; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal 
Amid the sounds thus echo'd o'er. 


Which saw thus young Beauty 
Embellish'd by Power. 


'Twill but teach the god to feel 




His victories the more. 




See his wings, like amethyst 


THE DREAM OF HOME. 


Of sunny Ind their hue ; 
Bright as when, by Psyche kiss'c", 
They trembled through and through. 


Who has not felt how sadly sweet 

The dream of home, the dream of home, 


Flowers spring beneath his feet ; 


Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet. 


Angel forms beside him run ; 


When far o'er sea or land we roam ? 


While unnumber'd lips repeat 


Sunlight more soft may o'er us foil, 


" Love's victory is won ! " 

Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &c. 


To greener shores our bark may come ; 
But far more bright, more dear than all. 
That dream of home, that dream of homa 


SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS 

DAUGHTER.! 
" I've been, 0, sweet daughter, 
" To fountain and sea, 


Ask of the sailor youth when far 

His light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam. 

What charms him most, when ev'ning's star 
Smiles o'er the wave? to dream of home. 

Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves 


1 Founded on the fable reported by Arrian (in Indicis) of 
Hercules having searched the Indian Ocean, to find the pearl 
with whicl' he adorned his daughter Pandzea. 


At that sweet hour around him come ; 
His heart's best joy where'er he roves. 

That dream of home, that dream of home. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 3i7 




The march that brings our warriors home 


THEY TELL ME THOU'RT THE FAVOU'D 


Proclaims he'll soon be here. 


GUEST.' 




They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest 


Hark, the distant tread 


Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 


O'er the mountain's head. 


No wit like thine to wake the jest, 


While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 


No voice like thine to breathe the song ; 


And the forest deer 


And none could guess, so gay thou art. 


Stand still to hear. 


That thou and I are far apart. 


As those echoing steps ring round. 


Alas ! alas ! how different flows 


Be still my heart, I hear them come. 


With thee and me the time away ! 


Those sounds that speak my soldier near ; 


Not that I wish thee sad — heav'n knows — 


Those joyous steps seem wing'd for home,— 


Still if thou canst, be light and gay ; 


Rest, rest, he'll soon be here. 


I only know, that without thee 




The sun himself is dark to me. 


But hark, more faint the footsteps grow. 




And now they wind to distant glades ; 


Do I thus haste to hall and bower. 


Not here their home, — alas, they go 


Among the proud and gay to shine ? 


To gladden happier maids ! 


Or deck my hair with gem and flower, 




To flatter other eyes than thine ? 


" Like sounds in a dream, 


Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past. 


The footsteps seem. 
As down the hills they die away ; 


Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. 




And the march, whose song 




So peal'd along. 


THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. 


Now fades like a funeral lay. 


There came a nymph dancing 




Gracefully, gracefully, 


'Tis past, 'tis o'er, —hush, heart, thy pain ! 


Her eye a light glancing 


And though not here, alas, they come, 


Like the blue sea ; 


Rejoice for those, to whom that strain 


And while all this gladness 


Brings sons and lovers home. 


Around her steps hung. 




Such sweet notes of sadness 




Her gentle lips sung. 




That ne'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 


WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. 


The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 


Wake up, sweet melody ! 




Now is the hour 


Her zone of bells ringing 


When young and loving hearts 


Cheerily, cheerily. 


Feel most thy power. 


Chimed to her singing 


One note of music, by moonlight's soft ray — 


Light echoes of glee ; 


0, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day. 


But in vain did she borrow 


Then wake up, sweet melody ' 


Of mirth the gay tone, 


Now is the hour 


Her voice spoke of sorrow. 


When young and loving hearts . 


And sorrow alone. 


Feel most thy power. 


Ncr e'er while I live from my mem'ry shall fade 




The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. 


Ask the fond nightingale, 




When his sweet flower 




Loves most to hear his song. 


THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 


In her green bower .' 


Be still my heart : I hear them come : 


0, he will tell thee, through summer nights long, 


Those sounds announce my lover near : 


Fondest she lends her whole to his song. 


1 Part of a translation of some Latin verses, supposed to 


during his absence at the gay court of Leo the Tenth. The 


have been addressed by Elippolyta Taurella to her husband, 


verses may be found in tlie Appendix to Roscoe's Work. 



348 BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Then wake up, sweet melody ! 


Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 


Now is the hour 


And kept, for years, in such repair, 


"When young and loving hearts 


That ev'n when turn'd of thirty-nine. 


Feel most thy power. 


They'll hardly look the worse for wear. 




If bought at this our Fancy Fair. 




We've lots of tears for bards to shower, 


CALM BE THY SLEEP. 


And hearts that such ill usage bear, 


Cai,m be thy sleep as infants' slumbers ! 

Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams ! 
May every joy this bright world numbers 


That, though they're broken ev'ry hour, 


They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear, 
If purchased at our Fancy Fair. 


Shed o'er thee their mingled beams ! 


As fashions change in ev'ry thing, 


Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided, 


We've goods to suit each season's air. 


There ever must some pang remain, 


Eternal friendships for the spring. 


Still be thy lot with me divided, — 


And endless loves for summer wear, — 


Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain ! 


All sold at this our Fancy Fair. 


Day and night my thoughts shall hover 


We've reputations white as snow. 


Round thy steps where'er they stray; 


That long will last, if used with care, 


As, ev'n when clouds his idol cover, 


. Nay, safe through all life's journey go. 


Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. 


If paek'd and mark'd as " brittle ware," — 


If this be wrong, if Heav'n offended 


Just purchased at the Fancy Fair. 


By worship to its creature be. 




Then let my vows to both be blended, 




Half breathed to Heav'n and half to thee. 


IF THOU WOULDST HA\^ ME SING 




AND PLAY. 




If thou wouldst have me sing and play, 


THE EXILE. 


As once I play'd and sung. 


Night waneth fast, the morning star 


First take this time-worn lute away, 


Saddens with light the glimm'ring sea, 


And bring one freshly strung. 


Whose waves shall soon to realms afar 


Call back the time when pleasure's sigh 


Waft me from hope, from love, and thee. 


First breathed among the strings ; 


Coldly the beam from yonder sky 


And Time himself, in flitting by, 


Looks o'er the waves that onward stray ; 


Made music with his wings. 


But colder still the stranger's eye 




To him whose home is far away. 


But how is this ? though new the lute, 




And shining fresh the chords, 


0, not at hour so chiU and bleak, 


Beneath this hand they slumber mute. 


Let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast ; 


Or speak but dreamy words. 


But of the lost one think and speak. 


In vain I seek the soul that dwelt 


When summer suns sink calm to rest. 


Within that once sweet shell. 


So, as I wander, Fancy's dream 


Which told so warmly what it felt, 


Shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, 


And felt what nought could tell. 


Thy look, in every melting beam, 




Thy whisper, in each djing breeze. 


O, ask not then for passion's lay. 




From lyre so coldly strung ; 




With this I ne'er can sing or play. 




As once I play'd and sung. 


THE FANCY FAIR. 


No, bring that long-loved lute again, — 




Though chill'd by years it be. 


Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 


If t/iou wUt call the slumb'ring strain, 


All wondrous things of earth and air ; 


'Twill wake again for thee. 


Whatever wild romancers tell. 




Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 


Though time have frozen the tuneful stream 


You'll find at this our Fancy Fair. 


Of thoughts that gush'd along, 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. S4D 


One look from thee, like summer's beam, 




Will thaw them into song. 


MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 


Then give, give, that wakening ray, 


Mind not though daylight around us u break- 


And once more blithe and young, 


ing> — 


Thy bard again will sing and play, 


Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but 


As once he play'd and sung. 


just waking ? 




Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not. 




Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. 


STILL ^VHEN DAYLIGHT. 


See young Aurora, up heav'n's hill advancing. 


Still when daylight o'er the wave 


Though fresh from her pillow, ev'n she too is 


Bright and soft its farewell gave. 


dancing : 


I used to hear, while light was falling, 


While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea, 


O'er the wave a sweet voice calling. 


Are dancing around us, 0, why should not we ? 


Mournfully at distance calling. 






Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted r 


Ah ! once how blest that maid would come, 


Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted ; 


To meet her sea-boy hast'ning home ; 


While hearts are high beating, and harps full in 


And through the night those sounds repeating. 


tune. 


Hail his bark with joyous greeting. 


The fault is all morning's for coming so soon. 


Joyously his light bark greeting. 




But, one sad night, when winds were high, 


THEY MET BUT ONCE. 


Nor earth, nor heaven, could hear her cry. 




She saw his boat come tossing over 


They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, 


Midnight's wave, — but not her lover ! 


And never since that day 


No, never more her lover. 


Hath absence, time, or grief had power 




To chase that dream away. 


And still that sad dream loath to leave, 


They've seen the suns of other skies, 


She comes with wand' ring mind at eve. 


On other shores have sought delight ; 


And oft we hear, when night is falling, 


But never more, to bless their eyes, 


Faint her voice through twilight calling. 


Can come a dream so bright ! 


Mournfully at twilight calling. 


They met but once, — a day was all 




Of Love's young hopes they knew ; 




And still their hearts that day recall, 




As fresh as then it flew. 


THE SUMMER WEBS. 






Sweet dream of youth ! 0, ne'er again 


The summer webs that float and shine, 


Let either meet the brow 


The summer dews that fall. 


They left so smooth and smiling then. 


Though light they be, this heart of mine 


Or see what it is now. 


Is lighter still than all. 


For, Youth, the spell was only thine ; 


It tells me every cloud is pass'd 


From thee alone th' enchantment flows, 


Which lately seem'd to lower ; 


That makes the world around thee shine 


That Hope hath wed young Joy at last. 


With light thyself bestows. 


And now's their nuptial hour ! 


They met but once, — 0, ne'er again 




Let either meet the brow 


With light thus round, within, above, 


They left so smooth and smiling then, 


With nought to wake one sigh, 


Or see what it is now. 


Except the wish, that all we love 




Were at this moment nigh, — 




It seems as if life's brilliant sun 


WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING. 


Had stopp'd in full career, 




To make this hour its brightest one, 


With moonlight beaming 


And rest in radiance here. 


Thus o'er the deep, 



J50 BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Who'd linger dreaming 

In idle sleep ? 
Leave joyless souls to live by day, — 


To thee no light is given, — 
0, what a doom is this ! 


Our life begins with yonder ray j 




And while thus brightly 
The moments flee, 

Our barks skim lightly 
The shining sea. 


THE WORLD WAS HUSH'D. 

The world was hush'd, the moon above 

Sail'd through ether slowly. 
When, near the casement of my love, 


To halls of splendor 

Let great ones hie ; 
Through light more tender 

Our pathways lie. ^ 
While round, from banks of brook or lake, 


Thus I whisper' d lowly, — 
'" Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep ? 

" The field I seek to-morrow 
" Is one where man hath fame to reap, 

" And woman gleans but sorrow." 


Our company blithe echoes make ; 
And, as we lend 'em 


" Let battle's field be what it may," 


Sweet word or strain. 
Still back they send 'em, 
More sweet, again. 

CHILD'S SONG. FROM A MASK. 
I HAVE a garden of my ovm, 


Thus spoke a voice replying, 
" Think not thy love, while thou'rt away, 

•' Will here sit idly sighing. 
«« No — woman's soul, if not for fame, 

" For love can brave all danger ! " 
Then forth from out the casement came 

A plumed and armed stranger. 


Shining with flowers of every hue ; 
I loved it dearly while alone, 

But I shall love it more with you : 
And there the golden bees shall come. 

In summer time at break of morn, 
And wake us with their busy hum 

Around the Siha's fragrant thorn. 

I have a fawn from Aden's land, 


A stranger ? No ; 'twas she, the maid, 

Herself before me beaming, 
With casque array'd, and falchion blade 

Beneath her girdle gleaming ! 
Close side by side, in freedom's fight, 

That blessed morning found us ; 
In Vict'ry's light we stood ere night, 

And Love, the morrow, crown' d U5 ! 


On leafy buds and berries nurs'd. 




And you shall feed him from your hand, 
Though he may start with fear at first. 

And I will lead you where he lies 
For shelter in the noontide heat ; 

And you may touch his sleeping eyes. 
And feel his little silv'ry feet. 


THE TWO LOVES. 

There are two Loves, the poet sings. 
Both born of Beauty at a birth : 

The one, akin to heaven, hath wings. 
The other, earthly, walks on earth. 




With this through bowers below we play. 


THE HALCYON HANGS O'ER OCEAN. 

The halcyon hangs o'er ocean. 
The scalark skims the brine ; 


With that through clouds above we soar; 
With both, perchance, may lose our way : — 
Then, tell me which. 
Tell me which shall we adore ? 


This bright Avorld's all in motion. 
No heart seems sad but mine. 

To walk through sun-bright places, 


The one, when tempted down from ait. 

At Pleasure's fount to lave his lip. 
Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare 


With heart all cold the while ; 


His wing within the wave to dip. 


To look in smiling faces, 

When ^^■e no more can smile ; 


While, plunging deep and long beneath, 
The other bathes him o'er and o'er 




In that sweet current, ev'n to death : — 


To feel, while earth and heaven 


Then, tell me which. 


Around thee shine with bliss, 


Tell me which shall we adore ? 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



351 



The boy of heav'n, even while he lies 

In Beauty's lay, recalls his home ; 
And when most happy, inly sighs 

For something happier still to come. 
While he of earth, too fully bless'd 

With this bright world to dream of more, 
Sees all his heav'n on Beauty's breast : — 
Then, tell me which, 

Tell me which shall we adore ? 

The maid who heard the poet sing 

These twin desires of earth and sky, 
And saw, while one inspired his string, 

The other glisten'd in his eye, — 
To name the earthlier boy ashamed. 

To choose the other fondly loath, 
At length, all blushing, she exclaim' d, — 
'• Ask not which, 

" 0, ask not which— we'll worship both. 

" Th' extremes of each thus taught to shun, 

"With hearts and souls between them given, 
" When weary of this earth with one, 

" We'll with the other wing to heaven." 
Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss ; 

And while one Love wrote down the oath. 
The other seal'd it with a kiss ; 
And Heav'n look'd on, 

Heav'n look'd on, and hallow'd both. 



THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY. 

WouLDST know what tricks, by the pale moon- 

Hght, 
Are play'd by me, the merry little Sprite, 
Who wing through air from the camp to the 

court. 
From king to clown, and of all make sport ; 
Singing, I am the Sprite 
Of the merry midnight, 
Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moon- 

Hght. 

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept 
And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept ; 
Chuik, chink, o'er his pQlow like money I rang. 
And he waked to catch — but away I sprang, 
Singuig, I am the Sprite, &c. 

I saw through the leaves, in a damsel's bower, 
She was waiting her love at that starlight hour : 
" Hist — hist ! " quoth I, with an amorous sigh, 
And she flew to the door, but away flew I, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 



While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love. 
Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, 
And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas the 

ghost, poor man ! 
Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran. 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 



BEAUTY AND SONG. 

Down in yon summer vale, 

Where the rill flows. 
Thus said a Nightingale 

To his loved Rose : — 
" Though rich the pleasures 
" Of song's sweet measures, 
" Vain were its melody, 
" Rose, -without thee." 

Then from the green recess 

Of her night bower. 
Beaming with bashfulness, 

Spoke the bright flower : — 
" Though morn should lend her 
" Its sunniest splendor, 
" What would the Rose be, 
" Unsung by thee ! " 

Thus still let Song attend 

Woman's bright way ; 
Thus still let woman lend 

Light to the lay. 
Like stars, through heaven's sea. 
Floating in harmony. 
Beauty should glide along, 
Circled by Song. 



WHEN THOU ART NIGH. 

When thou art nigh, it seems 

A new creation round ; 
The sun hath fairer beams. 

The lute a softer sound. 
Though thee alone I see. 

And hear alone thy sigh, 
'Tis light, 'tis song to me, 

'Tis all — when thou art nigh. 

When thou art nigh, no thought 
Of grief comes o'er my heart; 

I only think — could aught 
But joy be where thou art ? 

Life seems a waste of breath, 
When far from thee I sigh ; 



862 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 



And death — ay, even death 
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 



SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN. 

I COME from a land in the sun-bright deep, 

Where golden gardens grow ; 
Where the winds of the north, becalm'd in sleep, 
Their conch shells never blow.* 
Haste to that holy Isle with me. 
Haste — haste ! 

So near the track of the stars are we,* 

That oft, on night's pale beams. 
The distant sounds of their harmony 

Come to our ear, like dreams. 
Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, &c. 

The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh,^ 

That when the night seer looks 
To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 

He can number its hills and brooks. 
Then, haste, &c. &c. 

To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyres* 

By day, by night, belong ; 
And the breath we draw from his living fires, 

AVe give him back in song. 

Then, haste, &c. &c. 

From us descends the maid -who brings 

To Delos gifts divine ; 
And our wild bees lend their rainbow wings 
To glitter on Delphi's shrine.* 

Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, 
Haste — haste ! 



THOU BIDD'ST ME SING. 

Thou bidd'st me sing the lay I sung to thee 
In other days, ere joy had left this brow ; 
But think, though still unchanged the notes 
may be, 
How dilFrent feels the heart that breathes 
them now ! 
The rose thou wear'st to night is stUl the same 
We saw this morning on its stem so gay ; 

1 On the Tower of the Winds, at Athens, there is a conch 
shell placed in the hands of Boreas. — See Sttmrt's Antiqui- 
ties. " The north wind," says Herodotus, in speaking of 
the Hyperboreans, " never blows with them." 

2 '■ Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent." — Pompon. Mela. 



But, ah ! that dew of dawn, that breath which 
came 
Like life o'er all its leaves, hath pass'd away. 

Since first that music touch'd thy heart and 
mine, 
How many a joy and pain o'er both have 
pass'd, — 
The joy, a light too precious long to shine. 

The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. 
And though that lay would like the voice of 
home 
Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a 
sigh — 
Ah ! not, as then, for fancied woes to come, 
But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 

CUPID ARMED. 

Place the helm on thy brow. 

In thy hand take the spear ; — 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now. 
And thy battle hour is near. 
March on ! march on ! thy shaft and bow 

Were weak against such charms ; 
March on ! march on ! so proud a foe 
Scorns all but martial arras. 

See the darts in her eyes, 

Tipp'd with scorn, how they shine ! 
Ev'ry shaft, as it flies. 

Mocking proudly at thine. 
March on ! march on ! thy feather'd darts 

Soft bosoms soon might move ; 
But ruder arms to ruder hearts 
Must teach what 'tis to love. 
Place the helm on thy brow ; 

In thy hand take the spear, — 
Thou art arm'd, Cupid, now. 

And thy battle hour is near. 



ROUND THE WORLD GOES. 

Round the world goes by day and night. 
While with it also round go we ; 

And in the flight of one day's light 
An image of all life's course we see. 

3 "They can show the moon very near." — Diodob. Si- 

CUL. 

4 HecatEBUs tells us, that this Hyperborean island was ded- 
icated to Apollo ; and most of the inhabitants were oitiaw 
priests or songsters. 

5 Pausan. 



BALLADS, SONGS, ETC 



353 



Round, round, while thus we go round, 

The best thing a man can do, 
Is to make it, at least, a jnerry-go-round, 

By — sending the wine round too. 

Our first gay stage of life is when 

Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye — 
Season of bliss ! O, who wouldn't then 

Wish to cry, " Stop ! " to earth and sky ? 
But, round, round, both boy and girl 

Are whisk'd through that sky of blue ; 
And much would their hearts enjoy the whirl, 

If — their heads did'nt whirl round too. 

Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, 

Thinking aU life a life of light ; 
But shadows come on, 'tis evening soon. 

And, ere we can say, " How short ! " — 'tis 
night. 
Round, round, still all goes round, 

Ev'n while I'm thus singing to you ; 
And the best way to make it a werry-go-round, 

Is to — chorus my song round too. 



0, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND 
BLEST. 

O, DO not look so bright and blest. 

For still there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 
There lurks a dread in all delight, 

A shadow near each ray, 
That warns us then to fear their flight. 

When most we wish their stay. 
Then look not thou so bright and blest. 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 

Why is it thus that fairest things 

The soonest fleet and die ? — 
That when most light is on their wings, 

They're then but spread to fly ! 
And, sadder still, the pain wiU stay — 

The bliss no more appears ; 
As rainbows take their light away. 

And leave us but the tears ! 
Then look not thou so bright and blest, 

For ah ! there comes a fear, 
When brow like thine looks happiest, 

That grief is then most near. 



THE MUSICAL BOX. 

" Look here," said Rose, with laughing eyes, 

" Within this box, by magic hid, 
" A tuneful Sprite imprison'd lies, 

" Who sings to me whene'er he's bid. 
" Though roving once his voice and wing, 

" He'll now lie stiU the whole day long ; 
" Till thus I touch the magic spring — 

" Then hark, how sweet and blithe his song ! ' 
{A si/mphony.) 

"Ah, Rose," I cried, "the poet's lay 

" Must ne'er ev'n Beauty's slave become ; 
" Through earth and air his song may stray, 

" K all- the while his heart's at home. 
" And though in freedom's air he dwell, 

" Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
" Touch but the spring thou know'st so well, 

"And — hark, how sweet the love song flows ! ' 
(^A symphony.) 

Thus pleaded I for freedom's right ; 

But when young Beauty takes the field, 
And wise men seek defence in flight. 

The doom of poets is to yield. 
No more my heart th' enchantress braves, 

I'm now in Beauty's prison hid ; 
The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves. 

And I, too, sing whene'er I'm bid. 



WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU 
LISTEN. 

When to sad Music silent you listen, 

And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, 
O, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten 

A sweet holy charm that mirth never knew. 
But when some Lively strain resounding 

Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow. 
Then the young reindeer o'er the hills bounding 

Was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou. 

When on the skies at midnight thou gazest, 

A lustre so pure thy features then wear, 
That, when to some star that bright eye thou 
raisest, 
We feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there. 
But when the word for the gay dance is give:;. 
So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth, 
O then we exclaim, " Ne'er leave earth for 
heaven, 
" But linger still here, to make heaven of 
earth." 







Soi SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. ] 


THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 


We've daj''s long light before U3, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 




Fly swift, my light gazelle, 


The hunt o'er hill and lea ? 


To her who now lies waking. 


The sail o'er summer sea ? 


To hear thy silver bell 


let not hour so sweet 


The midnight silence breaking. 


Unwing'd by pleasure fleet. 


And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet, 


The dawn is breaking o'er us, 


Beneath her lattice springing, 


See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 


Ah, well she'll know how sweet 


We've day's long light before us, 


The words of love thou'rt bringing. 


What sport shall we pursue ? 


Yet, no — not words, for they 


But see, while we're deciding. 


But half can tell love's feeling ; 


What morning sport to play. 


Sweet flowers alone can say 


The dial's hand is gliding, 


What passion fears revealing. 


And morn hath pass'd away ! 


A once bright rose's wither'd leaf, ' 


Ah, who'd have thought that roon 


A tow' ring lily broken, — 


Would o'er us steal so soon, — 


these may paint a grief 


That morn's sweet hour of prime 


No words could e'er have spoken. 


Would last so short a time ? 




But come, we've day before us, 


Not such, my gay gazelle, 


Still heaven looks bright and blue , 


The wreath thou spcodest over 


Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us. 


Yon moonlight dale, to tell 


What sport shall we pursue ? 


My lady how I love her. 




And, what to her will sweeter be 


Alas ! why thus delaj-ing ? 


Than gems the richest, rarest, — 


AVe're now at evening's hour ; 


From Truth's immortal tree ' 


Its farewell beam is playing 


One fadeless leaf thou bearcst. 


O'er hill and wave and bower. 




That light we thought would last, 




Behold, ev'n now, 'tis pass'd ; 


THE DA^\T^ IS BREAKING O'ER US. 


And all our morning dreams 




Have vanish' d with its beams ! 


The dawn is breaking o'er us. 


But come ! 'twere vain to borrow 


See, heaven hath caught its hue. 


Sad lessons from this lay. 




For man will be to-morrow — 


» The tree called in the East Amrita, or the Immortal. 


Just what he's been to-day. 


SONGS FROM THE ( 


JREEK ANTHOLOGY. 


HERE AT THY TOMB.' 


Wept in remembrance of that light, 


BY MELEAGER. 


Which nought on earth, without thee, gives. 




Hope of my heart ! now qucnch'd in night, 


Heke, at thy tomb, these tears I shed. 


But dearer, dead, than aught that lives. 


Tears, which though vainly now they roll, 




Are all love hath to give the dead. 


Where is she ? where the blooming bough. 


And wept o'er thee with all love's soul ; — 


That once my life's sole lustre made ? 


1 AuKfva aoi Kai vepdc &ia x^ovoi, HXtoStJpa. 


Torn off by death, 'tis with'ring now. 


Ap. Bruwck. 


And all its flowers in dust are laid. 



bONljrS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 



355 



O earth ! that to thy matron breast, 
Hast taken all those angei chnrms, 

Gently, I pray thee, let her resc, — 
Gently, as in a mother's arms. 



SALE OF CUPIb.' 

BY MELEAGER. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yonder is he, 
Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother's knee ; 
So bold a young imp 'tisn't safe to keep. 
So I'll part with him now, while he's sound 

asleep. 
See his arch little nose, how sharp 'tis curled. 
His wings, too, even in sleep unluri'a ; 
And those fingers, which still evei kcady are 

found 
For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, oi wound. 

He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile ; 
Bui never you mind — he's laughing all the 

while ; 
For little he cares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing are all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than another. 

In short, to sum up this darling's praise, 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways ; 
And if any one wants such an imp to employ. 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem to ask could I sell him ? O no. 
Sweet child no, no — though so naughty you be. 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 



TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE 
ROSE." 

BY PAUL, THE SILEXTLA.RT. 

To weave a garland for the rose. 

And think thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, 
Were far less vain than to suppose 

That silks and gems add grace to thee. 



1 LldjXctcOi.!, Kai /larpoi £t' cv Ko'XnntcTi xaOcvSuiv, 

Ap. Brunck. Analut. xcv. 

* OvTC po&wv <XTC<pav(oi/ eirtfcvecat, ovth av ircTrXuiv. 

Ap. Brunck. xvii. 

• Kat fi fi£Xi(^upro5 CKCivn 

Hdcoi ipiioi It), KCirroi eipv Ha(f>ir,i. 



Where is the pearl whose orient lustre 
Would not, beside thee, look less bright? 

What gold could match the glossy cluster 
Of those young ringlets full of light? 

Bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, 

The bright blue gem of India's mine, 
And see how soon, though bright its beams, 

'Twill pale before one glance of thine : 
Those lips, too, when their sounds have blest ua 

With some- divine, mellifluous air, 
Who would not say that Beauty's cestus 

Had let loose all its witch'ries there .'' ' 

Here, to this conqu'ring host of charms 

I now give up my spell-bound heart, 
Nor blush to yield ev'n Reason's arms. 

When thou her bright-ey'd conqu'ror ast 
Thus to the wind all fears are given ; 

Henceforth those eyes alone I see. 
Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 

Sits beck'ning me to bliss and thee ! 



WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY?* 

BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 

Why does she so long delay? 
Night is waning fast away; 
Thrice have I my lamp renew'd, 
Watching here in solitude. 
Where can she so long delay ? 
Where, so long delay ? 

Vainly now have two lamps shone ; 
See the third is nearly gone : * 
O that Love would, like the ray 
Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
But no, alas, it burns still on, 
Still, stiU burns on. 

Gods, how oft the traitress dear 
Swore, by Venus, she'd be here ! 
But to one so false as she 
What is man or deity ? 
Neither doth this proud one fear, — 
No, neither doth she fear. 



Ar/9ui£( KXfo^aiTif. 

Ap. Brunck. xxviii 
h Se rpiToi apxerat jjJs 
A«X''<'J tiironAaJtii'. 



356 SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 




Thy beauty, like Day, o'er the duU world 


TWIN'ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH 


breaking. 


THY BROW?' 


Brings life to the heart it shines o'er. 


BY PAUL, THK 8ILENTIARY. 


And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking, 




Made light what was darkness before. 


Twin st thou with lofty wreath thy brow ? 


But mute is the Day's sunny glory. 


Sui h glory then thy beauty sheds, 


While thine hath a voice,* on whose breath, 


I almost think, while awed I bow. 


More sweet than the Siren's sweet story,* 


'Tis Rhea's self before me treads. 


My hopes hang, through life and through 


Be what thou wUt, — this heart 


death ! 


Adores whate'er thou art ! 






MY MOPSA IS LITTLE." 


Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave, 




Like sunny waves to wander free ? 


BY PHIL0DEMU8. 


Then, such a chain of charms they weave, 


My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown. 


As draws my inmost soul from me. 


But her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft 


Do what thou wilt, — I must 


down; 


Be charm'd by all thou dost ! 


And, for blushing, no rose can come near her ; 




In short, she has woven such nets round my heart. 


Ev'n when, enwrapped in silvery veils,'' 


That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can 


Those sunny locks elude the sight, — 


part,— 


0, not ev'n then their glory fails 


Unless I can find one that's dearer. 


To haunt me with its unseen light. 




Change as thy beauty may, 


Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear, 


It charms in every way. 


And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so 




clear, 


For, thee the Graces still attend. 


That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her ; 


Presiding o'er each new attire. 


Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's o^vn net. 


And lending every dart they send 


And her lips, their sweetness I ne'er shall 


Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 


forget — 


Be what thou wilt, — this heart 


TUl I light upon lips that are sweeter. 


Adores whate'er thou art ! 






But 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone. 




'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose eloquent 
tone 
From the depths of the grave could revive one : 


WHEN THE SAD WORD.' 




In short, here I swear, that if death were her 


BY PAUL, THE SILENTIAKY. 


doom. 




I would instantly join my dead love in the 
tomb — 


When the sad word, "Adieu," from my lip is 


nigh falling, 


Unless I could meet with a live one. 


And with it, Hope passes away. 




Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fond 




heart recalling 
That fatal farewell, bids me stay. 




STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALL- 
ING.^ 


For 0, tis a penance so weary 


One hour from thy presence to be. 


BY MELEAGER. 


That death to this soul were less dreary. 


Still, like dew in silence falling, 


Less dark than long absence from thee. 


Drops for thee the nightly tear ; 


1 KeKpv(pa\oi a^tyyovai reriv rpixa ; 


6 Su &' cjioi Kat TO \aXr,iia (peptts 


Ap. Bronck. xxxiv. 


Ketvo, TO Y.eipT)voiv yXvKVCpaiTcpov. 


• Apycvvati oOovn<n Karnofia fioarpvxa Kcv6eis- 


• MiKKT) Kat licXai/cvaa ^iXiVfiov. 


» Sojfeo aoi peWuv £vf7iti¥. 


Ap. Brukck. x. 


Ap. Brukck. xxxix. 


T Aid HOI Svvci iiev tv ovaaiv fiX"! E/)(orof. 


♦ H/iOTt yap aso ({>eyyos o/iouoi'. aWa to pev nov 


Ap. Brunck. liii 


A^eoyyoo- 





UNPUBLISHEE 


SONGS, ETC. 35? 


Still that voice the past recalling, 


Leave languid youths to pine 


Dwells, like echo, on my ear, 


On silken pillows ; 


Still, stiU ! 


But be the billows 




Of the great deep thine. 


Day and night the spell hangs o'er me, 


Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, " Let us fly ; "^ 


Here forever fix'd thou art ; 


While soft the sail, replying to the breeze, 


As thy form first shone before me, 


Says, with a yielding sigh. 


So 'tis graven on this heart. 


"Yes, where you please." 


Deep, deep ! 


Up, boy ! the wind, the ray. 




The blue sky o'er thee, 


Love, Love, whose bittef sweetness. 


The deep before thee. 


Dooms me to this lasting pain. 


All cry aloud, " Away ! " 


Thou who cam'st with so much fleetness, 




"Why so slow to go again ? * 




AVhy ? why ? 


IN MYRTLE WREATHS. 




BY ALCJEUS. 




In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover, 




Like them of old whose one immortal blow 


UP, SAILOR BOY, 'TIS DAY. 


Struck off the galling fetters that hung over 




Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. 


Up, sailor boy, 'tis day ! 


Yes, lov'd Harmodius, thou'rt undying ; 


The west wind blowing, 


Still 'midst the brave and free. 


The spring tide flowing, 


In isles, o'er ocean lying, 


Summon thee hence away. 


Thy home shaU ever be. 


Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing ? 




Chirp, chu-p, — in every note he seem'd to say 


In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its light- 


'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring. 


ning, 


Up boy, away, — 


Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade 


Who'd stay on land to-day ? 


Leap'd forth like flame, the midnight banquet 


The very flowers 


bright'ning, 


Would from their bowers 


And in the dust a despot victim laid. 


Delight to wing away ! 


Blest youths, how bright in Freedom's story 




Your wedded names shall be ; 


• a nravoi, iirj Kai vor' tipntTaaQai ftcv, E/iurCf, 


A tyrant's death your glory. 


OiSar', airoTTTrivai 6' ov6 boov laxvere. 


Your meed, a nation free ! 


UNPUBLISHED 


SONGS, ETC. 


ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. 


K this be love, then know 




That thus, that thus, I love thee. 


Ask not if still I love, 




Too plain these eyes have told thee ; 




Too well their tears must prove 


'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour 


How near and dear I hold thee. 


That thou canst know affection's power. 


If, where the brightest shine, 


No, try its strength in grief or pain ; 


To see no form but thine. 


Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever, 


To feel that earth can show 


Thou'lt find true love's a chain 


No bliss above thee, — 


That binds forever ! 



UNPUBLISnED SONGS. ETC. 



DEAR? YES. 

Dear ? yes, though mine no more, 
Ev'n this but makes thee dearer : 

And love, since hope is o'er, 
But draws thee nearer. 

Change as thou wilt to mc, 
The same thy charm must be ; 
New loves may come to weave 

Their witchery o'er thee, 
Yet still, though false, believe 

That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. 
Think'st thou that aught but death could end 
A tic not falsehood's self can rend ? 
No, when alone, far off I die, 

No more to see, no more caress thee, 
Ev'n then, my life's last sigh 

Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee. 



UNBIND THEE, LO^^. 

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, 

From those dark ties unbind thee ; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, 

Too long its links have twined thee. 
Away from earth ! — thy wings were made 

In yon mid sky to hover, 
With earth beneath their dovelike shade, 

And heav'n all radiant over. 

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 

Too long thy soul is sleeping ; 
And thou mayst from this minute's joy 

Wake to eternal weeping. 
O, think, this world is not for thee ; 

Though hard its links to sever ; 
Though sweet and bright and dear they be, 

Break, or thou'rt lost forever. 



THERE'S SOMETHING STRANGE. 
(A Buffo Song.) 

There's something strange, I know not what. 

Come o'er mc, 
Some phantom I've forever got 

Before me. 
I look on high, and in the sky 

'Tis shining ; 
On earth, its light with sell things bright 

Seems twining. 



In vain I try this goblin's spells 

To sever ; 
Go where I will, it round me dwells 

Forever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 

It plays me ; 
In ev'ry shape the wicked sprite 

Waylays me. 
Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 

'Tis glancing ; 
Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, 

Comes dancing. 
By whispers round of every sort 

I'm taunted. 
Never was mortal man, in short, 

So haunted. 



NOT FROM THEE. 

Not from thee the wound should come, 

No, not from thee. 
I care not what or whence my doom, 

So not* from thee ! 
Cold triumph ! first to make 

This heart thy own ; 
And then the mirror break 

Where tix'd thou shin'st alone. 
Not from thee the wound should come, 

O, not from thee. 
I care not what, or whence, my doom, 

So not from thee. 

Yet no — my lips that wish recall ; 

From thee, from thee — 
If ruin o'er this head must fall, 

'Twill welcome be. 
Here to the blade I bare 

This faithful heart ; 
Wound deep — thou'lt find that there, 

In every pulse thou art. 
Y''es from thee I'll bear it all : 

If ruin be 
The doom that o'er this heart must ia}\ 

'Twerc sweet from thee. 



GUESS, GUESS. 

I LOVE a maid, a mystic maid, 

Whose form no eyes but mine can see 
She comes in light, she comes in shade. 

And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 

And oft she whispers in my ear 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 359 


Such words as wheti to others told, 


Lay ready here to be let loose. 


Awake the sigh, or wring the tear ; — 


When wanted, in young spinsters' ears. 


Then guess, guess, who she. 


" Ha ha, ha ha, my Cupids all," 


The lady of ray love, may be. 


Said Love, the little AdmiraL 


I find the lustre of her brow. 


False papers next on board were foiuid. 


Come o'er me in my darkest ways ; 


Sham invoices of flames and darts, 


And feel as if her voice, ev'n now, 


Professedly for Paphos bound. 


"Were echoing far off my lays. 


But meant for Hymen's golden marts. 


There is no scene of joy or woe 


" For shame, for shame, my Cupids all ! " 


J3ut she doth gild with inhuence bright ; 


Said Love, the little Admiral. 


And shed o'er all so ric;h a glow 




As makes ev'n tears seem full of light : 


Nay, still to every fraud awake. 


Then guess, guess, who she. 


Those pirates all Love's signals knew, 


The lady of my love, may be. 


And hoisted oft his flag, to make 




Rich wards and heiresses bring -to.^ 




" A foe, a foe, my Cupids all ! " 


WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED. 


Said Love, the little Admiral. 


When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er 

His rosy mother's isles of light. 
Was cruising off the Paphian shore. 


" This must not be," the boy exclaims, 
•' In vain I rule the Paphian seas. 


A sail at sunset hove in sight. 
" A chase, a chase ! my Cupids all," 


" If Love's and Beauty's sovereign names 
" Are lent to cover frauds like these. 


Said Love, the little Admiral. 


" Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all ! ' 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Aloft the winged sailors sprung. 

And, swarming up the mast like bees, 

The snow-white sails expanding tiung, 
Like broad magnolias to the breeze. 

•• Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all ! " 


Each Cupid stood with lighted match — 
A broadside struck the smuggling foe. 

And swept the whole unhallow'd batch 
Of Falsehood to the depths below. 


Said Love, the little Admiral. 


" Huzza, huzza ! my Cupids all ! " 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


The chase was o'er — the bark was caught, 




The winged crew her freight explored ; 




And found 'twas just as Love had thought, 


STILL THOU FLIEST. 


For all was contraband aboard. 


Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 


" A prize, a prize, my Cupids all ! " 


Lovely phantom, — all in vain ; 


Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, 




Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain. 


Safe stow'd in many a package there. 


Such doom, of old, that youth betidcd. 


And labell'd slyly o'er, as " Glass," 


Who wooed, he thought, some angel's charms, 


Were lots of all th' illegal ware. 


But found a cloud that from him glided, — 


Love's Custom House forbids to pass. 


As thou dost from these outstretched arms. 


" O'erhaul, o'crhaul, my Cupids aU ! " 




Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Scarce I've said, '• How fair thou shinest," 




Ere thy light hath vanish'd by ; 


False curls they found, of every hue, 


And 'tis when thou look'st divinest 


With rosy blushes ready made ; 


Thou art still most sure to fly. 


And teeth of ivory, good as new. 


Ev'n as the lightning, that, dividing 


For veterans in the smiling trade. 


The clouds of night, saith, " Look on me," 


" Ho ho, ho ho, my Cupids all," 


Then flits again, its splendor hiding, — 


Said Love, the Uttle Admiral. 


Ev'n such the glimpse I catch of thee. 


Mock sighs, too, — kept in bags for use. 
Like breezes bought of Lapland seers, — 


1 " To Bbihg-to, to check the course of a ship." — Fal 
eoner 



UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 



THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. 

Then first from Love, in Nature's bow'rs, 

Did Painting learn her fairy skill. 
And cull the hues of loveliest flow'rs, 

To picture woman lovelier still. 
For vain was ev'ry radiant hue, 

Till Passion lent a soul to art. 
And taught the painter, ere he drew, 

To fix the model in his heart. 

Thus smooth his toil a while went on, 

Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone, 

But who could dare to paint those eyes ? 
'Twas all in vain the painter strove ; 

So turning to that boy divine, 
«' Here take," he said, " the pencil, Love, 

" No hand should paint such eyes, but thine.' 



HUSH, SWEET LUTE, 

Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 

Of past joys, noAV turn'd to pain ; 
Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, 

But whose burning marks remain. 
In each tone, some echo falleth 

On my ear of joys gone by ; 
Ev'ry note some dream recalleth 

Of bright hopes but born to die. 

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, 

Once more let thy numbers thrill ; 
Though death were in the strain they sing me, 

I must woo its anguish still. 
Since no time can e'er recover 

Love's sweet light when once 'tis set, — 
Better to weep such pleasures over. 

Than smile o'er any left us yet. 



BRIGHT MOON. 

Bright moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 

All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night 
Thy own Endymion lay reclining. 

And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of 
light ! — 
By all the Ifliss thy beam discovers. 

By all those visions far too bright for day, 
Which dreaming bards and waking lovers 

Behold, this night, beneath thy ling'ring ray, — 



I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven. 

Quench not to-night thy love lamp in the sea, 
Till Antlie, in this bower, hath given 

Beneath thy beam, her long-vow'd kiss to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted. 

Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent 
hide ; 
Let Love but in this bow'r be lighted, 

Then shroud in darkness all the world besidOi 



LONG YEARS HAVE PASS'D. 

Long years have pass'd, old friend, since we 

First met in life's j'oung day ; 
And friends long loved by thee and me, 

Since then have dropp'd away ; — 
But enough remain to cheer us on. 

And sweeten, when thus we're met. 
The glass we fill to the many gone. 

And the few who're left us yet. 

Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow. 

And some hang white and chill ; 
While some, like flow'rs 'mid Autumn's snoWi 

Retain youth's color stUl. 
And so, in our hearts, though one by one, 

Youth's sunny hopes have set, 
Thank heav'n, not all their light is gone — 

We've some to cheer us yet. 

Then here's to thee, old friend, and long 

May thou and I thus meet, 
To brighten still with wine and song 

This short life, ere it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on, 

Let's never, old friend, forget, 
Ev'n while we sigh o'er blessings gone. 

How many are left us yet. 



DREAMING FOREVER. 

Dreaming forever, vainly dreaming. 

Life to the last pursues its flight ; 
Day hath its visions fairly beaming. 

But false as those of night. 
The one illusion, the other real. 

But both the same brief dreams at last; 
And when we grasp the bliss ideal. 

Soon as it shines, 'tis past. 

Here, then, by this dim lake reposing. 
Calmly I'll watch, while light and gloom 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Flit o'er its face till night is closing — 

Emblem of life's short doom ! 
But though, by turns, thus dark and shining 

'Tis still unlike man's changeful day, 
Whose light returns not, once declining, 

Whose cloud, once come, will stay. 



THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG 
I SING. 

A SoNo OF THE Alps. 

Though lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, 
Though like the lark's its soaring music be, 
Thou'lt find ev'n here some mournful note that 

tells 
How near such April joy to weeping dwells. 
'Tis 'mong the gayest scenes that oft'nest steal 
Those saddening thoughts we fear, yet love to 

feel; 
And music never half so sweet appears, 
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. 

Then say not thou this Alpine song is gay — 
It comes from hearts that, like their mountain 

lay, 
Mix joy Avith pain, and oft when pleasure's breath 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad beneath. 
The very beam in which the snow wreath 

wears 
Its gayest smile is that which wins its tears, — 



And passion's pow'r can never lend the glow 
Which wakens bhss, without some touch of woe. 



THE RUSSIAN LOVER. 

Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows 

Speed we to my lady's bow'r ; 
Swift our sledge as lightning goes. 

Nor shall stop till morning's hour. 
Bright, mj' steed, the northern star 

Lights us from yon jewell'd skies ; 
But, to greet us, brighter far, 

Morn shall bring my lady's eyes. 

Lovers, luU'd in sunny bow'rs, 

Sleeping out their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that's ours, 

In this snowy, icj' clime. 
Like yon star that livelier gleams 

From the frosty heavens around. 
Love himself the keener beams 

When with snows of coyness crown' d. 

Fleet then on, my merry steed, 

Bound, my sledge, o'er hill and dale ; - 
What can match a lover's speed ? 

See, 'tis daylight, breaking pale ! 
Brightly hath the northern star 

Lit us from yon radiant skies ; 
But, behold, how brighter far 

Yonder sliine my lady's eyes ! 



LALLA ROOKH. 



PREFACE 

TO THE SIXTH VOLUME. 

The Poem, or Romance, of Lalla Rookh, 
having now reached, I understand, its twentieth 
edition, a short account of the origin and prog- 
ress of a work which has been hitherto so very 
fortunate in its course, may not be deemed, per- 
haps, superfluous or misplaced. 

It was about the year 1812 that, far more 

through the encouraging suggestions of friends 

than from any confident promptings of my own 

a ibition, I conceived the design of writing a 

46 



Poem upon some Oriental subject, and of those 
quarto dimensions which Scott's successful pub- 
lications in that form had then rendered the 
regular poetical standard. A negotiation on 
the subject was opened with the Messrs. Long- 
man, in the same year ; but, from some causes 
which I cannot now recollect, led to no decisive 
result ; nor was it till a year or two after, that 
any further steps were taken in the matter, — 
their house being the only one, it is right to 
add, with which, from first to last, I held any 
communication upon the subject. 

On this last occasion, ilr. Perry kindly 
offered himself as my representative in the 



362 



LALLA ROOKH. 



treaty ; and, what with the friendlj' zeal of my 
negotiator on the one side, and the prompt 
and liberal spirit with which he was met on 
the other, there has seldom, I think, occurred 
any transaction in which Trade and Poesy have 
shone ont so advantageously in each other's 
eyes. The short discussion that then took place, 
between the two parties, may be comprised in a 
very few sentences. •' I am of opinion," said 
:Mr. Perry, — enforcing his view of the case by 
arguments which it is not for me to cite, — 
" that Mr. Moore ought to receive for his 
Poem the largest price that has been given, in 
our day, for such a work." " That was," an- 
swered the Messrs. Longman, " three thousand 
guineas." "Exactly so," replied Mr. Perry, 
•' And no less a sum ought he to receive." 

It was then objected, and very reasonably, 
on the part of the him, that they had never 
yet seen a single line of the Poem ; and that a 
perusal of the work ought to be allowed to 
them, before they embarked so large a sum in 
the purchase. But, no ; — the romantic view 
which my friend. Perry, took of the matter, 
was, that this price should be given as a tribute 
to reputation already acquired, without any 
condition for a previous perusal of the new 
work. This high tone, I must confess, not 
a little startled and alarmed me ; but, to the 
honor and glory of Romance, — as well on 
the publishers' side as the poet's, — this very 
generous view of the transaction was, without 
any difficulty, acceded to, and the firm agreed, 
before we separated, that I was to receive three 
thousand guineas for my Poem. 

At the time of this agreement, but little 
of the work, as it stands at present, had yet 
been written. But the ready confidence in 
my success shown by others, made up for 
the deficiency of that requisite feeling, within 
mj'self; while a strong desire not wholly to 
disappoint this " auguring hope," became al- 
most a substitute for inspiration. In the 
year 1815, therefore, having made some prog- 
ress in my task, I wrote to report the state 
of the work to the Messrs. Longman, adding, 
t-iat I was now most willing and ready, should 
they desire it, to submit the manuscript for 
tl.rir consideration. Their answer to this offer 
was as follows : — " We are certainly impatient 
for the perusal of the Poem ; but solely for our 
gratification. Your sentiments are always hon- 
orable." ' 

1 April 10, 1815. 



I continued to pursue my task for another 
year, being likewise occasionally occupied with 
the Irish Melodies, two or three numbers of 
which made their appeai'ance, during the period 
employed in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, 
in the year 1816, I found my work suffieitntly 
advanced to be placed in the hands of the pub- 
lishers. But the state of distress to which 
England was reduced, in that dismal year, by 
the exhausting effects of the series of wars 
she had just then concluded, and the general 
embarrassment of all classes both agricultural 
and commercial, rendered it a juncture the 
least favorable that could well be conceived 
for the first launch into print of so light and 
costly a venture as Lalla Rookh, Feeling con- 
scious, therefore, that, under such circum- 
stances, I should act but honestly in putting it 
in the power of the Messrs. Longman to recon- 
sider the terms of their engagement with me, — 
leaving them free to postpone, modify, or even, 
should such be their wish, relinquish it alto- 
gether, I wrote them a letter to that effect, and 
received the following answer : — " We shall 
be most happy in the pleasure of seeing you in 
February. We agree with you, indeed, that 
the times are most inauspicious for ' poetrj- and 
thousands ; ' but we believe that your poetry 
would do more than that of any other living 
poet at the present moment." " 

The length of time I employed in writing the 
few stories strung together in Lalla Rookh will 
appear, to some persons, much more than v.as 
necessary for the production of such easy and 
" light o' love " fictions. But, besides that I 
have been, at all times, a far more slow and 
painstaking workman than would ever be 
guessed, I fear, from the result, I felt that, in 
this instance, I had taken upon myself a more 
.than ordinary responsibility, from the immense 
stake risked by others on my chance of success. 
For a long time, therefore, after the agreement 
had been concluded, though generally at work 
with a view to this task, I made but very little 
real progress in it ; and I have still by me the 
beginnings of several stories, continued, some 
of them, to the length of three or four hun- 
dred lines, which, after in vain endeavoring to 
mould them into shape, I threw aside, like the 
tale of Cambuscan, " left half told." One of 
these stories, entitled the Peri's Daughter, 
was meant to relate the loves of a nymph of 
this aerial extraction with a youth of mortal 

! November 9, 1816. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



3C3 



race, the rightful Prince of Ormuz, who had 
been, from his infancy, brought up, in seclusion, 
on the banks of the Kiver Ainou, by an aged 
guardian named Mohassan. The story opens 
with the first meeting of these destined lovers, 
then in their childhood ; the Peri having 
wafted her daughter to this holy retreat, in a 
bright, enchanted boat, whose first appearance 
is thus described : — 



For, down the silvery tide afar, 
There came a boat, as swift and bright 

As sliines, in heav'n, some pilgrim star. 
That leaves its own high liome, at night, 
To shoot to distant shrines of light. 
" It comes, it conies," young Orian cries, 
And panting to Mohassan flies. 
Then, down upon the flowery grass 
Reclines to see the vision pass; 
With partly joy and partly fear. 
To find its wondrous light so near, 
And hiding oft his dazzled eyes 
Among the flowers on which he lies. 
***** 
Within the boat a baby slept. 
Like a young pearl within its shell ; 

While one, who seem'd of riper years. 

But not of earth, or earth-like spheres. 
Her watch beside the shimberer kept ; 
Gracefully waving, in her hand. 

The feathers of some holy bird, 

With which, from time to time, she stirr'd 
The fragrant air, and coolly fann'd 
The baby's brow, or brush'd away 

Tlie butterflies that, bright and blue 
As on the mountains of Malay, 

Around the sleeping infant flew. 
And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd 
Beside the bank, — the nymph has dropp'd 
Her golden anchor in the stream ; 



A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, 
of which the following forms a part : — 

My child she is but half divine. 
Her father sleeps in the Caspian water; 
Seaweeds twine 
His funeral shrine, 
But he lives again in the Peri's daughter. 
Fain would 1 fly from mortal sight 

To my own sweet bowers of Peristan ; 
But, there, the flowers are all too bright 

For the eyes of a baby born of man. 
On flowers of earth her feet must tread ; 
So hither my light-wing'd bark hath brought her; 
Stranger, spread 
Thy leafiest bed, 
To rest the wandering Peri's daughter. 

In another of these inchoate fragments, a 
proud female saint, named Banou, plays a prin- 
cipal part ; and her progress through the streets 



of Cufa, on the night of a great Ulun.inated 
festival, I find thus described : — 

It was a scene of mirth that drew 
A smile from ev'n the Saint Banou, 
As, through the hush'd, admiring throng. 
She went with stately steps along, 
And counted o'er, that all might see. 
The rubies of her rosary. 
But none might see the worldly smile 
That hirk'd beneath her veil, the while : — 
Alia forbid 1 for, who would wait 
Her blessing at the temple's gate, — 
What holy man would ever run 
To kiss the ground she knelt upon, 
If once, by luckless chance, he knew 
She look'd and smil'd as others do. 
Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist 
By threads of pearl and golden twist 
Hung relics of the saints of yore. 
And scraps of talismanic lore, — 
Charms for the old, the sick, the frail. 
Some made for use, and all for sale 
On either side, the crowd withdrew, 
To let the Saint pass proudly through ; 
While turban'd heads, of every hue. 
Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around. 
And gay tiaras touch'd the ground, — 
As tulip bells, when o'er their beds 
Tlie musk wind passes, bend their heads. 
Nay, some there were, among the crowd 
Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, 
So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught 
Of Shiraz wine profanely quaft^'d. 
That, sinking low in reverence then. 
They never rose till morn again. 

There are yet two more of these unfini.shod 
sketches, one of which extends to a much 
greater length than I was aware of; and, as for 
as I can judge from a hasty renewal of my 
acquaintance with it, is not incapable of being 
yet turned to account. 

In only one of these unfinished sketches, the 
tale of The Peri's Daughter, had I yet ventured 
to invoke that most homefelt of all my inspira. 
tions, which has lent to the story of The Fire 
Worshippers its main attraction and interest. 
That it was my intention, in the concealed 
Prince of Ormuz, to shadow out some imper- 
sonation of this feeling, I take for granted from 
the prophetic words supposed to be addressed 
to him by his aged guardian : — 

Bright child of destiny ! even now 
I read the promise on that brow. 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The glories of the Green Sea Isle, 
But Ormuz shall again be free. 
And hail her native Lord in thee! 

In none of the other fragments do I find any 
trace of this sort of feeling, either in the sub- 



364 



LA.LLA ROOKH. 



jcit or the personages of the intended story ; 
and this was the reason, doubtless, though 
hardly known, at the time, to myself, that, find- 
ing my subjects so slow in kindling my own 
sympathies, I began to despair of their ever 
touching the hearts of others ; and felt often 
inclined to say, 

" O no, I have no voice or hand 
for such a song, in such a land." 

Had this series of disheartening experiments 
been carried on much further, I must have 
thrown aside the work in despair. But, at last, 
fortunately, as it proved, the thought occurred 
to me of founding a story on the fierce struggle 
so long maintained between the Ghebers,' or 
ancient Fire Worshippers of Persia, and their 
haughty Moslem masters. From that moment, 
a new and deep interest in my whole task took 
possession of me. The cause of tolerance was 
again my inspiring theme ; and the spirit that 
had spoken in the melodies of Ireland soon 
found itself at home in the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of the 
workshop to account for the time expended in 
wrltiiuj this work, I must also, in justice to my 
own industry, notice the pains I took in long 
and laboriously reading for it. To form a store- 
house, as it were, of illustration purely Oriental, 
and so familiarize myself Avith its various treas- 
ures, that, as quick as Fancy required the aid 
of fact, in her spiritings, the memory was ready, 
like another Ariel, at her "strong bidding," to 
furnish materials for the spell- work, — such 
was, for a long while, the sole object of my 
studies ; and whatever time and trouble this 
preparatory process may have cost me, the ef- 
fects resulting from it, as far as the humble 
merit of truthfulness is concerned, have been 
such as to repay me more than sufficiently for 
my pains. I have not forgotten how great was 
mj' pleasure, when told by the late Sir James 
Mackintosh, that he was once asked by Colonel 
"\V s, the historian of British India, " wheth- 
er it was true that Moore had never been in 
the East?" "Never," answered Mackintosh. 

•< Well, that shows me," replied Colonel W s, 

•< that reading over D'llerbelot is as good as 
riding on the back of a camel." 

I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech. 



1 Voltaire, in his tragedy of" Les Guebres," written with 
a similar undercurrent of meaning, was accused of having 
transformed Lis Fire Worshippers info Jansenists : — '« Q.uel- 
ques liguristes," he says, " pretendent que les Guebres sent 
les Jauacnialeo." 



that although D'Herbelot's valuable work was, 
of course, one of my manuals, I took the whole 
range of all such Oriental reading as was ac- 
cessible to me ; and became, for the time, indeed, 
far more conversant with all relating to that 
distant region, than I have ever been with the 
scenery, productions, or modes of life of any of 
those countries lying most w-ithin my reach. 
We know that D'AnviUe, though never in his 
life out of Paris, was able to correct a number 
of errors in a plan of the Troad taken by Do 
Choiseul, on the spot ; and, for my own very 
different, as well as far inferior, purposes, the 
knowledge I had thus acquired of distant local- 
ities, seen only by me in my daydreams, was 
no less ready and useful. 

An ample reward for all this painstaking has 
been found in such welcome tributes as I have 
just now cited ; nor can I deny myself the grat- 
ification of citing a few more of the same de- 
scription. From another distinguished author- 
ity on Eastern subjects, the late Sir John Mal- 
colm, I had myself the pleasure of hearing a 
similar opinion publicly expressed ; — that emi- 
nent person, in a speech spoken by him at a 
Literary Fund Dinner, having remarked, that 
together with those qualities of the poet which 
he much too partially assigned to me was com- 
bined also " the truth of the historian." 

Sir William Ouseley, another high authority, 
in giving his testimony to the same effect, thus 
notices an exception to the general accuracy for 
which he gives me credit : — " Dazzled by the 
beauties of this composition,'' few readers can 
perceive, and none surely can regret, that the 
poet, in his magnificent catastrophe, has for- 
gotten, or boldly and most happily violated, 
the precept of Zoroaster, above noticed, which 
held it impious to consume any portion of a 
human body by fire, especially by that which 
glowed upon their altars." Having long lost, I 
fear, most of my Eastern learning, I can only 
cite, in defence of my catastrophe, an old 
Oriental tradition, which relates, that Nimrod, 
when Abraham refused, at his command, to 
worship the fire, ordered him to be thrown 
into the midst of the flames.^ A precedent so 
ancient for this sort of use of the worshipped 
element, would appear, for all purposes at least 
of poetry, fully sufficient. 



2 The Fire Worshippers. 

3 Tradunt autern Hebrsei banc fabiilain quod Abraham in 
ignein missus sit quia ignem adorare noluir. — St. I1ieroi». 
in quast. in Oenesim. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



365 



In addition to these agreeable testimonies, I 
have also heard, and, need hardly add, with 
some jjride and pleasure, that parts of this work 
have been rendered into Persian, and have 
found their way to Ispahan. To this fact, as I 
am willing to think it, allusion is made in some 
lively verses, written many years since, by my 
♦Viend, Mr. LuttreU : — 

" I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, 
(Can it be true, you lucky man ?) 
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue. 
Along the streets of Ispahan." 

That some knowledge of the work may have 
really reached that region, appears not improba- 
ble from a passage in the Travels of Mr. Frazer, 
who says, that " being delayed for some time at 
a town on the shores of the Caspian, he was 
lucky enough to be able to amuse himself with 
a copy of Lalla Rookh, which a Persian had 
lent him." 

Of the description of Balbec, in " Paradise 
and the Peri," Mr. Carne, in his Letters from 
the East, thus speaks : " The description in 
Lalla Rookh of the plain and its ruins is ex- 
quisitely faithful. The minaret is on the de- 
clivity near at hand, and there wanted only the 
muezzin's cry to break the silence." 

I shall now tax mj' readers' patience with but 
one more of these generous vouchers. What- 
ever of vanity there may be in citing such 
tributes, they show, at least, of what great 
value, even in poetry, is that prosaic quality, in- 
dustry ; since, as the reader of the foregoing 
pages is now fully apprised, it was in a slow 
and laborious collection of small facts, that the 
first foundations of this fanciful Romance were 
laid. 

The friendly testimony I have just referred 
to, appeared, some years since, in the form in 
which I now give it, and, if I recollect right, in 
the Athenaeum : — 

" I embrace this opportunity of bearing my 
mdividual testimony (if it be of any value) to 
the extraordinary accuracy of Mr. Moore, in 
his topographical, antiquarian, and characteris- 
tic details, whether of costume, manners, or 
less changing monuments, both in his Lalla 
Rookh and in the Epicurean. It has been my 
fortune to read his Atlantic, Bermudean, and 
A.merican Odes and Epistles, in the countries 
and among the people to which and to whom 

1 Lalla Roijkh, Divertissement mele de Chants et de 
Danses, Berlin, 1822. The work contains a series of colored 



they related; I enjoyed also the exquisite 
delight of reading his Lalla Rookh, in Persia 
itself : and I have perused the Epicurean, while 
all my recollections of Egypt and its still exist- 
ing wonders are as fresh as when I quitted the 
banks of the Nile for Arabia : — I owe it, there- 
fore, as a debt of gratitude (though the payment 
is most inadequate), for the great pleasure I 
have derived from his productions, to bear my 
humble testimony to their local fidelity. 

"J. S. B." 

Among the incidents connected with this 
work, I must not omit to notice the splendid 
Divertissement, founded upon it, which was 
acted at the Chdteau Royal of Berlin, during 
the visit of the Grand Duke Nicholas to that 
capital, in the year 1822. The diff'erent stories 
composing the work were represented in Ta- 
bleaux Vivans and songs ; and among the 
crowd of royal and noble personages engaged 
in the performances, I shall mention those only 
who represented the principal characters, and 
whom I find thus enumerated in the published 
account of the Divertissement.' 



Comte Haack, (Marcchal 

de Cour). 
S. A. I. Le. Grand Due. 
S. A. I. La Orandc Dacli- 
es.se. 

( S. A. R. Le Prince Giiil- 
Aurungzeb, le Grand Mogol j ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^„;_ 

S. A. R. Le Due de Cum- 
berland. 
( S. A. R. La Prmccsse 
La Reine, son Spouse . | Louise Radzivill." 



" Fadladin, Grand Nasir, 
Aliris, Roi de Bucharie 
Lalla Roukh 



Abdallah, Pere d'Aliris 



Besides these and other leading personages, 
there were also brought into action, under the 
various denominations of Seigneurs et Dames 
de Bucharie, Dames de Cachemire, Seigneurs e*- 
Dames dansans k la Fete des Roses, &c. nearly 
150 persons. 

Of the manner and style in which the Ta- 
bleaux of the diff'erent stories are described in 
the work from which I cite, the following 
account of the performance of Paradise and 
the Peri wiU afford some specimen : — 

« La d6coration representoit les portes bril- 
lantes du Paradis, entourees de nuages. Dans 
le premier tableau on voyoit la Peri, triste et 
desolee, couchee sur le seuil des portes fermees, 
et I'Ange de lumiere qui lui addresse des con- 
solations et des conseils. Le second represente 



engravings, representing groups, processions, &c., in differ 
ent Oriental costumes. 



366 



LALIA ROOKH. 



le moment, oil la Peri, dans I'cspoir que ce don 
lui ouvrira 1' entree du Paradis recueille la der- 
nicre goutte de sang que vient de verser le 
jeune guerrier Indien 

" La Peri et I'Ange de lumiere rfepondoient 
pleinement a I'image et a I'idce qu'on est tente 
Je se faire de ces deux individus, et I'impression 
qu'a faite generalement la suite des tableaux 
dc cet episode delicat et int6ressant est loin de 
s'effacer de notre souvenir." 

In this grand Fete, it appears, originated the 
translation of Lalla Rookh into German verse, 
by the Baron de la Motte Fouque ; and the cir- 
cumstances which led him to undertake the 
task, are described by himself, in a Dedicatory 
Poem to the Empress of Russia, which he has 
prefixed to his translation. As soon as the per- 
formance, he tells us, had ended, Lalla Rookh 
(the Empress herself) exclaimed, with a sigh, 
«' Is it, then, all over r are we now at the close 
of all that has given us so much delight ? and 
lives there no poet who will impart to others, 
and to future times, some notion of the happi- 
ness we have enjoyed this evening ? " On hear- 
ing this appeal, a Knight of Cashmere (who is 
no other than the poetical Baron himself) comes 
forward and promises to attempt to present to 
the world " the Poem itself in the measure of 
the original : *' — whereupon Lalla Rookh, it is 
odded, approvingly smiled. 



SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 
THIS EASTERN KOMANCE 

18 INSCRIBED BY HIS VEHY GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE 



May 19, 1817. 



THOMAS MOORE. 



In the eleventh year of the reign of Aurung- 
zebe, Abdalla, King of the Lesser Bucharia, a 
lineal descendant from the Great Zingis, having 
abdicated the throne in favor of his son, set out 
on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Prophet ; 
and, passing into India through the delightful 

1 These particulars of the visit of the King of Bucharia to 
Aiiruniizcbe are found In Dow' n -History of Hiiiilodtan, vo\. 
iii. p. 392. " Tulip clieek. 

3 Tlie mistress of Mejnoun, upon vvliose story so many 
Romances in all the languages of the East are foundeei. 

4 Fur the loves ol tliis celebnUcd beauty with Kliosrou 



valley of Cashmere, rested for a short time at 
Delhi on his way. He was entertained bj' Au- 
rungzebe in a style of magnificent lospitality, 
worthy alike of the visitor and the host, and 
was afterwards escorted with the same splen- 
dor to Surat, where he embarked for Arabia.' I 
During the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at Delhi, I 
a marriage was agreed upon between the Prince, i 
his son, and the youngest daughter of the Em- 
peror, Lalla Rookh ; * — a Princess described I 
by the poets of her time as more beautiful than ! 
Leila,* Shirine,'' Dew'ilde,^ or any of those her- i 
oines whose names and loves embellish the j 
songs of Persia and Ilindostan. It was in- I 
tended that the nuptials should be celebrated ■ 
at Cashmere ; where the young King, as soon 
as the cares of empire would permit, was ti 
meet, for the first time, his lovely bride, and, 
after a few months' repose in that enchanting 
valley, conduct her over the snowy hills into 
Bucharia. 

The day of Lalla Rookh's departure from 
Delhi was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry 
could make it. The bazaars and baths were all 
covered with the richest tapestry ; hundreds of 
gilded barges upon the Jumna floated with their 
banners shining in the M'ater ; while through the 
streets groups of beautiful children went strew- 
ing the most delicious flowers around, as in that 
Persian festival called the Scattering of the 
Roses ; * till every part of the city was as fra- 
grant as if a caravan of musk from Khoten had 
passed through it. The Princess, having taken 
leave of her kind father, who at parting hung a 
carnclian of Yemen round her neck, on which 
was inscribed a verse from the Koran, and hav- 
ing sent a considerable present to the Fakirs, 
who kept up the Perpetual Lamp in her sister's 
tomb, meekly ascended the palanquin prepared 
for her ; and, while Aurungzebe stood to take 
a last look from his balcony, the procession 
moved slowly on the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a caval- 
cade so superb. From the gardens in the sub- 
urbs to the Imperial palace, it was one unbroken 
line of splendor. The gallant appearance of the 
Rajahs and Mogul Lords, distinguished by those 

and with Ferhad, see D'Hcrbclot, Gibbon, Oriental Collec- 
tions, lS;c. 

5 " The history of the loves of Devvild^ and Cliizer, th« 
son of the Emperor Alia, is written in an elegant poem, by 
the noble Clmsero." — Ferishla. 

Gul Reazee. 



LALLA ROOIvH. 



3G7 



insignia of the Emperor's favor,' the feathers of 
the egret of Cashmere in their turbans, and the 
small silver-rimmed kettledrums at the bows 
of their saddles; — the costly armor of their 
cavaliers, who vied, on this occasion, with the 
guards of the great Koder Khan," in the bright- 
ness of their silver battle axes and the massi- 
ness of their maces of gold; — the glittering of 
the gilt inne apples ^ on the tops of the palan- 
quins; — the embroidered trappings of the ele- 
phants, bearing on their backs small turrets, in 
the shape of little antique temples, within which 
the Ladies of Lalla Rookh lay as it were en- 
shrined ; — the rose-colored veils of the Princess's 
own sumptuous litter,'' at the front of which a 
fair young female slave sat fanning her through 
the curtains, with feathers of the Argus pheas- 
ant's Ming ; * — and the lovely troop of Tartarian 
and Cashmcrian maids of honor, whom the 
young King had sent to accompany his bride, 
and who rode on each side of the litter, upon 
small Arabian horses ; — all was brilliant, taste- 
ful, and magnificent, and pleased even the crit- 
ical and fastidious Fadladeen, Great Nazir or 
C'hnmberlain of the Harem, who was borne in 
his palanquin immediately after the Princess, 
and considered himself not the least important 
personage of the pageant. 

1 " One mark of honor or knighthood bestowed by the 
Em;)oror is the permission to wear a small kettledrum at tlie 
bows (if their saddles, which at first was invented for the 
tniiiiin;; of hawks, and to call them to the lure, and is 
wiini In the field by all sportsmen to that end." — Fryer's 

" Those on whom the King has conferred the privilege 
mi!st wear an ornament of jewels on the right side of the 
turlian, surmounted by a high plume of the feathers of a 
kind of egret. This bird is found only in Cashmere, and 
the feathers are carefully collected for the King, who be- 
stows them on his nobles." — E phin^tone's Account of Cau- 
bul. 

- " Khedar Khan, the Khakan, or King of Turquestan be- 
yond the Gihon (at tlie end of the eleventh century), when- 
ever lie appeared abroad was preceded by seven hundred 
horsemen with silver battle axes, and was followed by an 
equal number bearing maces of gold. He was a great pa- 
tron of poetry, and it was he who used to preside at public 
exercises of genius, with four basins of gold and silver by 
iiim to distribute among the poets who excelled." — iJicA- 
anhioii's Dissertation prefixed to his Dictionary. 

3 " The kubdeh, a large golden knob, generally in the 
shape of a pine apple, on the top of the canopy over the litter 
or palanquin." — Scott's Notes on the Bahardanush. 

* In the Poem of Zoliuir, in the Moallakat, there is the 
following lively description of "a company of maidens seat- 
ed on camels." 

" They are mounted in carriages covered with costly 
awnings, and with rose-colored veils, the linings of which 
have tlie hue of crimson Andem wood. 

" Wiieii they a-sr-iid from the bosom of the vale, they sit 



Fadladeen was a judge of every thing, 
from the pencilling of a Circassian's eyelids to 
the deepest questions of science and literature ; 
from the mixture of a conserve of rose leaves to 
the composition of an epic poem : and such in- 
fluence had his opinion upon the various *astc< 
of the day, that all the cooks and poets of Delhi 
stood in awe of him. His political conduct and 
opinions were founded upon that line of Sadi, — 
" Should the Prince at noonday say, It is night, 
declare that you behold the moon and stars." ^ 
And his zeal for religion, of which Aurungzebo 
was a munificent protector,® was about as disin- 
terested as that of the goldsmith who fell in love 
with the diamond eyes of the idol of Jaghernaut.' 

During the first days of their journey, Lalla 
Rookh, who had passed all her life within the 
shadow of the Royal Gardens of Delhi,* found 
enough in the beauty of the scenery through 
which they passed to interest her mind, and de- 
light her imagination ; and when at evening, or 
in the heat of the day, they turned off from the 
high road to those retired and romantic places 
which had been selected for her encampments, 

— sometimes on the banks of a small rivulet, 
as clear as the waters of the Lake of Pearl ; * 
sometimes under the sacred shade of a Banyap 

forward on the saddlecloth, with every mark of a voluptu 
ous gayety. 

" Now, when they have reached the brink of yon hliie- 
gusliing rivulet, they fix the poles of their tents like the 
Arab with a settled mansion." 

6 See Bemier's description of the attendants on Raucha 
nara-Begum, in her progress to Cashmere. 

This hypocritical Emperor would have made a worthy 
associate of certain Holy Leagues. — " He held the cloak 
of religion (says Dow) between his actions and the vulgar; 
and impiously thanked the Divinity for a success which he 
owed to his own wickedness. When he was murdering 
and persecuting his brothers and their families, he was 
building a magnificent mosque at Delhi, as an offering to 
God for his assistance to him in the civil wars. He acted 
as high priest at the consecration of this temple ; and made 
a practice of attending divine service there, in the humble 
dress of a Fakir. But when he lifted one hand to the Di- 
vinity, he, with the other, signed warrants for the assassina- 
tion of his relations." — History of Hindostan, vol. iii. p. 335 
See also the curious letter of Aurungzebe, given in the Ori- 
tJital Cifllectiiins, vid. i. p. 320. 

7 " The idol at Jaghernat has two fine diamonds for eyes. 
No goldsmith is suffered to enter the Pagoda, one having 
stole one of these eyes, being locked up all night with the 
Idol." — Tavernicr. 

8 See a description of these royal Gardens in " An Ac- 
count of the present State of Delhi, by Lieut. W. Franklin." 

— ^si t. Research, vol. iv. p. 417. 

" In the neighborhood is Notte Gill, or the Lake o 
Pearl, which receives this name from its pellucid water " 
Pamanfs Hindostan. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



tree, from which the view opened upon a glade 
covered with antelopes ; and often in those hid- 
den, embowered spots, described by one from 
the Isles of the West,'- as " places of melan- 
choly, delight, and safety, where all the company 
around was wild peacocks and turtle doves ; " 
— she felt a charm in these scenes, so lovely 
and so new to her, which, for a time, made her 
Indifferent to every other amusement. But 
Lalla Rookh was young, and the young love 
variety ; nor could the conversation of her La- 
dies and the Great Chamberlain, Fadladeen, 
(the only persons, of course, admitted to her 
pavilion,) sufficiently enliven those many va- 
cant hours, which were devoted neither to the 
pillow nor the palanquin. There was a little 
Persian slave who sung sweetly to the Vina, 
and who, now and then, lulled the Princess to 
sleep with the ancient ditties of her country, 
about the loves of Wamak and Ezra,^ the fair- 
haired Zal and his mistress Rodahver ; ' not for- 
getting the combat of Rustam with the terrible 
White Demon.'' At other times she was amused 
by those graceful dancing girls of Delhi, who 
had been permitted by the Bramins of the Great 
Pagoda to .attend her, much to the horror of 
the good Mussulman Fadladeex, who could 
see nothing graceful or agreeable in idolaters, 
and to whom the very tinkling of their golden 
anklets * was an abomination. 

But these and many other diversions were 
repeated till they lost all their charm, and the 
nights and noondays were beginning to move 



" Nasir Jung encamped in the vicinity of the Lake of 
Tonoor, amused himself with sailing on that clear and 
beautiful water, and gave it the fanciful name of Motee Ta- 
lah, 'the Lake of Pearls,' which it still retains." — Wi/^s's 
South of India. 

1 Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador from James I. to Jehan- 
giiire. 

2 " The romance Weniakweazra, written in Persian 
verse, which contains the loves of Wamak and Ezra, two 
celebrated lovers who lived before the time of Mahomet." — 
jV',7fe on the Oriental Tales. 

3 Their amour is recounted in the Shah-Nameh of Fer- 
4iousi ; and there is much beauty in the passage which de- 
scribes the slaves of Rodaliver sitting on the bank of the 
river and throwing flowers into the stream, in order to draw 
the attention of the young Hero who is encamped on the 
opposite side. — See Champion^s translation. 

4 Rustam is the Hercules of the Persians. For the partic- 
ulars of his victory over the Sepeed Deeve, or Wliite De- 
mon, see Oriental Collections, vol. ii. p. 45. — Near the city 
of Shirauz is an immense quadrangular monument, in com- 
memoration of this combat, called the Kelaat-i-Deev Sepeed, 
or castle of the White Giant, which Father Angelo, in hia 
Gazopliilacium Fersicum, p. 127, declares to have been the 



heavily, when, at length, it was recollected thati 
among the attendants sent by the bridegroom, 
was a young poet of Cashmere, much celebrated 
throughout the Valley for his manner of recit- 
ing the Stories of the East, on whom his Royal 
Master had conferred the privilege of being ad- 
mitted to the pavilion of the Princess, that he 
might help to beguile the tediousness of the 
journey by some of his most agreeable recitals. 
At the mention of a poet, Fadladeen elevated 
his critical eyebrows, and, having refreshed his 
faculties with a dose of that delicious opium • 
which is distilled from the black poppy of the 
Thebais, gave orders for the minstrel to be forth- 
with introduced into the presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life seen 
a poet from behind the screens of gauze in her 
Father's hall, and had conceived from that speci- 
men no very favorable ideas of the Caste, ex- 
pected but little in this new exhibition to inter- 
est her ; — she felt inclined, however, to alter 
her opinion on the very first appearance of Fer- 
AMORZ. He was a youth about Lalla Rookh's 
own age, and graceful as that idol of women, 
Crishna,' — such as he appears to their young 
imaginations, heroic, beautiful, breathing music 
from his very eyes, and exalting the religion of 
his worshippers into love. His dress was sim- 
ple, yet not without some marks of costliness ; 
and the Ladies of the Princess were not long 
in discovering that the cloth, which encircled 
his high Tartarian cap, was of the most- deli- 
cate kind that the shawl goats of Tibet supply.' 



most memorable monument of antiquity which he had seen 
in Persia. — See Ouseley's Persian Miscellanies. 

6 •' The women of the Idol, or dancing girls of the Pago- 
da, have little golden bells, fastened to tlieir feet, the soft 
harmonious tinkling of which vibrates in unison with the 
exquisite melody of ttieir voices." — Maurice^- Indian An- 



" The Arabian courtesans, like the Indian women, have 
little golden bells fastened round their legs, neck, and el- 
bows, to the sound of which they dance before the King. 
The Arabian princesses wear golden rings on their Angers, 
to which little bells are suspended, as well as in the flowing 
tresses of their hair, that their superior rank may be known, 
and they themselves receive in passing the homage due to 
them." — See Calmet's Dictionary, art. Hells. 

6 " Abou-Tige, ville de la ThebaYde, ou il croit beaucoup 
de pavot noir, dont se fait le meilleur opium." — D'HerbeloU 

» The Indian Apollo. — "He and tlie tliree Rimas are 
described as youths of perfect beauty ; and the princesses 
of Hindustan were all passionately in love with Chrishna. 
who continues to this hour the darling God of the Indian 
women."— Sir JV. Jones, on the Gods of Greece, Italy, and 
India. 

8 See Turner's Embassy for a description of this animal 



LALLA ROOKH. 



369 



Here and there, too, over his vest, which was 
confined by a flowered girdle of Kashan, hung 
strings of fine pearl, disposed with an air of 
studied negligence ; — nor did the exquisite em- 
broidery of his sandals escape the observation 
of these fair critics ; who, however they might 
give Avay to Fadladeen upon the unimportant 
topics of religion and government, had the spirit 
of martyrs in every thing relating to such mo- 
mentous matters as jewels and embroidery. 

For the purpose of relieving the pauses of 
recitation by music, the young Cashmcrian held 
in his hand a kitar ; — such as, in old times, 
the Arab maids of the West used to listen to by 
moonlight in the gardens of the Alhambra — 
and, having premised, with much humility, 
that the story he was about to relate was 
founded on the adventures of that Veiled 
Prophet of Khorassan,' Avho, in the year of the 
Hegira 163, created such alarm throughout the 
Eastern Empire, made an obeisance to the Prin- 
cess, and thus began : — 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORAS- 

SAN.« 

In that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 
Where all the loveliest children of his beam, 
Flow'rets and fruits, blush over every stream,^ 
And, fairest of all streams, the Murga roves 
Among Merou's * bright palaces and groves ", — 
There on that throne, to which the blind belief 
Of millions rais'd him, sat the Prophet Chief, 
The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung 
The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 

" the most beautiful among the whole tribe of goats." The 
material for the shawls (which is carried to Cashmere) is 
found next the skin. 

1 For the real history of this Impostor, whose original 
name was Hakem ben Hascheni, and who was called Mo- 
canna from the veil of silver gauze (or, as others say, gold- 
en) which he always wore, see D'Herbelot. 

- Khorassan signifies, in the old Persian language, Prov- 
mce or Region of the Sun. — Sir W. Jones. 

3 " The fruits of Meru are finer than those of any other 
place ; and one cannot see in any other city such palaces 
with groves, and streams, and gardens." — Ebn HaukaVa 
Geography. 

* One of the royal cities of Khorassan 

* Moses. 

6 " Ses disciples assuroient qu'il se couvroit le visage, 

pour ne pas eblouir ceux qui I'approchoient par I'eclat de 

Bon visage comme Moyse." — D'Herbelot. 

» Black was the color adopted by the Caliphs of the House 

f Abbas, in their garments, turbans, and standards. — " II 

47 



In mercy there to hide from mortal sight 

His dazzling orow, till man could bear its 

light. 
For, far less luminous, his votaries said. 
Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed 
O'er Moussa's* cheek,* when down the Mcunt 

he trod. 
All glowing from the presence of his God ! 

On either side, with ready hearts and hands, 
His chosen guard of bold Believers stands ; 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem theii 

swords. 
On points of faith, more eloquent than words ; 
And such their zeal, there's not a youth with 

brand 
Uplifted there, but, at the Chief's command, 
Would make his own devoted heart its sheath. 
And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a death ' 
In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night,'' 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white ; 
Their weapons various — some equipp'd, for 

speed. 
With javelins of the light Kathaian reed ;* 
Or bows of bufl'alo horn and shining quivers 
FiU'd with the sterns^ that bloom on Iran's 

rivers ; '" 
While some, for war's more terrible attacks. 
Wield the huge mace and ponderous battle 

axe; 
And as they wave aloft in morning's beam 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, thoy 

seem 
Like a chenar-trec grove " when winter throws 
O'er all its tufted heads his feathering snows. 

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 
The rich moresque work of the roof of gold, 

faut remarquer ici touchant les habits blancs dcs disciples 
de Hakem, que la couleur des habits, des coitTures et des 
etendarts des Khalifes Abassides 6tant la noire, ce chef de 
Rebelles ne pouvoit pas choisir line qui lui fut plus oppo- 
see." — D'Herbelot. 

8 " Our dark javelins, exquisitely wrought of Khathaian 
reeds, slender and delicate." — Poem ofAmru. 

9 Pichula, used anciently for arrows by the Persians. 

10 The Persians call this plant Gaz. The celebrated shaft 
of Isfendiar, one of their ancient heroes, was made of it. — 
" Nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of this 
plant in flower during the rains on the banks of rivers, 
where it is usually interwoven with a lovely twining as- 
clepias." — Sir W.Jones, Botanical Observations on Seleet 
Indian Plants. 

u The oriental plane. " The chenar is a delightful tree ; 
its boll is of a fine white and smooth bark ; and its foliage, 
which grows in a tuft at tb--; summit, is of a bright green." 
— Morier's Travels. 



S70 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Aloft the Harem's curtain'd galleries rise. 
Where through the silken network, glancing 

eyes. 
From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow 
Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp 

below. — 
"What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would 

dare 
To hint that aught but Heav'n hath plac'd you 

there ? 
Or that the loves of this light world could bind. 
In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring 

mind ? 
No — wrongful thought! — commission'd from 

above 
To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love, 
(Creatures so bright, that the same lips and 

eyes 
Thej' wear on earth will serve in Paradise,) 
There to recline among Heav'n's native maids, 
And crown th' Elect with bliss that never 

fades — 
Well hath the Prophet Chief his bidding done ; 
And every beauteous race beneath the sun, 
From those who kneel at Brahma's burning 

fount, ' 
To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's 

mounts ; 
From Persia's eyes of full and fawnlike ray, 
To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay ; - 
And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, 
And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles ; 
All, all are there ; — each Land its flower hath 

given, 
To form that fair young Nursery for Heaven I 

But why this pageant now ? this arm'd array ? 
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day 
With turban' d heads, of every hue and race, 
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 
Like tulip beds,^ of different shape and dyes. 
Bending beneath th' invisible West vrind's sighs ! 
What new-made mystery now, for Faith to 

sign, 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine. 
What dazzling mimicry of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this 

hour ? 



1 The burning fountains of Brahma near Chittogong, es- 
teemed as holy. — Turner. 

2 China. 

8 " The name of tulip is said to be of Turkish extraction, 
and given to tlie flower on account of its resembling a tur- 
fcan.-' — Bechwann's History of Inventions. 

* " The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round cloth bon- 



Not such the pigeant now, though not less 
proud ; 
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd, 
With silver bow, with belt of broider'd crape. 
And fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian shape,* 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
Like war's wild planet in a summer sky ; 
That youth to-day, — a proselyte, worth hordes 
Of cooler spirits and less practis'd swords, — 
Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 
The creed and standard of the heav'n-sent Chief. 

Though few his years, the West already knows 
Young Azim's fame ; — beyond th' Olympian 

snows 
Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelm'd in fight and captive to the Greek,' 
He linger'd there, till peace dissolved his 

chains ; — 
O, who could, ev'n in bondage, tread the plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
Kindling within him ? who, with heart and eyes, 
Could walk where Liberty had been, nor see 
The shining footprints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air, 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there ? 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd th' awakening spell; 
And now, returning to his own dear land. 
Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, 
Haunt the young heart, — proud views of 

humankind, 
Of men to Gods exalted and refin'd, — 
False views, like that horizon's fair deceit, 
Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas, to meetl 
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was rais'd 
To right the nations, and beheld, emblaz'd 
On the white flag Mokanna's host unfurl' d. 
Those words of sunshine, " Freedom to the 

World," 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd 
Th' inspiring summons ; every chosen blade 
That fought beneE.th that banner's sacred text 
Seem'd doubly edg'd, for this world and the 

next ; 
And ne'er did Fdth with her smooth bandage 

bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, 

net, shaped much after the Polish fashion, having a large 
fur border. They tie (heir kaftans about the middle with a 
girdle of a kind of silk crape, sieveral times round the body." 
— Account of Indepeniint Turtary, in Pinkerton's CuUeo- 
ion. 

& In the war of the Caliph Mahadi asainst the Empresn 
Irene, for an account of which vide Oihbon, vol. x. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



371 



In virtue's cause ; — never was soul inspir'd 
With livelier trust in what it most desir'd, 
Than his, th' enthusiast there, who kneeling, 

pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
Believes the form, to which he bends his knee, 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
This fettter'd world from every bond and 

stain. 
And bring its primal glories back again ! 

Low as 3'oung Azim knelt, that motley crowd 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
With shouts of "Alla!" echoing long and 

loud ; 
AVhile high in air, above the Prophet's head. 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
Wav'd, like the wings of the white birds that 

fan 
The flying throne of star-taught Soliman.* 
Then thus he spoke : — " Stranger, though new 

the frame 
" Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame 
" For many an age,' in every chance and change 
" Of that existence, through whose varied 

range, — 
" As through a torch race, where, from hand to 

hand 
" The flying youths transmit their shining brand, 
" From frame to frame the unextinguish'd soul 
*' Ilapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

"Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm' d 
•' With duskier fire and for earth's medium 

form'd, 
♦'That run this course; — Beings, the most 

divine, 
' Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
'« Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt, 
•' To which all Heav'n, except the Proud One, 
knelt : ' 

1 This wonderful Throne was called The Star of the Ge- 
nii. For a full description of it, see the Fragment, translated 
by Captain Franklin, from a Per^fian MS. entitled " The 
History of Jerusalem," Oriental ddlections, vol. i. p. 235.— 
Wl.en Soliman travelled, the eastern writers say, " He had 
a carpet of green silk on which his throne was placed, being 
of a prodigious length and breadth, and sufficient for all his 
forces to stand upon, the men placing themselves on his 
right hand, and the spirits on his left ; and that when all 
were in order, the wind, at his command, took up the car- 
pet, and transported it, with all that were upon it, wherever 
he pleased ; the army of birds at the same time flying over 
their heads, and forming a kind of canopy to shade them 
from the sun."— Sa/e's Koran, vol. ii. p. 214, note. 

* The transmigration of souls was one of his doctrines. — 
»ride UHerbdoU 



" Such the refin'd Intelligence that glow'd 
"In Moussa's* frame, — and, thence descend" 

ing, flow'd 
" Through many a Prophet's breast ; * — in Issj> ' 

shone, 
" And in Mohammed burn'd ; till, hastening 

on, 
" (As a bright river that, from fall to fall 
" In many a maze descending, bright through 

aU, 
" Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth 

pass'd, 
" In one full lake of light it rests at last) 
" That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free 
" From lapse or shadow, centers all in me ! " 

Again, throughout th' assembly at these words. 
Thousands of voices rung : the warrior's swords 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden wind 
In th' open banners play'd, and from behind 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen 
The Hai'em's loveliness, white hands were seen 
Waving embroider'd scarfs, whose motion gave 
A perfume forth — like those the Houris wave 
When beck'ning to their bowers th' immortal 
Brave. 

" But these," pursued the Chief, " are truths 

sublime, 
" That claim a holier mood and calmer time 
" Than earth allows us now ; — this swora must 

first 
" The darkling prison house of Mankind burst, 
" Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in 
" Her wakening daylight on a world of sin. 
" But then, — celestial warriors, then, when all 
" Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner 

fall; 
" When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay 

down 
" His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, 

3 " .\nd when we said unto the angels. Worship Adam, 
tliey all worshipped him except Eblis (Lucifer), who re- 
fused." — The Koran, chap. ii. 

4 Moses. 

6 This is according to D'Herbelot's account of the doc- 
trines of Mokanna: — " Sa doctrine etoit, que Dieu avoit 
pris une forme et figure humaine, depuis qu'il eut com- 
mande aux Anges d'adorer Adam, le premier des hnmmes. 
du'apres la mort d'Adam, Dieu etoit apparu sous la figure 
de plusieurs Prophetes, et autres grands hommes qu'il avoij 
choisis, jusqu'i ce qu'il prit celle d'Abu Moslem, Prince ae 
Khorassan, lequel professoit I'erreur de la Tenassukhiah ov 
Metenipschychose ; et qu'apr^s la niort de ce Prince, la Di 
vinite etoit pass6e, et descendue en sa personne." 

• Jesus. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



'« The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, 
" And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 
" Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze 
•' That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; — 
"Then shall the reign of mind commence on 

earth, 
" And starting fresh as from a second birth, 
" Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, 
'< Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing ! 
"Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow 
" Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendors now, 
" And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide 

expanse, 
«* Bask in the glories of this countenance ! 

'• For thee, young warrior, welcome ! — thou 

hast yet 
" Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget, 
"Ere the white war plume o'er tliy brow can 

wave ; — 
" But, once my own, mine all till in the grave ! " 

The pomp is at an end — the crowds are 

gone — 
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
Of that deep voice, which thrUl'd like Alla's 

own ! 
The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, 
The glittering throne, and Harem's half-caught 

glances ; 
The Old deep pondering on the promis'd reign 
Of peace and truth ; and all the female train 
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze ! 

But there was one, among the chosen maids. 
Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 
One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day 
Has been like death : — you saw her pale dismay, 
Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst 
Of exclamation from her lips, when first 
She saw that youth, too well, too dearlj' known. 
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

Ah Zelica ! there was a time, when bliss 
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his ; 
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer ; 
When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. 
Too happy days ! when, if he touch'd a flower 
Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour ; 



When thou didst study him till every tone 
And gesture and dear look became thy own, — 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace. 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
With twice th' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
Yet now he comes, — brighter than even he 
E'er beam'd before, — but, ah! not bright for 

thee ; 
No — dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, 
Long lost to all but memory's aching sight : — 
Sad dreams ! as when the Spirit of our Youth 
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
Li mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
Of our young life, and points out every ray 
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way ! 

Once happy pair ! — In proud Bokhara s 

groves. 
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? 
Born by that ancient Hood,' which from its 

spring 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich' d by every pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics, from Bucharia's ruby mines, 
And, lending to the Caspian half its strength, 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length ; — 
There, on the banks of that bright river born. 
The flowers, that hung above its wave at morn, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they raurmur'd by, 
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
And virgin glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd ! 
But war disturb'd this vision, — far away 
From her fond eyes summon'd to join th' array 
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
The youth exchang'd his sylvan dwelling-place 
For the rude tent and war field's deathful clash ! 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian wildfire, and Love's gentle chains 
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roU 
Their suns away — but, ah, how cold and dim 
Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld with him ! 
From time to time ill-omen'd rumors came, 
Like spirit tongues, mutt'ring the sick man's 



1 The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark two branches ; one of which falls into the Caspian sea, an(' 
Mountains, and running liearly from east to west, splits into the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



373 



Jii.st ere he dies : — at length those sounds of 

dread 
Fell -withering on her soul, " Azim is dead ! " 
Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For Avhich it lov'd to live or fear'd to die ; — 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
Since the sad day its master chord was broken ! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
Ev'n reason sunk, — blighted beneath its touch ; 
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit 

rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes. 
Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate 

chain 
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft, as in youth's happiest day, 
The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray ; — 
A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one ! 
Again she srail'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd, 
But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, •wild ; 
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain. 
The bulbul ' utters, ere her soul depart, 
"When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful 

art. 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke 

her heart ! 

.Such was the mood in which that mission 

found 
Young Zelica, — that mission which around 
The Eastern world, in every region blest 
"With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, 
To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes 
AVhich the Veil'd Prophet destin'd for the 

skies : — 
And such quick welcome as a spark receives 
Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wither'd leaves. 
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 
In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. 
AU fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught ; 
Elect of Paradise ! blest, rapturous thought ! 
Predestin'd bridp, in heaven's eternal dome. 
Of some brave youth — ha ! durst they say 

" of some ? " 
No — of the on*, one only object trac'd 
III her heart's oore too deep to be effac'd ; 
The onfi wiiose memory, fresh as life, is twin'd 
With pverv broken hnk of her lost mind ; 

1 The nightingale. 



AVhose image lives, though Reason's self be 

wreck'd. 
Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect ! 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy, which hold thy mind in thrall. 
To see in that gay Harem's glowing maids 
A sainted colony for Eden's shades ; 
Or dream that he, — of whose unholy flamp 
Thou wert too soon the victim, — shining came 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd 

here ! 
No — had not reason's light totally set. 
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart. 
Which would have sav'd thee from the tempt- 
er's art, 
And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath. 
That purity, whose fading is love's death ! — 
But lost, inflam'd, — a restless zeal took place 
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ; 
First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly first 
In zeal and charms, — too well th' Impostor 

nurs'd 
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame, 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame, 
He saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, 
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twin'd. 
No art was spar'd, no witchery ; — all the skill 
His demons taught him was employ'd to fill 
Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns — 
That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer 

burns ; 
That ecstasy, which from the depth of sadness 
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is 
madness ! 

'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the 
sound 
Of poesy and music breath'd around. 
Together picturing to her mind and ear 
The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere, 
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay 
Upon the spirit's light should pass awaj-, 
And, realizing more than youthful love 
E'er wish'd or dreara'd, she should forever rove 
Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side. 
His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride ! — 
Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this. 
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss. 
To the dim charnel house ; — through all its 

steams 
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams 



374 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Which foul Corruption lights, as with design 
To show the gay and proud she too can shine — 
And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead, 
Which to the maiden, doubly craz'd by dread, 
Seem'd through the bluish death light round 

them cast, 
To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd — 
There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd 
And pledg'd in silence such a fearful draught, 
Such — O, the look and taste of that led bowl 
Will haunt her till she dies — he bound her soul 
By a dark oath, in heU's own language fram'd. 
Never, while earth his mystic presence claim' d, 
While the blue arch of day hung o'er them 

both, 
Never, by that all-imprecating oath. 
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever. — 
Slie swore, and the wide chnrnel echoed, " Never, 

never ! " 

From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given 
To him and — she believ'd, lost maid ! — to 

heaven ; 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd, 
How proud she stood, when in full Harem nam'd 
The Priestess of the Faith ! — how flash' d her 

eyes 
With light, alas, that was not of the skies, 
When round, in trances, only less than hers, 
iie saw the Harem kneel, her prostrate wor- 
shippers. 
Well might Mokanna think that form alone 
Had spells enough to make the world his own : — 
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play 
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray. 
When from its stem the small bird wings away : 
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smil'd, 
The soul was lost ; and blushes, swift and wild 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across th' uncalm, but beauteous firmament. 
And then her look — O, where's the heart so wise 
Could unbcwilder'd meet those matchless eyes ? 
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal. 
Like those of angels, just before their fall ; 
Now shadow'd with the shames of earth — now 

cross' d 
By glimpses of the Heav'n her heart had lost ; 
In every glance there broke, without control. 
The flashes of a bright, but troubled soul, 
Where sensibility still wildly play'd. 
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made ! 

And s>ich was now young Zelica — so 
chang'd 
From her who, some years since, delighted rang'd 



The almond groves that shade Bokhaka's tide. 
All life and bliss, with Azim by her side ! 
So alter'd was she now, this festal day. 
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, 
The vision of that Youth whom she had lov'd. 
Had wept as dead, before her breath'd and 

mov'd ; — 
When — bright, she thought, as if fi-om Eden'» 

track 
But half way trodden, he had wander'd back 
Again to earth, glistening with Eden's light — 
Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight. 

O Reason ! who shall say what spells renew. 
When least we look for it, thy broken clew ! 
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd 

brain 
Thy intellectual daydream bursts again ; 
And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win 
Unhop'd-for entrance through some friend 

within, 
One clear idea, wakened in the breast 
By memory's magic, lets in all the rest. 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee ! 
But though light came, it came but partially ; 
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense 
Wander'd about, — but not to guide it thence, 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave, 
But not to point the harbor which might save. 
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, 
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind; 
But, O, to think how deep her soul had gone 
In shame and falsehood since those moments 

shone ; 
And, then, her oath — tJiere madness lay again, 
And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light, whose every glimpse was agony ! 
Yet, one relief this glance of former years 
Brought, mingled with its pain, — tears, floods 

of tears, 
Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills 
Let loose in spring time from the snowy hills. 
And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost. 
Through valleys where their flow had long been 

lost. 

Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame 
Trembled with horror, when the summons came 
(A summons proud and rare, which all but she, 
And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy,) 
To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 
A garden oratory, cocl and fair. 
By the stream's side, Avhere still at close of day 
The Prophet of the Veil rctir'd to pray ; 



LALLA ROOKH. 



375 



Sometimes alone — but, oftener far, with one, 
One chosen nymph to share his orison. 

Of late none found such favor in his sight 
As the young Priestess ; and though, since that 

night 
When the death caverns echoed every tone 
Of the dire oath that made her all his own, 
Th' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize. 
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's dis- 
guise. 
And utter'd such unheav'nly, monstrous things. 
As ev'n across the desperate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out, 
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt ; — 
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, 
The thought, still haunting her, of that bright 

brow. 
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd. 
Would soon, proud triumph ! be to her reveal' d. 
To her alone ; — and then the hope, most dear. 
Most wild of aU, that her transgression here 
Was but a passage through earth's grosser 

fire. 
From which the spirit would at last aspire, 
Ev'n purer than before, — as perfumes rise 
Thi-ough flame and smoke, most welcome to the 

skies — 
And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 
Should circle her in heav'n, no darkening trace 
Would on that bosom he once lov'd remain, 
But all be bright, be pure, be his again ! — 
These were the wildering dreams, whose curs'd 

deceit 
Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet, 
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood 

sweet. 
But now that Shape, which had appall' d her 

view, 
That Semblance — O how terrible, if true ! 
Which came across her frenzy's full career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, 
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark. 
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark, 
And, startling all its wretches from their sleep. 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep ; — 
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear, 

1 Tlie cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of 
mosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the descendants 
of AM, the Saints of Persia. — CAardi/i. 

2 An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated for its white 
wine. 

3 The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, says Sale, 
from the murmuring of its waters. 

* The god Ilannaman. — "Apes are in many parts of 
India highly venerated, out of respect to the God Hauna 



And waking up each long-lull'd image there, 
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in 
despair ! 

Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk 
She now went slowly to that small kiosk. 
Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
MoKANNA. waited her — too rapt in dreams 
Of the fair ripening future's rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 
That sat upon his victim's downcast brow. 
Or mark how slow her step, how alter' d now 
From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light 

bound 
Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground, . 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance '. 

Upon his couch the Veil'd Moka.nna lay. 
While lamps around — not such as lend their 

ray. 
Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray 
In holy KooM,' or Mecca's dim arcades, — 
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids 
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow 
Upon his mystic Veil's white glittering flow. 
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer, 
Which the world fondly thought he mused on 

there. 
Stood Vases, fiU'd with Kishmee's^ golden wine, 
And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 
Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught 
Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff'd, 
Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness,^ had power 
To freshen the soul's virtues into flower ! 
And still he drank and ponder'd — nor could see 
Th' approaching maid, so deep his revery ; 
At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which 

broke 
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke : — 
" Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, 
" Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with 

heaven ; 
" God's images, forsooth ! — such gods as he 
" Whom India serves, the monkey deity ; ^ - ■ 
" Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of cli /, 
" To whom if Lucifeh, as grandams say, 

man, a deity partaking of the form of that race." — Pen- 
nant's Hindoostan. 

See a curious account, in Stephen's Persia, of a solemn 
embassy from some part of the Indies to Goa, when tlie Por- 
tuguese were there, offering vast treasures for the recovery 
of a monkey's tooth, which they held in great veneration, 
and which had been taken away upon the conquest of the 
kingdom of Jafanapatan. 



376 



LALLA ROOKH. 



' Refus'd, though at the forfeit of heaven's light, 
' To bend in worship, Lucifer was right ! ' — 
' Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 
' Of your foul race, and without fear or check, 
' Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 
' My deep-felt, long-nurs'd loathing of man's 

name ! — 
' Soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce 
' As hooded falcons, through the universe 
' I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way, 
' Weak man my instrument, curs'd man my 

prey! 

" Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull 

way on 
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
' Like superstitious thieves, who think the light 
' From dead men's marrow guides them best at 

night '■^ — 
' Ye shall have honors — wealth, — yes, Sages, 

yes — 
' I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothing- 
ness ; 
' Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
' But a gilt stick, a bawble blinds it here. 
'■ How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along, 
' In lying speech, and still more lying song, 
' By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the 

throng ; 
' Their wits bought up, their wisdom slirunk 

so small, 
' A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 

" Ye too, believers of incredible creeds. 
Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it 

breeds ; 
Who, bolder ev'n than Nemrod, think to rise, 
By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to the skies ; 
Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too, 
Seen, heard, attested, every thing — but true. 
Your preaching zealots, too inspir'd to seek 
One grace of meaning for the things they 

speak ; 
' Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood. 



1 This resolution of Ehlis not to acknowledge tlie new 
creature, man, was, according to Mahometan tradition, thus 
adopted :— "The earth (which God had selected for the 
materials of his worl<) was carried into Arabia to a place 
between Mecca and Tayef, where, being first kneaded by 
the angels, it was afterwards fashioned by God himself into 
a human form, and left to dry for the space of forty days, or, 
as others say, as many years ; the angels, in the mean time, 
often visiting it, and Eblis (then one of the angels nearest to 
God's presence, afterwards the devil) among the rest ; but 
he, not contented with looking at it, kicked it with his foot 
till it rung ; and knowing God designed that creature to be 



" For truths too heavenly to be understood ; 
" And your State Priests, sole venders of the 

lore, 
" That works salvation ; — as, on Ava's shore, 
" Where none but priests are privileged to trade 
" In that best marble of which Gods are made ; 
" They shall have mj-steries — ay, precious stufl 
" For knaves to thrive by — mysteries enough ; 
" Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can 

weave, 
" Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, 
" While craftier feign belief, till they believe. 
♦' A Heav'n too ye must have, ye lords of dust, — 
" A splendid Paradise, — pure souls, ye must : 
" That Prophet iU sustains his holy call, 
" Who finds not heav'ns to suit the tastes of aU ; 
" Houris for boys, omniscience for sages, 
" And wings and glories for aU ranks and ages. 
" Vain things ! — as lust or vanity inspires, 
" The heav'n of each is but what each desires, 
" And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be, 
" Man would be man to all eternity ! 
" So let him — Eblis ! grant this crowning curse, 
" But keep him what he is, no Hell were worse." 

" O my lost soul ! " exclaim'd the shudder- 
ing maid. 
Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said : 
MoKANNA started — not abash'd, afraid, — 
He knew no more of fear than one who dwells 
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles ! 
But, in those dismal words that reach'd his 

ear, 
" O my lost soul ! " there was a sound so drear. 
So like that voice, among the sinful dead. 
In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate is read, 
That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought 

could dim 
Or sink till now, it startled even him. 

" Ha, my fair Priestess ! " — thus, with ready 
wile, 
Th' impostor turn'd to greet her — "thou, 
whose smile 



his superior, took a secret resolution never to acknowledgs 
him as such." — Sale on the Koran. 

2 A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, called th» 
Hand of Glory, the candle for which was made of the fat 
of a dead malefactor. This, however, was rather a western 
than an eastern superstition. 

3 The material of which images of Gaudma (the Birmar 
Deity) are made, is held sacred. " Birmans may not pur- 
chase the marble in mass, but are suffered, and indeed en- 
couraged, to buy figures of the Deity ready mai)e." — Syrnes' 
Ava, vol. ii. p. 376. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



377 



" Hatli inspiration in its rosy beam 
I "Beyond th' Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's 

dream ; 
" Light of the Faith ! who twin'st religion's 

zeal 
" So close with love's, men know not which they 

feel, 
" Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, 
•* The heav'n thou preachest or the heav'n thou 

art! 
" What should I be without thee ? without 

thee 
•• How dull were power, how joyless victory ! 
" Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine 
" Bless' d not my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
" But — why so mournful, child ? those eyes, 

that shone 
" All life last night — what ! — is their glory 

gone? 
" Come, come — this morn's fatigue hath made 

them pale, 
" They want rekindling — suns themselves 

would fail 
" Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, 
" From light's own fount supplies of brilliancy. 
"Thou seest this cup — no juice of earth is 

here, 
" But the pure waters of that upper sphere, 
" Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow, 
" Catching the gem's bright color, as they go. 
'• Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns — 
"Nay, drink — in every drop life's essence 

burns ; 
" 'Twill make that soul all fire, those eyes aU 

light — 
" Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to- 
night ; 
" There is a youth — why start ? — thou saw'st 

him then ; 
" Look'd he not nobly ? such the godlike men 
" Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above ; 
" Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for 

love, 
" Too rul'd by that cold enemy of bliss 
" The world calls virtue — we must conquer 

this: 
" Nay, shrink not, pretty sage ! 'tis not for thee 
" To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mystery : 
"The steel must pass through fire, ere it can 

yield 
" Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. 
" This very night I mean to try the art 
" Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. 
" All that my Harem boasts of bloom and wit, 
" Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite, 
48 



" Shall tempt the boy ; — young Mikzala's blue 

eyes, 
" Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies ; 
" Arouya's cheek, warm as a spring-day sun, 
" And lips that, Uke the seal of Solomon, 
"Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute, 
" And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and 

shoot 
" Rapid and white as sea birds o'er the deep 
" All shall combine their witching powers to 

steep 
" My convert's spirit in that softening trance, 
" From which to heav'n is but the next advance ; 
" That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 
" On which Religion stamps her image best. 
" But hear me, Priestess ! — though each nymph 

of these 
" Hath some peculiar, practis'd power to please, 
"Some glance or step which, at the mirror 

tried, 
" First charms herself, then all the world beside ; 
"There still wants one, to make the victory 

sure, 
" One who in every look joins every lure ; 
" Through whom all beauty's beams concen- 
tred pass, 
" Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning 

" AVhose gentle lips persuade without a word, 
"Whose -^'ords, ev'n when unmeaning, are 

ador'd, 
" Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, 
" Which our faith takes for granted are divine ! 
" Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and 

light, 
" To crown the rich temptations of to-night ; 
"Such the refin'd enchantress that must be 
" This hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she ! " 

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and 

pale. 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil 
From which these words, like south winds 

through a fence 
Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came fiU'd with pestilence ; 
So boldly utter'd too ! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were 

fled. 
And the wretch felt assiir'd that, once plung'd 

in, 
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin ! 



1 " It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man breathe 
in the hot south wind, which in June or July passes over 
that flower (the Kerzereli), it will kill him." — Thevcnot- 



87S 



LALLA ROOKH. 



At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream 
Scem'd all he said: nor could her mind, whose 

beam' 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
But when, at length, he utter'd, "Thou art 

she ! " 
All flash'd at once, and shrieking piteously, 
" not for worlds ! " she cried — " Great God ! 

to whom 
" I once knelt innocent, is this my doom ? 
"Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly 

bliss, 
" My purity, my pride, then come to this, — 
" To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
" The pander of his guilt — O infamy ! 
" And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
" In its hot flood, drag others down as deep ! 
" Others — ha ! yes — that youth who came to- 
day — 
" Not him I lov'd — not him — O ! do but say, 
" But swear to me this moment 'tis not he, 
"And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship 
even thee ! " 

" Beware, young raving thing ! — in time be- 
ware, 
" Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear, 
•• Ev'n from thy lips. Go try thy lute, thy 

voice, 
" The boy must feel their magic ; — I rejoice 
" To see those fires, no matter whence they rise, 
" Once more illuming my fair Priestess' eyes ; 
" And should the youth, whom soon those eyes 

shall warm, 
" Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, 
" So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 
" As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, 
" Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. 
" Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet ! — those eyes 

were made 
"For love, not anger — I must be obey'd." 

" Obey'd ! — 'tis well — yes, I deserve it all — 
" On me, on me Heaven's vengeance cannot faU 
" Toe heavily — but Azim, brave and true 
"And beautiful — must he be ruin'd too ? 
" Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven 
" A renegade like me from Love and Heaven ? 
" Like me ? — weak wretch, I wrong him — not 

like me ; 
" No — he's all truth and strength and purity ! 

1 The hummingbird is said to run this risk for the pur- 
pose of picking the crocodile's teeth. The same circum- 
stance is related of the lapwing, as a fact to whicli he was 
witness, by Paul Lucas, Voyage fait en 1714. 



" Fill up your madd'ning hell cup to the brim, 
" Its witchery, fiends, willhave no charm for him. 
"Let loose your glowing wantons from their 

bowers, 
" He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers ! 
" Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign 
" Pure as when first we met, without a stain ! 
"Though ruin'd — lost — my memory, like a 

charm 
" Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 
" O, never let him know how deep the brow 
" He kiss'd at parting is dishonor'd now ; — 
" Ne'er tell him how debas'd, how sunk is she, 
" Whom once he lov'd — once ! — still loves 

dotingly. 
" Thou laugh'st, tormentor, — what ! — thou'lt 

brand my name ? 
" Do, do — in vain — he'll not believe my shame, 
" He thinks me true, that nought beneath God'.s 

sky 
" Could tempt or change me, and — so once 

thought I. 
" But this is past — though worse than death 

my lot, 
" Than hell — 'tis nothing while he knows it not. 
" Far off to some benighted land I'll fly, 
" Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die ; 
" Where none wiU ask the lost one whence she 

came, 
" But I may fade and fall without a name. 
" And thou — cuis'd man or fiend, whate'erlhou 

art, 
" Who found'st this burning plague spot in my 

heart, 
" And spread' St it — O, so quick ! — through 

soul and frame, 
" With more than demon's art, till I became 
" A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame ! — 

" If, when I'm gone " 

" Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
" Nor tempt my rage — by Heaven, not half so 

bold 
" The punj' bird, that dares with teasing hum 
" Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come ! ' 
" And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ? — what ! — givp 

up all 
" Thy chaste dominion in the Harem Hall, 
" Where now to Love and now to Alla given, 
" Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as 

even 
" As doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven 

The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, or hnmminn 
bird, entering with impunity into the mouth of tlie crocoilile 
is firmly believed at Java. — Barrow's Cochin-Cliiiut. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



379 



'• Thou'lt fly r — as easily may reptiles run, 

" The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon ; 

" As easily, wlien caught, the prey may be 

" Pluck' d from his loving folds, as thou from me. 

" No, no, 'tis fix'd — let good or ill betide, 

" Thou'rt mine till death, till death Mokanna's 

bride ! 
" Hast thou forgot thy oath ? " — 

At this dread word, 
The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr'd 
Through all its depths, and rous'd an anger there. 
That burst and lighten'd even through her de- 
spair — 
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
Th^ spoke that word, and stagger' d pale as 
death. 

" Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in 

bowers 
"Their bridal place — the charnel vault was 

ours ! 
«' Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me 
" Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality ; 
" Gay, flickering death lights shone while we 

were wed, 
•• And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead, 
" (Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) 
'' From reeking shrouds upon the rite look'd out ! 
" That oath thou heard'st more lips than thine 

repeat — 
'' That cup — thou shudderest. Lady, — was it 

sweet ? 
" That cup we pledg'd, the charnel's choicest 

wine, 
" Hath bound thee — ay — body and soul all 

mine ; 
" Bound thee by chains that, whether blest or 

curs'd 
" No matter now, not hell itself shall burst ! 
" Hence, woman, to the Harem, and look gay, 
♦' Look wild, look — any thing but sad ; yet 

stay — 
" One moment more — from what this night 

hath pass'd, 
"I see thou know'st me, know'st me well at 

last. 



1 Circuiti easdein ripas (Nili, viz.) ales est Ibis. Ea ser- 
pcntiiini populatiir ova, gratissimamque ex his escam nidis 
mis refert.— Su/inu«. 

s " Tlie feast of Lanterns is celebrated at Yamtcheou 
with more magnificence tlian any where else : and the re- 
port goes, that the illuminations there are so splendid, that 
an Emperor once, not daring openly to leave his Court to go 
thitlier, committed himself with the Queen and several 
Princesses of liis family into the hands of a magician, who 



" Ha ! ha ! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st 

all true, 
" And that I love mankind ? — I do, I do — 
" As victims, love them ; as the sea dog doats 
" Upon the small, sweet fry that round him floats ; 
" Or, as the Nile bird loves the slime that givea 
"That rank and venomous food on which she 

lives ! ' — 

" And, now thou seest my soul's angelic hue, 
" 'Tis time these features were uncurtain'd 

too ; — 
" This brow, whose light — O rare celestial 

light ! 
" Hath been reserv'd to bless thy favor'd sight ; 
" These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded 

might 
" Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down and 

quake — 
" Would that they were heaven's lightnings for 

his sake ! 
" But turn and look — then wonder, if thou wilt, 
" That I should hate, should take revenge, by 

guilt, 
" Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth 
" Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon 

earth , 
" And on that race who, though more vile they 

be 
" Than mowing apes, are demigods to me ! 
"Here — judge if hell, with all its i^ower to 

damn, 
" Can add one curse to the foul thing I am ! " — 

He rais'd his veil — the Maid tuni'd slowly 
round, 
Look'd at him — shriek'd — and sunk upon the 
ground ! 



On their arrival, next night, at the place of 
encampment, they were surprised and delighted 
to find the groves all around illuminated ; some 
artists of Yamtcheou' having been sent on pre- 
viously for the purpose. On each side of the 
green alley, which led to the Royal Pavilion, 



promised to transport them thither in a trice. He made 
them in the night to ascend magnificent thrones that were 
borne up by swans, which in a moment arrived at Yamt- 
checju. The Emperor saw at his leisure all the solemnity 
being carried upon a cloud that hovered over the city and 
descended by degrees ; and came back again with the sani< 
speed and equipage, nobody at court perceiving his absence ' 
— The present State of China, p. 156. 



380 



LALLA ROOKH. 



artificial sceneries of bamboo M'ork' were erected, 
rei^resenting arches, minarets, and towers, from 
which hung thousands of silken lanterns, painted 
by the most delicate pencils of Canton. — Noth- 
ing could be more beautiful than the leaves of 
the mango trees and acacias, shining in the light 
of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre round 
as soft as that of the nights of Peristan. 

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much 
occupied by the sad story of Zelioa and her 
lover, to give a thought to any thing else, ex- 
cept, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on 
through this scene of splendor to her pavilion, 
— greatly to the mortification of the poor artists 
of Yamtcheou, — and was followed with equal 
rapidity by the Great Chamberlain, cursing, as 
he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental 
anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, 
where his beloved daughter had wandered and 
been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chi- 
nese illuminations.''' 

"Without a moment's delay, young Feramokz 
was introduced, and Fadladeex, who could 
never make up his mind as to the merits of a 
poet, till he knew the religious sect to which he 
belonged, was about to ask him whether he was 
a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla Rookh impa- 
tiently clapped her hands for silence, and the 
youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, 
proceeded : — 



Prepare thy soul, young Azim ! — thou hast 
braved 

The bands of Greece, still mighty, though en- 
slaved ; 

Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, 

Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 



1 See a description of the nuptials of Vizier Alee in tlie 
Isiatlc .Annual Register of 1804. 

- " The vulgar ascribe it to an accident that happened in 
tile family of a famous mandarin, whose daughter walking 
one evening upon the shore of a lake, fell in and was 
drowned ; this afflicted father, with his family, ran thither, 
and, the letter to find her, he caused a great company of 
lanterns to he lighted. All the inhabitants of the place 
tlirongcd after him witli torches. Tlie year ensuing they 
made fires upon the shores the same day ; they continued 
the ceremony every year, every one lighted his lantern, and 
by degrees it commenced into a custom." — Present State 
ef Clima. 

i " Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes." 
— Sol. Song. 

* " Thej tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Hen- 



All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow, 
But a more perilous trial waits thee now, — 
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 
From every land where woman smiles or sighs ; 
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 
His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, 
To the sly, stealing splendors, almost hid. 
Like swords half sheath'd, beneath the downcast 

lid; — 
Such, AziM, is the lovely, luminous host 
Now led against thee ; and, let conquerors boast 
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms 
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms. 
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, 
Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. 

Now, through the Harem chambers, moving 
lights 
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites ; — 
From room to room the ready handmaids hie. 
Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, 
Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade. 
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, 
Who, if between the folds but one eye shone. 
Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with that one . * 
While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue 
The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue/ 
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem 
Like tips of coral branches in the stream : 
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye. 
To give that long, dark languish to the eye,* 
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud 

to cuU. 
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful. 
All is in motion ; rings and plumes and pearls 
Are shining every where : — some younge* girls 
Are gone by moonlight to the garden bed«, 
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; — 

na, so that they resembled branches of coral." — Story of 
Prince Futtun in Bahardanush. 

6 " The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a 
powder named the black Kohol." — Russel. 

" Kone of these ladies," says Slinw, " take themselves to 
be completely dressed, till they have tinged the hair and 
edges of their eyelids with the powder of lead ore. Now, 
as this operation is performed by dipping first into the pow- 
der a small wooden bodkin of the thickness of a quill, and 
then drawing it afterwards through the eyelids over the ball 
of the eye, we shall have a lively image of what the Prophet 
(Jer. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean bj rending the eyes 
with painting. This practice is no doubt of great aiififjiiity , 
for besides the instance already taken notice of, we find 
tliat where Jezebel is said (2 Kings, ix. 30) to have painted 
her face, llie original words are, she adjusted her eyes with 
the powder of lead ore." — Shaw'i Travels. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



38 



Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to 

see 
How each prefers a garland from that tree 
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent 

day. 
And the dear fields and friendships far away. 
The maid of India, blest again to hold 
In her full lap the Charapac's leaves of gold,' 
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, 
Her little playmates scatter'd many a bud 
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam 
Just dripping from the consecrated stream ; 
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell 
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell, — 
The sweet Elcaya,'^ and that courteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy,' 
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, 
The well, the camels, and her father's tents ; 
Sighs for the home she left with little pain, 
Aiid wishes ev'n its sorrows back again ! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
Silent and bright-, where nothing but the falls 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
From many a jasper fount, is heard around, 
Young AziM roams bewilder' d, — nor can guess 
What means this maze of light and loneliness. 
Here, the way leads, o'er tessellated floors 
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors. 
Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns, 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bowers of Tibet,'* send forth odorous light, 
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 
For some pure Spirit to its blest abode : — 
And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; 
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 



1 " Tlie appearance of the blossoms of the gold-colored 
Champac on the black hair of the Indian wonnen has supplied 
the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions." — See Asi- 
atic Researches, vol. iv. 

2 A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills 
of Yemen. — JViebuhr. 

3 Of the genus mimosa, " which droops its branches 
whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted 
those who retire under its shade." — /A«(/. 

* "Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition 
of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly 
burning in their presence." — Tarner^s Tibet. 

5 " C'est d'ou vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appel- 
lent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en 
gr.inde quantity." — D'Herbelot. 

c " Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral trees." 
— Barrow. 

1 " In Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which 



High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers 
All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers : 
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 
The sprinkling of that fountain's silv'ry dew, 
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, 
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 

Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman's love in those fair, living things 
Of land and wave, whose fate — in bondage 

thrown 
For their weak loveliness — is like her own ! 
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace 
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine. 
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ; — 
While, on the other, latticed lightly in 
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,* 
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen ; — 
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree ® 
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea : 
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,^ and the thrush 
Of Hindostan,^ whose holy warblings gush, 
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; — 
Those golden birds that, in the spice time, 

drop 
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food ' 
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer 

flood;'" 
And those that under Araby's soft sun 
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ; " 
In short, aU, rare and beauteous things, that fly 
Through the pure element, here calmly lie 
Sleeping in light, like the green birds ''•' that dwell 
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 

So on, through scenes past all imagining. 
More like the luxuries of that impious King, '^ 



none will affright or abuse, much less kill." — PJM's Ac- 
count of the Mahometans. 

8 " The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among tlie first chor 
isters of India. It sits perched on the sacred pagodas, and 
from thence delivers its melodious song." — Pennant's Ilin- 
dostan. 

9 Tavernier adds, that while the Birds of Paradise lie in 
this intoxicated state, the emmets come and eat off their 
legs ; and that hence it is they are said to have no feet 

10 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in 
flights from the southern isles to India ; and " the strength 
of the nutmeg," says Tavernier, " so intoxicates them that 
they fall dead drunk to the earth." • 

11 " That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its 
nest with cinnamon." — Brown's Vulgar Errors. 

12 "The spirits of the martyrs will he lodged in the crops 
of green birds." — Oibbon, vol. ix. p. 491. 

13 Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in 'mi 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Whom De;ith's dark Angel, with his lightning 

torch, 
Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's 

porch, 
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, 
Arm'd with Heav'n's sword, for man's enfran- 
chisement — 
Young AziM wander'd, looking sternly round, 
His simple garb and ■war-boots' clanking sound 
But Ul according with the pomp and grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 

'* Is this, then," thought the youth, " is this 

the way 
" To free man's spirit from the deadening sway 
•' Of worldly sloth, — to teach him while he lives, 
«' To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
•« And when he dies, to leave his lofty name 
" A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame ? 
" It was not so, Land of the generous thought 
" And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught ; 
" It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, 
" Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies ; 
" 0, not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow 
" Of such dull luxurj' did those myrtles grow, 
" AVith which she wreath'd her sword, when 

she would dare 
" Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
" Of toil, — of temperance, — of that high, rare 
" Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe 
" Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath. 
" Who, that surveys this span of earth we 

press, — 
«' This speck of life in time's great wilderness, 
" This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless 

seas, 
" The past, the future, two eternities ! — 
" Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, 
" When he might build him a proud temple 

there, 
" A name, that long shall hallow all its space, 
«' And be each purer soul's high resting-place. 
*' But no — it cannot be, that one, whom God 
" Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's 

rod, — 
" A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws 
" Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane 

its cause 
" With the world's vulgar pomps ; — no, no, — 

I see — 
" He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury 



tation of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first 
time he attempted to enter tliem. 

1 " My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the 



•• Is but to temj t, to try the eaglet gaze 
" Of my young toul — shine on, 'twill stand the 
blaze ! " 

So thought the youth ; — but, ev'n while he 

defied 
This witching scene, he felt its witcherj- glide 
Through ev'ry sense. The perfume breatldng 

round. 
Like a pervading spirit ; — the still sound 
Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ; ' 
And music, too — dear music ! that can touch 
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; 
All was too much for him, too full of bliss. 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this : 
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like M'ave on 

wave 
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes, 
Silent and happy — as if God had given 
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven. 

" O, ray lov'd mistress, thou, whose spirit still 
" Is with me, round me, wander where I will — ■ 
" It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
" The paths of glory ; to light up thy cheek 
" With warm approval — in that gentle look, 
" To read my praise, as in an angel's book, 
" And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
" I gain a smile worth immortality ! 
" How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd 
" To that young heart where I alone am Lord, 
" Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the 

best 
" Alone deserve to be the happiest . — 
" When from those lips, unbreathed upon for 

years, 
" I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, 
" And find those tears warm as when last thov 

started, 
" Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted. 
" O my own life ! — why should a single day, 
*' A moment keep me from those arms away ? " 



Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus named because the b«e? vet 
supposed to sleep on its blossoms." — Sir W. Jones. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



"While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, 
Each note of which but adds new, downy links 
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. 
He turns him toward the sound, and far away 
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which 

Day 
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, 
So long the path, its light so tremulous ; — 
He sees a group of female forms advance, 
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers, 
As they were captives to the King of Flowers ; ' 
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free. 
Who seem'd to mock their sister's slavery ; 
And round and round them still, in wheeling 

flight 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night ; 
While others wak'd, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song 
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill. 
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still. 
And now they come, now pass before his eye. 
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would 

vie 
Vv''ith Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things 
I-ovely beyond its fairest picturings. 
A while they dance before him, then divide. 
Breaking, like rosy clouds at eventide 
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, — 
Till silently dispersing, one by one. 
Through many a path, that from the chamber 

leads 
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, 
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind. 
And but one trembling nymph remains behind, — 
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are 

gone, 
And she is left in aU that light alone ; 
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow. 
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now ; 
But a light golden chainwork round her hair," 
Such as the maids of Yezd''' and Shikas wear, 
From which, on either side, gracefully hung 
A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue. 



1 "They deferred it till the King of Flowers should 
ascend his throne of enamelled foliage." — The Baharda- 
nusk. 

2 " One of the headdresses of the Persian women is com- 
posed of a light golden chainwork, set with small pearls, 
with a thill gold plate pendant, about the bigness of a crown 
piece, on which is impressed an Arabian prayer, and which 
hangs upon the cheek below the ear." — Hanway's Travels. 

3 " Certainly the women of Yezd are the handsomest 



Engraven o'er with some immortal line 
From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine ; 
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood. 
Held a small lute of gold and sandal wood. 
Which, once or twice, she touch'd with hurried 

strain, 
Then took her trembling fingers off again. 
But when at length a timid glance she stole 
At AziM, the sweet gravity of soul 
She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, 
And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near, 
Though shrinking still, she came ; — then sal 

her down 
Upon a musnud's* edge, and bolder grown, 
In the pathetic mode of Isfahan * 
Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began : — 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's' 
stream. 
And the nightingale sings round it all the dfty 
long ; 
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet 
dream. 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 

That bower atid its music I never forget. 

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, 

I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? 
Are the roses still bright by the calm Ben- 

DEMEER ? 

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the 
wave, 
But some blossoms were gather' d, while freshly 
they shone. 
And a dew was distill' d from their flowers, that 
gave 
All the fragrance of summer, when summer 
was gone. 

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies. 
An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my 
eyes. 
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Ben 



women in Persia. The proverb is, that to live happy a man 
must have a wife of Yezd, eat the bread of Yezdecas, and 
drink the wine of Shiraz." — Tavemier. 

* Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for per- 
sons of distinction. 

6 The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musi- 
cal modes or Peidas by the names of different countries ol 
cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c. 

6 A river which flows near the ruins of Chilniinar. 



384 



LALLA ROOKH. 



" Poor maiden ! " thought the youth, " if thou 

wert sent, 
'< With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, 
" To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 
" Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. 
"For though thy lip should sweetly counsel 

■wrong, 
" Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
" But thou hast breath'd such purity, thy lay 
" Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, 
" And leads thy soul — if e'er it wander'd 

thence — 
" So gently back to its first innocence, 
" That I would sooner stop the unchained dove, 
" When swift returning to its home of love, 
" And round its snowy wing new fetters twine, 
" Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine ! " 

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling 

through 
The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes. 
Peeping like stars through the blue evening 

skies, 
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair 
That sat so still and melancholy there : — 
And now the curtains fly apart, and in 
From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine 
Which those without fling after them in play. 
Two lightsome maidens spring, — lightsome as 

they 
Who live in th' air on odors, — and around 
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the 

ground, 
Chase one another, in a varying dance 
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance. 
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit : — 
While she, who sung so gently to the lute 
Her dream of home, steals timidly away. 
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, — 
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh 
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by 
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 
Creatures of light we never see again ! 

Around the white necks of the nymphs who 
danc'd 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd 



1 " To the north of us (on the coast of the Caspian, near 
Bailku,) was a mountain, which sparkled Uke diamonds, 
arsing from the sea glass and crystals with which it 
abounds.'- —Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 
1746 

» " To which will be added the sound of the bells, hang- 



More brilliant than the sea glass glittering o'er 

The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore ; ' 

While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall 

Of curls descending, bells as musical 

As those that, on the golden-shafted trees 

Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze," 

Rung round their steps, at every bound more 

sweet, 
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet. 
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood 

wreath' d 
Within each other's arms ; while soft there 

breath'd 
Through the cool casement, mingled with the 

sighs 
Of moonlight fioAvers, music that seem'd to rise 
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
And, as it swell' d again at each faint close. 
The ear could track through all that maze of 

chords 
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd 

words : — 

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through earth and air ; 

Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, 
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there ! 

His breath is the soul of flowers like these. 
And his floating eyes — O, they resemble * 

Blue water lilies,* when the breeze 

Is making the stream around them tremble. 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power ! 

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour. 
And there never was moonlight so sweet as 
this. 

By the fair and brave 

Who blushing unite. 
Like the sun and wave. 

When they meet at night ; 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh. 
As the raindrop flows 

From the heat of the sky ; 



ing on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind 
proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed 
wish for music." — Sale. 

3 " Whose wanton eyes resemble blue water lilies, agi- 
tated by the breeze." — Jayadeea. 

* The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in Persia. 



LAI LA ROOKH. 



By the first love l:)eat 

Of the youthful heart, 
By the bliss to meet, 

And the pain to part ; 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given, 
"Which — O, could it last, 

This earth were heaven ! 

We call thee hither, entrancing Power ! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet ag 
this. 

Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole. 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul. 
And where, 'midst all that the young heart loves 

most. 
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost. 
The youth had started up, and turn'd away 
From the light nymphs, and theii- luxurious lay, 
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,' — 
Bright images, that spoke without a sound. 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 
But here again new spells came o'er his sense : — 
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and fair. 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there ; 
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd v/ith that fine art. 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part ; 
Which knows ev'n Beauty when half veiled is 

best, — 
Like her own radiant planet of the west. 
Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest.* 
There hung the history of the Genii King, 
Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering 



1 It has been generally supposed that the Mahometans 
prohibit all pictures of animals ; but Taderini shows that, 
tliough the practice is forbidden by the Koran, they are not 
mote averse to painted figures and images than other peo- 
ple. From Mr. Murphy's work, too, we find that the Arabs 
of Spain had no objection to the introduction of figures into 
painting. 

• Tliis is not quite astronomically true. " Dr. Hadley 
(gays Keil) has shown that Venus is tjrightest when she is 
about forty degrees removed from the sun ; and that then 
but only a fourth part of her lucid disk is to be seen from the 
earth." 

3 For the loves of King Solomon (who was supposed to 
preside over the whole race of Genii) with Bolkis, the Queen 
of Sheba or Saba, see D^Herbdot, and the J^Totes on the Ko- 
ran, chap. 2. 

" In the palace which Solomon ordored to be built against 
the arrival of the Queen of Saba, the floor or pavement was 
of transparent gbss, laid over running water, in which fish 
49 



With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright 

eyes 
He read that to be blest is to be wise ; ' — 
Here fond Zuleika * woos with open arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young 

charms. 
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
Wishes that Heav'n and she could both be avoh ; 
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile, 
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ; — 
Then beckons some kind angel from above 
With a new text to consecrate their love.* 



With rapid step, yet pleas'd and lingering eye, 
Did the youth pass these pictur'd stories by. 
And hasten'd to a casement, where the light 
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright 
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
As if no life rcmain'd in breeze or rill. 
Here paus'd he, while the music, now less near, 
Breath' d with a holier language on his ear. 
As though the distance, and that heavenly ray 
Through which the sounds came floating, took 

away 
All that had been too earthly in the lay. 

O, could he listen to such sounds unmov'd. 
And by that light — nor dream of her he lov'd ? 
Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet thou 

mayst ; 
'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. 
Clasp yet a while her image to thy heart. 
Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart. 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st thera 

last. 
Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast ; 
Recall her tears, to thee at parting given. 
Pure as they weep, if angels weep, m Heaven. 



were swimming." This led the Queen into a very natural 
mistake, which the Koran has not thouglu lieneaUi its dig- 
nity to commemorate. " It was said unto her, ' Enter the 
palace.' And when she saw it she imagined it to be a great 
water ; and she discovered her legs, by lifting up her robe tc 
pass through it. Whereupon Solomon said to her, ' Verily, 
this is the place evenly floored with glass.' "—Chap. 27. 

4 The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the Orientals. 

The passion which this frail beauty of antiquity con 
ceived for her young Hebrew slave has given rise to a much 
esteemed poem in the Persian language, entitled Yusef vau 
Zdikha, by JVourcddui Jami; the manuscript copy of which, 
in tlie Bodleian Library at Oxford, is supposed to be the 
finest in the whole world." — JVole upon J^utt's Translation 
of Hafez. 

s The particulars of Mahomet's amour witli Mary, the 
Coptic girl, in justification of which he added a new chap- 
ter to the Koran, may be found in Qa<rnier's JVotes upoh 
Abulfeda, p. 151. 



386 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Think, in her own still bower she waits thee 

now, 
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 
Yet shrin'd in solitude — thine all, thine only, 
Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. 
O, that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd, 
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd ! 

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are 

flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone; — 
Alone ? — no, not alone — that heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some one 

nigh — 
Whose could it be ? — alas ! is misery found 
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground ? 
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil'd. 
Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd, 
Against a pillar near ; — not glittering o'er 
With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore. 
But in that deep blue, melancholy dress,' 
Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away ; — 
And such as Zelica had on that day 
He left her — when, with heart too full to speak. 
He took away her last warm tears upon his 

cheek. 

A strange emotion stirs within him, — more 
Than mere compassion ever wak'd before ; 
Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she 
Springs forward, as with life's last energy, 
But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, 
Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground ; — 
Her veil falls off — her faint hands clasp his 

knees — 
'Tis she herself ! — 'tis Zelica he sees ! 
But, ah, so pale, so chang'd — none but a lover 
Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover 
The once ador'd divinity — ev'n he 
Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly 
Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gaz'd 
Upon those lids, where once such lustre blaz'd. 
Ere he could think she was indeed his own. 
Own darling maid, whom he so long had known 
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both ; 
Who, ev'n when grief was heaviest — -when loath 
He left her for the wars — in that worst hour 
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night flower,* 
When darkness brings its weeping glories out, 
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about. 

1 " Deep blue is their mourning color." — Hanway. 

2 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its 
rich odor after sunset 

3 " Concerning the vipers, which Pliny says were frequent 



" Look up, my Zelica — one moment show 
" Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know 
" Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
" But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. 
" Come, look upon thy Azim — one dear glance, 
•' Like those of old, were heav'n ! whatever 

chance 
*• Hath brought thee here, O, 'twas a blessed one • 
" There — my lov'd lips — they move — that 

kiss hath run 
" Like the first shoot of life through every 

vein, 
" And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again. 
" O the delight — now, in this very hour, 
" When had the whole rich world been in my 

power, 
" I should have singled out thee, only thte, 
" From the whole world's collected treasury — 
" To have thee here — to hang thus fonaly o'er 
" My own, best, purest Zelica once more ! " 

It was indeed the touch of those fond lips 
Upon her eyes that chas'd their short eclipse, 
And, gradual as the snow, at Heaven's breath, 
Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, 
Her lids unclos'd, and the bright eyes were 

seen 
Gazing'on his — not, as they late had been, 
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene ; 
As if to lie, ev'n for that tranced minute, 
So near his heart, had consolation in it ; 
And thus to wake in his belov'd caress 
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness 
But, when she heard him call her good and pure, 
O, 'twas too much — too dreadful to endure ! 
Shuddering she broke away from his embrace. 
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face, 
Said, in a tone whose anguish would have riven 
A heart of very marble, ♦' Pure, Heaven ! " 

That tone — those looks so chang'd — the 
withering blight, 
That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light ; 
The dead despondencj'' of those sunk eyes. 
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise, 
He would have seen himself, too happy boy, 
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy ; 
And then the place, — that bright, unholy place, 
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace 
And charm of luxury, as the viper weaves 
Its wily covering of sweet balsam leaves,^ — 

among the balsam trees, I made very particular inquiry^ 
several were brought me alive both to Yambo and Jidda." 
— Bruce. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



387 



All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold 
As death itself; — it needs not to be told — 
No, no — he sees it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark — whate'er the 

hand 
That could from Heav'n and him such brightness 

sever, 
'Tis done — to Heav'n and him she's lost forever ! 
It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears. 
The lingering, lasting misery of years 
Could match that minute's anguish — all the 

worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of 

fate. 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. 

" 0, curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd 
His desperate hand towards Heav'n — " though 

I am lost, 
" Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me 

fall, 
" No, no — 'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all ! 
«• Nay, doubt me not — though all thy love hath 

ceas'd — 
" I know it hath — yet, yet believe, at least, 
"That every spark of reason's light must be 
" Quench' d in this brain, ere I could stray from 

thee. 
"They told me thou wert dead — why, Azm, 

why 
" Did we not, both of us, that instant die 
" When we were parted ? O, couldst thou but 

know 
" With what a deep devotedness of woe 
" I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er again 
" Thinking of thee, still thee, tUl thought grew 

pain, 
" And memory, like a drop that, night and 

day, 
" Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away. 
" Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
♦' My eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to 

come, 
" And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, 
" Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear — 
" God ! thou would'stnot wonder that, at last, 
" When every hope was all at once o'ercast, 
" When I heard frightful voices round me say 
" Azim is dead ! — this wretched brain gave way, 
" And I became a wreck, at random driven, 
" Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven — 
"All wild — and even this quenchless love 

within 
" Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin ! — 



"Thou pitieBt me — I knew thou wouldst — 

that sky 
" Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I. 
•' The fiend, who lur'd me hither — hist ! come 

near, 
" Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear — 
" Told me such things — 0, mth such devilish 

art, 
" As would have ruin'd ev'n a holier heart — 
" Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere, 
" Where bless'd at length, if I but serv'd him 

here, 
" I should forever live in thy dear sight, 
" And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. 
" Think, think how lost, how madden'd I must 

be, 
" To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee ! 
" Thou weep'st for me — do weep — O, that I 

durst 
" Kiss off that tear ! but, no — these lips are 

curs'd, 
" They must not touch thee ; — one divine caress, 
" One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
" I've had within those arms, and that shall lie, 
" Shrin'd in my soul's deep memory till I die; 
" The last of joy's last relics here below, 
" The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, 
" My heart has treasur'd from affection's spring, 
" To soothe and cool its deadly withering ! 
" But thou — j'es, thou must go — forever go ; 
" This place is not for thee — for thee ! O no, 
" Did I but tell thee half, thy tortur'd brain 
" Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again ! 
" Enough, that Guilt reigns here — that hearts, 

once good, 
" Now tainted, chill'd, and broken, are his 

food. — 
" Enough, that we are parted — that there rolls 
" A flood of headlong fate between our souls, 
" Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee 
" As hell from heav'n, to all eternity ! " 

" Zelica, Zelica ! " the youth exclaim' d, 
In all the tortures of a mind infiam'd 
Almost to madness — " by that sacred Heav'n, 
" Where yet, if pray'rs can move, thou'lt be 

forgiven, 
•' As thou art here — here, in this writhing heart, 
" All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou art ! 
" By the remembrance of our once pure love, 
" Which, like a churchyard light, still burns 

above 
"The grave of our lost souls — which guilt in 

thee 
" Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me ! 



383 



LA.LLA ROOKH. 



" I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence — 
" If thou hast yet one spark of innocence, 

" Fly mth me from this place " 

" With thee ! bliss ! 
* 'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. 
" What ! take the lost one with thee ? — let her 

rove 
"By thy dear side, as in those days of love, 
" When we were both so happy, both so pure — 
«' Too heavenly dream ! if there's on earth a cure 
" For the sunk heart, 'tis this — day after day 
" To be the blest companion of thy way ; 
" To hear thy angel eloquence — to see 
" Those virtuous eyes forever turn'd on me ; 
" And, in their light rechasten'd silently, 
" Like the stain' d web that whitens in the 

sun, 
" Grow pure by being purely shone upon ! 
" And thou wilt pray for me — I know thou 

wilt — 
" At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt 
" Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine 

eyes, 
" Full of sweet tears, unto the dark'ning skies, 
"And plead for me with Heav'n, till I can 

dare 
•' To fix my own weak, sinful glances therej 
" Till the good angels, when they see me cling 
" Forever near thee, pale and sorrowing, 
" Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, 
"And bid thee take thy weeping slave to 

Heaven ! 

" yes, I'll fly with thee " 

Scarce had she said 
These breathless words, when a voice deep and 

dread 
As that of MoNKER, waking up the dead 
From their first sleep — so startling 'twas to 

both — 
Rung through the casement near, " Thy oath ! 

thy oath ! " 
O Heav'n, the ghastliness of that Maid's look ! — 
" 'Tis he,*' faintly she cried, while terror shook 
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes. 
Though through the casement, now, nought but 

the skies 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before — 
" 'Tis he, and I am his — aU, all is o'er — 
" Go — fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too — 
" My oath, my oath, God ! 'tis all too true, 
" True as the worm in this cold heart it is — 
" I am Mokanna's bride — his, Azim, his — 



1 " In the territory of Istkahar there is a kind of apple, 
half of which is sweet and half sour." — JE*n HuukaU 



" The Dead stood round us while I spoke that 

vow, 
" Their blue lips echo'd it — I hear them now ! 
" Their eyes glar'd on me, while I pledg'd that 

bowl, 
" 'Twas burning blood — I feel it in my soul ! 
" And the Veil'd Bridegroom — hist — I've seen 

to-night 
" A\Tiat angels know not of — so foul a sight, 
" So horrible — O, never mayst thou see 
" What there lies hid from all but hell and me ! 
" But I must hence — off, off — I am not thine, 
" Nor Heav'n's, nor Love's, nor aught that is 

divine — 
" Hold me not — ha ! think'st thou the fienda 

that sever 
" Hearts, cannot sunder hands ? — thus, then — 

forever ! " 

With all that strength, which madness lend." 

the weak. 
She flung away his. arm ; and, with a shriek. 
Whose sound, though he should linger out more 

years 
Than wretch ere told, can never leave his ears — 
Flew up through that long avenue of light. 
Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night. 
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight ! 



Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all daj 
but the misery of these two young lovers. Her 
gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even 
upon Fadladeen. She felt, too, without know- 
ing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining 
that Azim must have been just such a youth 
as Feramorz ; just as worthy to enjoy all the 
blessings, without any of the pangs, of that il- 
lusive passion, which too often, like the sunny 
apples of Istkahar,' is all sweetness on one side, 
and all bitterness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered river after 
sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the 
bank," whose employment seemed to them so 
strange, that they stopped their palanquins to 
observe her. She had lighted a small lamp, 
filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an 
earthcrn dish, adorned with a wreath of flow- 
ers, had committed it with a trembling hand to 
the stream ; and was now anxiously watching 



« For an account of this ceremony, see Orandprt's Voyag« 
in the Indian Ocean. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



its progress down the current, heedless of the 
gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. 
Lalla. Rookh was all curiosity; — when one of 
her attendants, who had lived upon the banks 
of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so fre- 
quent, that often, in the dusk of the evening, 
the river is seen glittering all over with lights, 
like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars,') informed 
the Princess that it was the usual way, in which 
the friends of those who had gone on dangerous 
voyages offered up vows for their safe return. 
K the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was 
disastrous ; "but if it went shining down the 
stream, and continued to burn till entirely out 
of sight, the return of the beloved object was 
considered as certain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than 
once looked back, to observe how the young 
Hindoo's- lamp proceeded ; and, while she saw 
with pleasure that it was still unextinguished, 
she could not help fearing that all the hopes of 
this life were no better than that feeble light 
upon the river. The remainder of the journey 
was passed in silence. She now, for the first 
time, felt that shade of melancholy, which comes 
over the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and 
transient as her own breath upon a mirror ; nor 
was it till she heard the lute of Feramorz, 
touched lightly at the door of her pavilion, that 
she waked from the revery in which she had 
been wandering. Instantly her eyes were light- 
ed up with pleasure ; and, after a few unheard 

1 " The place where the Whangho, a river of Tibet, rises, 
Rnd where tliere are more than a hundred springs, which 
sparkle like stars ; whence it is called Hotun-nor, that is, 
the Sea of Suirs." — Description of Tibet in Pinkerton. 

- " The Lescar or Imperial Camp is divided, like a regu- 
lar town, into squares, alleys, and streets, and from a rising 
ground furnishes one of the most agreeable prospects in the 
world. Starting up in a few hours in an uninhabited plain, 
it raises the idea of a city built by enchantment. Even those 
who leave their houses in cities to follow the prince in his 
progress are frequently so charmed witli the Lescar, when 
i-itiiated in a beautiful and convenient place, that they can- 
not prevail with themselves to remove. To prevent this in- 
convenience to the court, the Emperor, after sufficient time 
is allowed to the tradesmen to follow, orders them to be 
burnt out of their tents." — Dow^s Hindostan. 

Colonel VVilks gives a lively picture of an Eastern en- 
campment : — " His camp, like that of most Indian armies, 
exhibited a motley collection of covers from the scorching 
nm and dews of the night, variegated according to the taste 
or means of each individual, by extensive enclosures of col- 
ored Lalico surrounding superb suits of tents ; by ragged 
cloths or blankets stretched over sticks or branches; palm 
leaves hastily spread over similar supports ; handsome tents 
and splendid canopies ; horses, oxen, elephants, and camels ; 
all intermixed without any exterior mark of order or design, 



remarks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum 
of a poet seat ng himself in presence of a Prin- 
cess, every thing was arranged as on the pre- 
ceding evening, and all listened with eagerness, 
while the story was thus continued : — 



Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 
Where all was waste and silent yesterday ? 
This City of War, which, in a few short hours. 
Hath sprung up here,"'' as if the magic powers 
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star. 
Built the high pillar'd halls of Chilminak,' 
Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see, 
This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright 

armory : — 
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of 

gold : — 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun ; 
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,* 
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bells ! 

But yestereve, so motionless around, 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust bird ^ 
HuWing among the thickets, could be heard ; — 
Yet hark ! what discords now, of every kind, 
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the 

wind ; 
The neigh of cavalry ; — the tinkling throngs 
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ; * — 

except the flags of the chiefs, which usually mark the cen- 
tres of a congeries of these masses ; the only regular part of 
the encampment being the streets of shops, each of which is 
constructed nearly in the manner of a booth at an English 
fair." — Historical Sketches of the S.uth of India. 

3 The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed to 
have been built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jan 
ben Jan, who governed the wo»|^ long before the time of 
Adam. 

* "A superb camel, ornamented with strings and tufts of 
small shells." Uli Bey. 

6 A native of Khorassan, and allured southward by meant 
of the water of a fountain between Shiraz and Ispahan, 
called the Fountain of Birds, of which it is sc fond that it 
will follow wherever that water is carried 

6 " Some of the camels have bells about their necks, and 
some about their legs, like those which our carriers put 
about their fore-horses' necks, which together with the ser- 
vants (who belong to the camels, and travel on foot,) sing- 
ing all night, make a pleasant noise, and the journey passes 
away delightfully."— Pitt's Account of the Rhihometans. 

" The camel driver follows the camels singing, and some 
times playing upon his pipe; the louder he sings and pipes, 
the faster the camels go. Nay, they will stand still when 
he gives over his music." — ratiernier. 



LALLA ROOKil. 



Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ; — 
War music, bursting out from time to time, 
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; — 
Or, in the pause, when haisher sounds are mute, 
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, 
That far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of th' Abyssinian trumpet,' swell and float. 

Who leads this mighty army ? — ask ye 

" who ? " 
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue, 
The Night and Shadow,"^ over yonder tent ? — 
It is the Caliph's glorious armament, 
llous'd in liis Paiaue by the dread alarms, 
That hourly came, of the false Projihet's arms. 
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd 
Defiance fierce at Islam ^ and the world, — 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind 
The veils of his bright Palace calm reclin'd. 
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should 

stain. 
Thus unreveng'd, the evening of his reign ; 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave * 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, 
And with an army, nurs'd in victories, 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun 
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. 

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
Such pomp before ; — not ev'n when on his way 
To Mecca's Temple, when both land and sea 
Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury ; * 
When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw 
Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, 
And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow 
Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow : * — 



1 " This trumpet is often called, in Abyssinia, nesser catto, 
wliici) signifies tlie Note of the Eagle." — JVute of Brace's 
Editor. 

2 The two black standards borne before the Caliphs of the 
House of Abbas were called, allegorically, The Night and 
The Shadow. — See Gibbon. 

3 The Mahometan religion. 

* " The Persians swear by the Tomb of Shah Besade, 
who is buried at Casbin ; and when one desires another to 
asseverate a matter, he will ask him, if he dare swear by 
the Holy Grave."— S<r«t/. 

6 Mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to Mecca, expended six 
millions o.' dinars of gold. 

6 Nivein Meccain apportavit, rem ibi aut nunquam aut 
raro visain. ibulfedn.. 

1 The inliabitaiit-: of Hejaz or Arabia Tetrcea, called by an 
Eastern writer "The People of the Rock." — Ebn Huakal. 

8 " Those horses, called by the Arabians Kochlani, of 
whom a written genealogy iias been kept for 2000 years. 



Nor e'er did armament more grand than that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
First, in the van. the People of the Hock,' 
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock; 
Then, chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ;' — 
Men from the regions near the Volga's mouth, 
Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the South ; 
And Indian lancers, in white turbun'd ranks. 
From the far Sjnde, or Attock's sacred banks. 
With dusky legions from the Laud of Myrrh,'" 
And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid-sea 
islander. 

Nor less in number, though more new and 

rude 
In warfare's school, was the vast multitude 
That, fir'd by zeal, or by oppression wrong' d. 
Round the white standard of th' imposto' 

throng'd. 
Beside his thousands of BelieTCrs — blind, 
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind - 
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel 
The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
Flock' d to his banner ; — Chiefs of th' Uzbek 

race. 
Waving their heron crests with martial grace ;" 
Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth 
Frotn th' aromatic pastures of the North ; 
Wild warriors of the turkois hills,'" — and those 
Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 
Of Hindoo Kosh,'' in stormy freedom bred. 
Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. 
But none, of all who own'd the Chief's command, 
Rush'd to that battle field with bolder hand 
Or sterner hate, than Iran's outlaw'd men. 
Her Worshippers of Fire '* — all panting then 
For vengeance on th' accursed Saracen ; 

They are said to derive their origin from King Solomon'* 
steeds." — M'iebiihr. 

9 " Many of the figures on the blades of their swords ar» 
wrought in gold or silver, or in marquetry with small gems." 
isial. Misc. V. i. 

lu Azab or Saba. 

n " The chiefs of the Uzbek Tartars wear a plume of 
white heron's feathers in their turbans." — .Account of ladt- 
pendent Tartary. 

12 In the mountains of Nishapour and Tous (in Khoias- 
san) they find turkoises. — Ebn Haukal. 

IS For a description of these stupendous ranges ot moun- 
tains, see El, hinstone's Caubal. 

i< The Gliebers or Guebres, those original natives of Per 
sia, who adhered to their ancient faith, the religion of Zoro- 
aster, and who, after the conquest of their country by the 
Arabs, were either persecuted at home, or forced lo become 
wanderers abroad. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



391 



Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd, 
Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'er- 

turn'd. 
From Yezd's ' eternal Mansion of the Fire, 
Where aged saints in dreams of Heav'n expire ; 
From Bauku, and those fountains of blue flame 
That burn into the Caspian,' fierce they came, 
Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, 
So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrants 

bled. 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, 
That high in air their motley banners toss'd 
Around the Prophet Chief — all eyes still bent 
Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went. 
That beacon tlirough the battle's stormy flood, 
That rainbow of the field, whose showers were 
blood ! 

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set. 
And risen again, and found them grappling yet ; 
While streams of carnage in his noontide blaze. 
Smoke up to Heav'n — hot as that crimson haze, 
By which the prostrate Caravan is aw'd,' 
In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad. 
" On, Swords of God ! " the panting Caliph 

calls, — 
" Thrones for the living — Heav'n for him who 

falls ! " — 
" On, brave avengers, on," Mokanxa cries, 
" And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies ! " 
Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day — 
They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troops 

give way ! 
Mokan.na's self plucks the black Banner down. 
And now the Orient World's Imperial crown 
Is j ust within his grasp — when, hark, that shout ! 
Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslem's 

rout ; 
And now they turn, they rally — at their head 
A warrior, (like those angel youths who led. 
In glorious panoply of Heav'n's own mail. 
The Champions of the Faith through Beder's 

vale,"*} 



• " Yezd, tlie chief residence of those ancient natives, 
who worship ilie Sun and the Fire, whicli latter they have 
carefully kept lighted, without being once extinguished for 
a nioinent, about 3000 years, on a mountain near Vezd, 
called Ater Quedah, signifying the House or Mansion of the 
Fire. He is reckoned very unfortunate who dies off that 
mountain. — Si plien's Pcmia. 

2 " When the weather is hazy, the springs of Naphtha 
(on an island near Baku) boil up the higher, and the Naph- 
tha often takes tire on the surface of the earth, and runs in 
a flame into the sea to a distance almost incredible." — Han- 
way on Iht Everlasting Fire at B„ku. 



Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives. 
Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drivei 
At once the multitudinous torrent back — 
While hope and courage kindle in his track ; 
And, at eac'ii step, his bloody falchion makes 
Terrible vistas through which victory breaks ! 
In vain Mokanna, 'midst the general flight. 
Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy 

night. 
Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, 
Leave only her unshaken in the sky — 
111 vain he yells his desperate curses out. 
Deals death ^promiscuously to all about, 
To foes that charge and coward friends that 

fly. 

And seems of all the Great Arch enemy. 
The panic spreads — "A miracle ! " through- 
out 
The Moslem ranks, " a miracle ! " they shout, 
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems 
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams ; 
And every sword, true as o'er billows dim 
The needle tracks the loadstar, following him ! 

Right towards Mokanna now he cleaves hia 

path. 
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst 
From weaker heads, and souls but half way 

curs'd. 
To break o'er Him, the mightiest and the worst ! 
But vain his speed — though, in that hour o 

blood. 
Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood. 
With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ; 
Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong 
For human force, hurries ev'n him along ; 
In vain he struggles 'raid the wedg'd array 
Of flying thousands — he is borne away ; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows. 
In this forc'd flight, is — murdering as he goes ! 
As a grira tiger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch' d ravine at night, 

3 Snvary says of the south wind, which blows in Egypt 
from February to May, " Sometimes it appears only in the 
shape of an impetuous whirlwind, which passes rapidly 
and is fatal to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the 
deserts. Torrents of burning sand roll before it, the tirma- 
ment is enveloped in a thick veil, and the sun appears of 
the color of blood. Sometimes whole caravans are buried 
in it." 

* In the great victorj' gained by Mahomed at Bcder, .';a 
was assisted, say the Mussulmans, by tliree thousand an- 
gels, led by Gabriel, mounted on his horse Hiazum. — See 
The Koran and its Commentators. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the -wretched flocks, 
Swept with him in that snow flood from the 

rocks, 
And, to the last, devouring on his way, 
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay. 

" Alia ilia Alia ! " — the glad shout renew — 
" Alia Akbar ! " ' — the Caliph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, 
And light your shrines and chant your zira- 

leets." 
The Swords of God have triumph'd — on his 

throne 
Your Caliph sits, and the veil'd Chief hath flown. 
Who does not envy that young warrior now. 
To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, 
In all the graceful gratitude of power. 
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour ? 
Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name — 
'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame. 
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, 
Like music round a planet as it rolls, — 
He turns away — coldly, as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume; — 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Through glory's light may play, in vain it plays. 
Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief, 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. 
Or warm or brighten, — like that Syrian Lake,^ 
Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
Their smUes in vain, for all beneath is dead . — 
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight 

of woe 
Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow ; 
But thine, lost youth ! was sudden — over thee 
It broke at once, when all seem'd ecstasy ; 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy 

Past 
Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at last — 
'Twas then, ev'n then, o'er joys so freshly blown, 
This mortal blight of misery came down ; 
Ev'n then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart 
Were cheik'd — like fount drops, frozen as they 

start — 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang. 
Each tix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang. 



1 The Tecbir, or cry of the Arabs. " Alia Acbar '. " says 
Ockley, means, "God is most mighty." 

2 The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the women of 
the East sing upon joyful occasions. — Russel. 

3 The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor vege- 
table life. 

* The ancient Ox"8 



One sole desire, one passion now remains 
To keep life's fever stiU within his veins. 
Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch 

who cast 
O'er him and all he lov'd that ruinous blast. 
For this, when rumors reach'd him in his flight 
Far, far away, after that fatal night, — 
Rumors of armies, thronging to th' attack 
Of the Veil'd Chief, — for this he wing'd him 

back, 
Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl'd. 
And, when all hope seem'd desp'rate, wildly 

hurl'd 
Himself into the scale, and sav'd a world. 
For this he still lives on, careless of all 
The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall ; 
For this alone exists — like lightning fire, 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
With a small band of desperate fugitives, 
The last sole stubborn, fragment, left unriven. 
Of the proud host that late stood fronting 

Heaven, 
He gain'd Merou — breath'd a short curse of 

blood 
O'er his lost throne — then pass'd the Jihon'b 

flood,^ 
And gathering all, whose madness of belief 
Still saw a Savior in their down-fall'n Chief, 
Rais'd the white banner within Nek.sheb a 

gates,* 
And there, untam'd, th' approaching conqueror 

waits. 

Of aU his Harem, all that busy hive. 
With music and with sweets sparkling aliVe, 
He took but one, the partner of his flight. 
One — not for love — not for her beauty's 

light — 
No. Zelica stood withering 'midst the gay, 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 
From th' Almu tree and dies, while overhead 
To-day's young flower is springing in its stead.' 
O, not for love — the deepest Damn'd must be 
Touch'd with Heaven's glory, ere such fiends 

as he 
Can fec^ one glimpse of Love's divinity. 



6 A city of Transoxiana. 

<> " You never can cast your eyes on this tree, but you 
meet there either blossoms or fruit ; and as tlie blossom 
drops underneath on the ground (which is frequently cov- 
ered with these purple-colored flowers), others come forth ia 
their stead," &.c. &c. — JVieuUvff. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



303 



But no, she is his victim ; — there lie all 

Her charms for him — charms that can never 

pall, 
As long as hell within his heart can stir, 
Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her. 
To work an angel's ruin, — to behold 
As white a paj^e as Virtue e'er unroU'd 
Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 
Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul — 
ThLs IS nis triumph ; this the joy accurs'd. 
That ranks him among demons all but first : 
This gives the victim, that before him lies 
Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, 
A light like that with which hell fire illumes 
The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes ! 

But other tasks now wait him — tasks that 

need 
All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
With which the Dives ' have gifted him — for 

mark, 
Over yon plains, which night had else made dark. 
Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights 
1 hat spangle India's fields on showery nights,^ 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed, 
Tlie mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, 
Glimmering along th' horizon's dusky line, 
And thence in nearer circles, till they shine 
Among the founts and groves, o'er which the 

town 
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
Yet fearless, from his lofty battlements 
MoKANNA views that multitude of tents ; 
Nay, smiles to think that, though entoil'd, beset. 
Not less than myriads dare to front him yet ; — 
That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, 
Ev'n thus a match for myriads such as they. 
" O, for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing, 
" Who brush' d the thousands of th' Assyrian 

King^ 

1 The Demons of the Persian mythology 

2 Cnrreri mentions the fireflies in India during the rainy 
K' ;ison. — See his Travels. 

3 Sennacherib, called by the Orientals King of Moussal. 
— D'Hrrbelat. 

* Chosriies. For the description of his Throne or Palace, 
spe Gibbon and D^Herbelot. 

There were said to be under this Throne or Pahce of 
Khosrou Parviz a hundred vaults filled with " treasures so 
immense that some Mahometan writers tell us, their Prophet, 
to encourage his disciples, carried them to a rock, which at 
his coinmand opened, and gave them a prospect through it 
of (he treasures nf Khosrou." — On versal Hislonj. 

f> " The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tarnished before 
the heron tuft of thy turban."— From one of the elegies or 
noiigs in prai.-e of Ali, written in characters of gold round 
the gallery of Abbas's tomb. — See Chardin. 
60 



" To darkness in a moment, that I might 

'• People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night ! 

" But, come what may, let who wiU grasp the 

throne, 
" Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan ; 
" Let who wiU torture him. Priest — Caliph ^ 

King — 
" Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring 
" With victims' shrieks and bowlings of the slave, 
" Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within my 

grave ! " 
Thus, to himself — but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a far different strain : — 
" Glorious Defenders of the sacred Crown 
" I bear from Heav'n, whose light nor blood shall 

drown 
" Nor shadow of earth eclipse ; — before whose 

gems 
" The paly pomp of this world's diadems, 
" The crown of Gerashid, the pillar'd throne 
'* Of Parviz,^ and the heron crest that shone,* 
" Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous eyes,* 
" Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies ; 
"Warriors, rejoice — the port to which we've 

pass'd 
<« O'er Destiny's dark wave, beams out at last ! 
" Victory's our own — 'tis written in that Book 
" Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, 
" That Islam's sceptre shall beneath the power 
*' Of her great foe fall broken in that hour, 
" When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes, 
" From Neksheb's Holy Well portentously shall 

rise ! 

" Now turn and see ! " 

They turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendor all around them broke, 
And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, 
Rise from the Holy Well,'' and cast its light 
Round the rich city and the plain for miles,* — 
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 

6 The beauty of Ali's eyes was so remarkable, that whei. 
ever the Persians would describe any thing as very lovely, 
they say it is Ayn Hali, or the Eyes of Ali. — CItardin. 

7 We are not told more of this trick of the Impostor, than 
that it was ■' une machine, qu'il disoit etre la Lnne." Ao 
cording to Richardson, the miracle is perpetuated in Neks 
cheb — "Nakshab, the name of a city in Transoxiania, 
where they say there is a well, in which the appearance of 
the moon is to be seen night and day." 

8 " U amusa pendant deux mois le peuple de la ville de 
Nekhsclieb, en faisant sortir toutes les nuits dii fond d'un 
puits un corps lumineux semblahle i Lune, qui portoit sa 
himiere jusqu'i la distance de plusieurs niilles." — D'Ker- 
belot. Hence he was called Sazende'imah, or the Moon- 
maker. 



S94 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Of many a dome and fair-roof'd imaret, 
As autumn suns shed round them when they set. 
Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign 
A murmur broke — " Miraculous ! divine ! " 
The Ghcber Low'd, thinking his idol star 
Had wak'd, and burst impatient through the bar 
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war ; 
While he of Moussa's creed saw, in that raj'. 
The glorious Light which, in his freedom's day, 
Had rested on the Ark,' and now again 
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain. 

" To victory ! " is at once the cry of all — 
Nor stands Mokanna loitering at that call ; 
But instant the huge gates are flung aside. 
And forth, like a diminutive mountain tide 
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course 
Kight on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
The watchmen of the camp, — who, in their 

rounds. 
Had paus'd, and ev'n forgot the punctual sounds 
Of the small drum with which they count the 

night,'-* 
To gaze upon that supernatural light, — 
Xow sink beneath an unexpected arm. 
And in a death groan give their last alarm. 
•' On for the lamps, that light yon lofly screen,^ 
" Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
"There rests the Caliph — speed — one lucky 

lance 
" May now achieve mankind's deliverance." 
Desperate the die — such as they only cast. 
Who venture for a world, and stake their last. 
But Fate's no longer with him — blade for blade 
Springs up to meet them through the gUmmer- 

ing shade. 
And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon 
Pour to the spot, like bees of Kauzeboon * 
To the shrill timbrel's summons, — till, at length, 
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength. 
And back to Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
AVith random slaughter, drives th' adventurous 

train ; 
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 
Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail 
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night. 
Catching the tempest's momentary light ! 



1 The Pbechinah. called Sakinat in tbe Koran. — See 
Sale's JVote, chap. ii. 

2 The parts of the niglit are made known as well by in- 
■tniments of niusi;;, as by the rounds of the watchmen with 
tries and small drums. — See Barder's Oriental Customs, 
Vol. i p. 1 19. 

3 The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiffened with 



And hath not this brought the proud spirit 
low ? 
Nor dash'd his brow, nor check' d his daring ? No. 
Though half the wretches, whom at night he led 
To thrones and victory, lie disgrac'd and dead. 
Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest, 
StiU vaunt of thrones, and victory to the rest; — 
And they believe him ! — 0, the lover may 
Distrust that look which steals his soul away ; — 
The babe may cease to think that it can p^ay 
With Heaven's rambow ; — alchemists may 

doubt 
The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 

And well th' Impostor knew all lures and arts, 
That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot 
Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 
Ill-fated Zelica ! had reason been 
Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen, 
Thou never couldst have borne it — Death had 

come 
At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. 
But 'twas not so — a torpor, a suspense 
Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense 
And passionate struggles of that fearful night, 
When her last hope of peace and heav'n took 

flight : 
And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke, — 
As through some dull volcano's veil of smoke 
Ominous flashings now and then will start. 
Which show the fire's still busy at its heart ; 
Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn gloom, — 
Not such as Azim's broodmg o'er its doom, 
And calm without, as is the brow of death. 
While busy worms are gnawing underneath — 
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 
From thought or pain, a seal'd-up apathy. 
Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrDl 
The cold, pale victim of her torturer's will. 

Again, as in Merou, he had her deck'd 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect ; 
And led her ghttcring forth before the eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice, — 



cane, used to enclose a considerable space round the Toya 
tents. — ^otes on the Bahardanush. 

The tents of Princes were generally illuminated. Nor 
den tells us that the tent of the Bey of Girge was distin- 
guished from the other tents by forty lanterns being sus 
pended before it. — See Harmei's Observations on Job. 

♦ " From the groves of orange trees at Kauzeroom the 
bees cull a celebrated honey." — Morier's Travels. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



395 



Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce Nile, when, deck'd in all the pride 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.' 
And while the wretched maid hung down her 

head, 
And stood, as one just risen from the dead, 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend ^^ juld tell 
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell 
Possess'd her now, — and from that darken'd 

trance 
Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance. 
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame. 
Her soul was rous'd, and words of wildness 

came. 
Instant the bold blasphemer would translate 
Her ravings into oracles of fate, 
Would hail Heav'n's signals in her flashing 

eyes. 
And call her shrieks the language of the skies ! 

But vain at length his arts — despair is seen 
Gathering around ; and famine comes to glean 
All that the sword had left unreap'd : — in vain 
At morn and eve across the northern plain 
He looks impatient for the promis'd spears 
Of the wild Hordes and Tartar mountaineers ; 



1 " A custom still subsisting at this day, seems to me to 
prove that the Egyptians formerly sacrificed a young virgin 
to the God of the Nile ; for they now make a statue of earth 
in shape of a girl, to which they give the name of the Be- 
trothed Bride, and throw it into the river." — SaDor?/. 

2 That they knew the secret of the Greek fire among the 
Mussulmans early in the eleventh century, appears from 
Duw's Account of Mamood I. " When he arrived at Moul- 
tan, finding that the country of tlie Jits was defended by 
great rivers, he ordered fifteen hundred boats to be built, 
each of which he armed with six iron spikes, projecting 
from their prows and sides, to prevent their being boarded 
by ihe enemy, who were very expert in tliat kind of war. 
VViien he had launched this fieet, he ordered twenty archers 
into each boat, and five others with fire-balls, to burn the 
craft of the Jits, and naphtha to set the whole river on fire." 

The a^ee a.^t r, too, in Indian poems the Instrument of 
Fire, whose flame caimot be extinguished, is supposed to 
signify the Greek Fire. — See fVilk.s's South of India, vol. i. 
p. 471. — And in the curious Java* poem, the Brata Yudlia 
given by Sir Stamford Raffles in his History of Java, we find, 
"He aimed at the heart of Soeta with the sharp-pointed 
Weapon of Fire." 

The mention of gunpowder as in use among the Arabians, 
long before its supposed discovery in Europe, is introduced 
by F.bn Fadhl, the Egyptian geographer, who lived in the 
thirteenth century. "Bodies," he says, "in the form of 
scorpions, bound round and filled with nitrous powder, glide 
along, making a gentle noise ; then, exploding, they lighten, 
as it were, and burn. But there are others vviiich, cast into 
the air, stretch along like a cloud, roaring horribly, as thun- 
der roars, and i n all sides vomiting out flames, burst, burn, 
and reduce to cinders whatever comes in their way." The 
hiotrrian Ben Abdalla, in speaking of the sieges of Abulualid 



They come not — while his fierce bcleaguerera 

pour 
Engines of havoc in, unknown before,' 
And horrible as new;' — javelins, that fly 
Inwreath'd with smoky flames through the dark 

sky, 
And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, 
Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount,'' 
Showers of consuming fire o'er all below ; 
Looking, as through th' illumin'd night they go. 
Like those wild birds ° that by the Magians 

oft, 
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 
To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. 
All night the groans of wretches who e-xpirc, 
In agony, beneath these darts of fire. 
Ring through the city — while, descending o'er 
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore, — 
Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of 

gold. 
Since the last peaceful pageant left unroU'd, — 
Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets 
Now gush with blood, — and its tall minarets, 
That late have stood up in the evening glare 
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer ; — 



in the year of the Hegira 712, says, " A fiery globe, by means 
of combustible matter, with a mighiy noise suddenly emit- 
ted, strikes with the force of lightning, and shakes the cita- 
del." — See the extracts from CasirVs Riblioth. Arab. His- 
pan. in the Appendix to Berington's Literary History of the 
Middle Ages. 

3 The Greek fire, which was occasionally lent by the em- 
perors to their allies. "It was," says Gibbon, " eitliet 
launched in red-hot balls of stone and icon, or darted in ar- 
rows and javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, which 
had deeply imbibed the inflammable oil." 

< See Hanway'^s Account of the Springs of Naphtha at 
Baku (which is called by Lieutenant Pottinger JouVa Mookee, 
or, the Flaming Moulh,) taking fire and running into tlie 
sea. Dr. Cooke, in his Journal, mentions some wells in 
Circassia, strongly impregnated with this inflanmiable oil, 
from which issues boiling water. " Though the weather," 
he adds, " was now very cold, the warmth of these wells 
of hot water produced near them the verdure and flowers 
of spring." 

Major Scott Waring says, that naphtha is used by the Per- 
sians, as we are told it was in hell, for lamps. 

many a row 

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielding light 
As from a sky. 

5 " At the great festival of fire, called the Sheb Seze, they 
used to set fire to large bundles of dry combustibles, fas- 
tened round wild beasts and birds, which being tlien let 
loose, the air and earth appeared one great illumination; 
and as these terrified creatures naturally fled to the woods 
for shelter, it is easy to conceive the conflagrations they pro- 
duced." — Richardson's Dissertation. 



396 



LALLA KOOKH. 



O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall, 
And death and conflagration throughout all 
The desolate city hold high festival ! 

MoKANNA sees the world is his no more ; — 
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
" What ! drooping now ? " — thus, with un- 
blushing cheeki 
He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak, 
Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying, 
And by the light of blazing temples dying ; — 
" What ! — drooping now ? — now, when at 

length we press 
" Home o'er the very threshold of success ; 
" When Alla from our ranks hath thinn'd aw^y 
" Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray 
" Of favor from us, and we stand at length 
'• Heirs of his light and children of his strength, 
" The chosen few, who shall survive the fall 
" Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over -Jl ! 
" Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you 

are, 
«' All faith in him, who was your Light /our 

Star? 
'• Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid 
" Beneath this Veil, the flashing of wh" : lid 
<* Could, like a sunstroke of the dese-**- -vither 
" Millions of such as yonder Chief hr'^-gs hither ? 
•' Long have its lightnings slept — t '. long — but 

now 
" All earth shall feel th' unvcilin'^ of this brow ! 
" To-night — yes, sainted mer ' this very night, 
" I bid you all to a fair fesf-c' rite, 
•« Where — having deep pfresh'd each weary 

limb 
" With viands, such *»6 ^'ast Heav'n's cherubim, 
" And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 
" With that pure wine the Dark-ey'd Maids 

abo-i'e 
" Keep, seal d with precious musk, for those 

they love,' — 
" I will myself uncurtain in your sight 
" The wonders of this brow's ineff'able light ; 
" Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
" Yon myriads, howling through the universe ! " 

Eager thev lister. — while each accent darts 
New life inU their chill'd and hope-sick hearts ; 
Such treacherous life as the cool draught sup- 
plies 
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 



1 " The righteous sliall be given to drink of pure wine, 
«enlcd ; the seal whereof shall he musk." — Koran, chap. 
Ixxxiii. 



Wildly they point their lances to the light 
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout ••To- 
night ! " — 
" To-night," their Chief reijchoes in a voice 
Of fiendlike mockery that bids hell rejoice. 
Deluded victims ! — never hath this earth 
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood 
This racking waste of famine and of blood, 
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the 

shout 
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out : — 
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, 
Danc'd, like wan ghosts about a funeral pj-re, 
Among the dead and dying, strew'd around ; — 
W'hile some pale wretch look'd on, and from his 

wound 
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, 
In ghastly transport wav'd it o'er his head ! 

'Twas more than midnight now — a fearful 

pause 
Had foUow'd the long shouts, the wild applause, 
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, 
Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst, 
When Zelica — alas, poor ruin'd heart, 
In every horror doom'd to bear its part ! - - 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave. 
Who, while his quivering lip the summons 

gave. 
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat 
His message through, fell lifeless at her feet ! 
Shuddering she went — a soul-felt pang of fear, 
A presage that her own dark doom was near, 
Ilous'd every feeling, and brought Reason back 
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 
All round seem'd tranquil — even the foe had 

ccas'd, 
As if aware of that demoniac feast. 
His fiery bolts ; and though the heavens look'd 

red, 
'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread. 
But hark — she stops — she listens — dreadful 

tone ! 
'Tis her Tormentor's laugh — and now, a groan, 
A long death groan comes with it : — can this be 
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry ? 
She enters — Holy Alla, what a sight 
Was there before her ! By the glimmering light 
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands 
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless 

hands. 
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread. 
Rich censers breathing — garlands overhead — 



LA.LLA ROOKH. 



397 



The urns, the cups, from which they late had 

quaff d 
All gold and gems, but — what had been the 

draught ? 
0, who need ask, that saw those livid guests, 
With their swoU'n hoads sunk blackening on 

their breasts. 
Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy glare, 
As if they sought but saw no mercy there ; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them 

through. 
Remorse, the deadlier torment of the two ! 
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train 
Of their false Chief, who on the battle plain 
Would have met death with transport by his 

side. 
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; — but, as they 

died, 
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last 

strain, 
And clinch' d the slackening hand at him in 

vain. 

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, 
The stony look of horror and despair. 
Which some of these expiring victims cast 
Upon their souls' tormentor to the last ; — 
Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now 

rais'd, 
Shovv'd them, as in death's agony they gaz'd. 
Not the long promis'd light, the brow, whose 

beaming 
Was to come forth, all conquering, aU redeeming. 
But features horribler than Hell e'er trac'd 
On its own brood ; — no Demon of the Waste,* 
No churchyard Ghole, caught lingering in the 

light 
Of the bless'd sun, e'er blasted human sight 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those 
Th' Impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows : 
" There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your 

Star — 
" Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are. 
" Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 
" Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you 

still? 
" Swear that the burning death ye feel within 
Is but the trance with which Heav'n'a joys 

begin; 



1 " The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes 
and deserts of their country to be inliabited by a lonely de- 
mon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the 
Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any seques- 
tered tribe, by saying, they are wild as the Demon of the 
Waste." — Elphinstone's Caubul. 



'■ That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgrac'd 

• Ev'n monstrous man, is — after God's own 

taste ; 
And that — but see! — ere I have half way 

said 
' My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls 

are fled. 
' Farewell, sweet spirits ! not in vain ye die, 
' If Eblis loves you half so well as I. — 
' Ha, my young bride ! — 'tis well — take thou 

thy seat ; 
■ Nay come — no shuddering — didst thou never 

meet 
' The Dead before ? — they grac'd our wedding, 

sweet ; 
' And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd 

so true 
' Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one 

too. 
'But — how is this ? — all empty ? all drunk 

up? 
' Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, 
'Young bride — yet stay — one precious drop 

remains, 
' Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ; — 
' Here, drink — and should thy lover's con- 
quering arms 

• Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
' Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, 

' And I'U forgive my haughty rival's bliss ! 

<'For 7ne — I too must die — but not lilce 

these 
' Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze ; 
< To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, 
' With all death's grimness added to its own, 
' And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes 
' Of slaves, exclaiming, « There his Godship 

lies ! ' 
' No — cursed race — since first my soul drew 

breath, 
« They've been my dupes, and shall be ev'n in 

death. 

• Thou seest yon cistern in the shade — 'tis 

fiU'd 

• With burning drugs, for this last hour dis- 

till'd;* — 
' There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame — 

• Fit bath to lave a djing Prophet's frame ! — 



2 " II donna du poison dans le vin i tous ses gens, et so 
jetta lui-meme ensuite dans une cuve pleine de drogues bru- 
lantes et consumantes, afin qu'il ne restat rien de tous les 
membres de son corps, et que ceux qui restoient de sa sects 
puissent croire qu'il etoit monte au ciel, ce qui ne manqua 
pas d'arriver." — Vllerbelot 



398 



LALLA ROOKH. 



"There perish, all — ere pulse of thine shall 

fail — 
" Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. 
" So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, 
« Proclaim that Heaven took back the Sauit it 

gave ; — 
" That I've but vanish'd from this earth a while, 
«' To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile ! 
" So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 
" Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall 

kneel ; 
«' Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, 
" Written in blood — and Bigotry may swell 
" The sail he spreads for Heav'n with blasts 

from hell ! 
" So shall my banner, through long ages, be 
" The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; — 
" Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name, 
" And, though I die, my spirit, still the same, 
•' Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife, 
" And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life. 
"jBut, hark! their battering engine shakes the 

wall — 
" Why, let it shake — thus I can brave them all. 
«' No trace of me shall greet them, when they 

come, 
"And I can trust thy faith, for — thou'lt be 

dumb. 
" Now mark how readily a wretch like me, 
" In one bold plunge, commences Deity! " 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were 

said — 
Quick clos'd the burning waters o'er his head, 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing ; 
The only wretched one, still curs'd with breath, 
In all that frightful Avilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost — such as, they 

tell. 
In the Lone Cities of the Silent ' dwell, 
And there, unseen of all but Alla, sit 
Each by his own pale carcass, watching it. 

But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stiis 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 
ihcir globes of fire (the dread artillery lent 
By Greece to conquering Mahadi) are spent ; 
And now the scori^ion's shaft, the quarry sent 
From high balistas, and the shielded throng 
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, 



1 " They have all a great reverence for burial grounds, 
ihich they sometimes call by tlie poetical name of Cities of 
lie Silent, and which tliey people with tlie ghosts of the de- 



All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent 
To try, at length, if tower and battlemeiit 
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win, 
Less tough to break down than the hearts 

within. 
First in impatience and in toil is he, 
The burning AziM — O, could he but seo 
Th' Impostor once alive within his grasp. 
Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp, 
Could match that gripe of vengeance, oi keep 

pace 
With the fell heartiness of Hate's embi!u;e ! 

Loud rings the ponderous ram a^&inst the 

walls ; 
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls. 
But still no breach — " Once more, one mighty 

swing 
«' Of all your beams, together thundering ! " 
There — the wall shakes — the shouting troops 

exult, 
" Quick, quick discharge your weightiest cata- 
pult 
" Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own ! *" 
'Tis done — the battlements come crashing down, 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in 

two, 
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew. 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through. 
But strange ! no signs of life — nought living 

seen 
Above, beloAV — what can this stillness mean ? 
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes • 
" In through the breach," impetuous Azim cries ; 
But the cool Caliph, fearful of some Avile 
In this blank stillness, checks the troops a while. 
Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanc'd 
Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there 

glanc'd 
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
The well-kno-wn Silver Veil ! — " 'Tis He, 'tis 

He, 
" Mokanna, and alone ! " they shout around ; 
Young Azim from his steed springs to the 

ground — 
" Mine, Holy Caliph ! mine," he cries, " the task 
" To crush yon daring wretch — 'tis all I ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe. 
Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are near ; 
Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, 



parted, who sit each at the head of his own grave, invlsibU 
to mortal eyes." — Elpliimtone. 



LALLA ROOKII. 



399 



And, casting off the Veil in falling, shows — 
0, — 'tis his Zelica's lifeblood that flows ! 

" I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said, 
As on his trembling arm she lean'd her head, 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there 
Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear, 
" I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of 

this : — 
" Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
" Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but 

know, 
" How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
" But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow ; 
" To linger on were maddening — and I thought 
«' If once that Veil — nay, look not on it — 

caught 
" The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be 
" Struck by a thousand death darts instantly. 
" But this is sweeter — O, believe me, yes — 
" I Avould not change this sad, but dear caress, 
" This death within thy arms I would not 

give 
" For the most smiling life the happiest live ! 
" All, that stood dark and drear before the eye 
" Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by ; 
" A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, 
" Like the first dawn of mercy from above ; 
'* And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiven, 
" Angels will echo the blest words in Heaven ! 
" But live, my Azim ; — O, to call thee mine 
" Thus once again ! my Azim — dream divine ! 
" Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet 
" Th}- Zelica hereafter would be sweet, 
" O, live to pray for her — to bend the knee 
" Jlorning and night before that Deity, 
" To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 
"As thine are, Azim, never breath'd in vain, — 
'< And pray that He may pardon her, — may 

take 
" Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, 
" And, nought remembering but her love to thee, 
" Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
" Go to those happy fields where first we tmn'd 
" Our youthful hearts together — every wind 
' ' That meets thee there, fresh from the well- 
known flowers, 
" Will bring the sweetness of those innocent 

hours 
" Back to thy soul, and thou mayst feel again 
" For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
' So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies 



1 " Th^ celebrity of M?zapong is owing to its mangoes, 
»vhich are certHinly the best fruit I ever tasted. The par- 



" To Heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise 

•' With all love's earliest ardor to the skies ! 

" And should they — but, alas, my senses fail ; 

" for one minute ! — should thy prayers pre- 
vail — 

" K pardon'd souls may, from that World of 
Bliss, 

" Reveal their joy to those they love in this — 

" rU come to thee — in some sweet dream — and 
tell — 

" O Heav'n — I die — dear love ! farewell, fare- 
well." 

Time fleeted— years on years had pass'd 

away. 
And few of those who, on that mournful day, 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic grave. 
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave. 
And aged man, who had grown aged there 
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 
For the last time knelt down — and, though the 

shade 
Of death hung darkening over him, there play'd 
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek. 
That brighten'd even Death — like the last 

streak 
Of intense glory on the horizon's brim, 
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. 
His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept ; 
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
So many years, had come to him, all dress'd 
In angel smiles, and told him she was blest ! 
For this the old man breath'd his thanks, and 

died. 
And there, upon the banks of that lov'd tide, 
He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 



The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khoras- 
san being ended, they were now doomed to 
hear Fadladeen's criticisms upon it. A series 
of disappointments and accidents had occurred 
to this learned Chamberlain during the journey. 
In the first place, those couriers stationed, as in 
the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and 
the Western coast of India, to secure a constant 
supply of mangoes for the Royal Table, had, by 
some cruel irregularity, failed in their duty ; 
and to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong 
was, of course, impossible.' In the next place. 



ent tree, from wliich all those of this species have been 
grafted, is honored during the fruit season by a guard of 



LALLA ROOKII. 



the elephant, laden with his fine antique porce- 
lain,' had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shat- 
tered the whole set to pieces : — an irreparable 
loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely 
old, as to have been used under the Emperors 
Yan and Chun, who reigned maijy ages before 
the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, too, supposed 
to be the identical copy between the leaves of 
which Mahomet's favorite pigeon used to nes- 
tle, had been mislaid by his Koran bearer three 
whole days ; not without much spiritual alarm 
to Fadladeen, who, though professing to hold 
with other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans, that 
salvation could only be found in the Koran, was 
strongly suspected of believing in his heart, that 
it could only be found in his own particular copy 
of it. When to all these grievances is added the 
obstinacy of the cooks, in putting the pepper of 
Canara into his dishes instead of the cinnamon 
of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he came 
to the task of criticism with, at least, a sufficient 
degree of irritability for the purpose. 

" In order," said he, importantly swinging 
about his chaplet of pearls, " to convey with 
clearness my opinion of the story this young 
man has related, it is necessary to take a review 

of all the stories that have ever " — " My 

good Fadladeen ! " exclaimed the Princess, 
interrupting him, " we really do not deserve 
that you should give yourself so much trouble. 
Your opinion of the poem we have just heard, 
will, I have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, 
M-ithout any further waste of your valuable eru- 
dition." — " K that be all," replied the critic, — 
evidently mortified at not being allowed to show 
how much he knew about every thing, but the 
subject immediately before him — "if that be 
all that is required, the matter is easily de- 
spatched." He then proceeded to analyze the 
poem, in that strain (so well known to the un- 
fortunate bards of Delhi), whose censures were 
an infliction from which few recovered, and 
whose very praises were like the honey extracted 

gepoys ; and, in the reign of Shah Jehan, couriers were sta- 
lioned between Delhi and the Mahratfa coast, to secure an 
abundant and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal table." 
^Mrs. GraAam'i Journal of a Residence in India. 

1 This old porcelain is found in digging, and " if it is es- 
teemed, it is not because it has acquired any new degree 
of beauty in the earth, but because it has retained its ancient 
beauty; and this alone is of great importance in China, 
where they give large sums for the smallest vessels which 
were used under the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned 
many ages before the dynasty of Tang, at which time porce- 
lain began to be used by the Emperors" (about the year 



from the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief 
personages of the story were, if he rightly un- 
derstood them, an ill-favored gentleman, with a 
veil over his face ; — a young lady, whose rea- 
son went and came, according as it suited the 
poet's convenience to be sensible or other-\nse ; 
— and a youth in one of those hideous Bucha- 
rian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman 
in a veil for a Di-vinity. "From such materi- 
als," said he, "what can be expected? — after 
rivalling each other in long speeches and ab- 
surdities, through some thousands of lines as 
indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, our friend 
in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis ; the 
young lady dies in a set speech, whose only 
recommendation is that it is her last ; and the 
lover lives on to a good old age, for the lauda- 
ble purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at 
last happily accomplishes, and expires. This, 
you will allow, is a fair summary of the story ; 
and if Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no 
better, our Holy Prqphet (to whom be all honor 
and glory!) had no need to be jealous of his 
abilities for story telling." * 

"With respect to the style, it was worthy of 
the matter ; — it had not even those politic con- 
trivances of structure, which make up for the 
commonness of the thoughts by the peculiarity 
of the manner, nor that stately poetical phrase- 
ology by which sentiments mean in themselves, 
like the blacksmith's' apron converted into a 
banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered into 
consequence. Then, as to the versification, it 
was, to say no worse of it, execrable : it had 
neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the sweet- 
ness of Hafez, nor the sententious march of 
Sadi ; but appeared to him, in the uneasy heav- 
iness of its movements, to have been modelled 
upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. The 
licenses, too, in which it indulged, were unpar- 
donable ; — for instance this line, and the poem 
abounded with such ; — 

Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream. 



4i2). — Dunn's Collection of curious Observations, &c.; — 
a bad translation of some parts of the Lettres Ediiiantes et 
Curieuses of the Missionary Jesuits. 

2 " La lecture de ces Fables plaisoit si fort aux Aralies, 
que, quand Mahomet les entretenoit de I'Hisloire de I'An- 
cien Testament, ils les meprisoient, lui disant que celles 
que Nasser leur racontoient etoient beaucoup plus bellea. 
Cette preference attira 4 Nasser la malediction de Mahomet 
et de tous ses disciples." — D'Herbclot. 

3 The blacksmith Gao, who successfully resisted the ty- 
rant Zohak, and whose apron became the Royal Standard 
of Persia. 




-^/;;,./.^.vf'//- M. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



4'M 



" What critic that can count," said Fadladeex, 
♦' and has his full complement of fingers to count 
withal, would tolerate for an instant such sj-llab- 
ic superfluities ? " — He here looked round, and 
discovered that most of his audience were asleep ; 
while tlie glimmering lamps seemed inclined to 
follow their example. It became necessary, 
therefore, however painful to himself, to put an 
end to his valuable animadversions for the pres- 
ent, and he accordingly concluded, with an air 
of dignified candor, thus : — " Notwithstanding 
the observations which I have thought it my 
duty to make, it is by no means my wish to 
discourage the young man : — so far from it, 
indeed, that if he will but totally alter his style 
of writing and thinking, I have very little doubt 
that I shall be vastly pleased with him." 

Some days elapsed, after this harangue of the 
Great Chamberlain, before Lalla Rookh could 
venture to ask for another story. The youth 
was still a welcome guest in the pavilion — to 
one heart, perhaps, too dangerously welcome ; 
— but all mention of poetry was, as if by com- 
mon consent, avoided. Though none of the 
party had much respect for Fadladeen, yet his 
censures, thus magisterially delivered, evidently 
made an impression on them all. The Poet, 
himself, to whom criticism was quite a new op- 
eration, (being wholly unknown in that Paradise 
of the Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it is 
generally felt at first, till use has made it more 
tolerable to the patient ; — the Ladies began to 
suspect that they ought not to be pleased, and 
seemed to conclude that there must have been 
much good sense in what Fadladeen said, from 
its having set them all so soundly to sleep ; — 
while the self-complacent Chamberlain was left 
to triumph in the idea of having, for the hun- 
dred and fiftieth time in his life, extinguished a 
Poet. Lalla Hookh alone — and Love knew 
why — persisted in being delighted with all she 

1 " The Hunia, a bird peculiar to the East It is supposed 
to fly constantly in tl)e air, and never touch the ground ; it 
is looked upon as a bird of happy omen ; and that every 
head it overshades will in time wear a crown." — iJicA- 
ardson. 

In the terms of alliance made by Fuzzel Oola Khan with 
Ilyder in 1760, one of the stipulations was, " that he should 
have the distinction of two honorary attendants standing 
behind him, holding fans c imposed of tlie feathers of the 
humma, according to the practice of his family." — H'ilks's 
South of India. He adds in a note ; — " The Humma is a 
fabulous bird. The head over which its shadow once passes 
will assuredly be circled with a crown. The splendid little 
bird suspended over the throne of Tippoo Sultaun, found at 



51 



had heard, and in resolving to hear more as 
speedily as possible. Her manner, however, of 
first returning to the subject was unlucky. It 
was while they rested during the heat of noon 
near a fountain, on which some hand had rudely 
traced those well-known words from the Garden 
of Sadi, — " Many, like me, have viewed this 
fountain, but they are gone, and their eyes arc 
closed forever ! " — that she took occasion, froia 
the melancholy beauty of this passage, to dwi^U 
upon the charms of poetry in general. "It in 
true," she said, " few poets can imitate that 
sublime bird, which flies always in the air, and 
never touches the earth : ' — it is only once in 
many ages a Genius appears, whose words, like 
those on the Written Mountain, last forever : * 
— but still there are some, as delightful, per- 
haps, though not so wonderful, who, if not stars 
over our head, are at least flowers along our path, 
and whose sweetness of the moment we ought 
gratefully to inhale, without calling upon them 
for a brightness and a durability beyond their 
nature. In short," continued she, blushing, as 
if conscious of being caught in an oration, " it is 
quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through 
his regions of enchantment, without having a 
critic forever, like the Old Man of the Sea, upon 
his back ! " ^ — Fadladeex, it was plain, took 
this last luckless allusion to himself, and would 
treasure it up in his mind as a whetstone for his 
next criticism. A sudden silence ensued ; and 
the Princess, glancing a look at Feramorz, saw 
plainly she must wait for a more courageous 
moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her v.'ild, fra- 
grant airs, playing freshly over the current of 
youthful spirits, will soon heal even deeper 
wounds than the dull Fadladeens of this world 
can inflict. In an evening or two after, they 
came to the small Valley of Gardens, which 
had been planted by order of the Emperor, 

Seringapatam in 1799, was intended to represent this poeti- 
cal fancy." 

2 " To the pilgrims to Mount Sinai we must attribute tho 
inscriptions, figures, &c. on those roclts, which have from 
thence acquired the name of the Written Mountain." — Fol- 
ncy. M Gebelin and others have been at much pains to at- 
tach some mysterious and important meaning to these in- 
scriptions ; but Niebiihr, as well as Volney, thinks that they 
must have been executed at idle hours by the travellers to 
Mount Sinai, " who were satisfied with cutting the unpol- 
ished rock with any pointed instrument ; adding to their 
names and the date of their journeys some rude figures, 
which bespeak the hand of a peojjle but little skilled in tho 
arts." — JVicAuAr. 

3 The Story of Sinbad. 



102 



LALLA ROOKH. 



for his favorite sister Rochinara, during theii- 
progress to Cashmere, some j'ears before ; and 
never was there a more sparkling assemblage 
of sweets, since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose 
bower of Irem. Every precious flower was 
there to be found, that poetry, or love, or reli- 
gion, has ever consecrated ; from the dark hya- 
cinth, to which Hafez compares his mistress's 
hair,' to the Cdmalatd, by whose rosy blossoms 
tho heaven of Indra is scented.^ As they sat 
in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot, and 
Lalla Rookii remarked that she could fancy it 
the abode of that Flower-loving Nymph whom 
they Avorship in the temples of Kathay,^ or of 
one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of 
tlie air, M-ho live upon perfumes, and to whom a 
place like this might make some amends for the 
Paradise they have lost, — the young Poet, in 
whose eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to 
be one of the bright spiritual creatures she was 
describing, said hesitatingly that he remembered 
a Story of a Peri, which, if the Princess had no 
objection, he would venture to relate. " It is," 
/jaid he, with an appealing look to Fadladeen, 
" in a lighter and humbler strain than the 
other : " then, striking a few careless but mel- 
ancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began : — 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

OxE morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she listen'd to the Springs 

Of Life within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place \ 



1 See J^oWs Hafez, Ode v. 

2 " The C4m;ilati (called by LinnjEus, Ipomaea) is the 
most beautiful of its order, both in the color and form of its 
leaves and flowers ; its elegant blossoms are ' celestial rosy 
red, Love's proper hue,' and have justly procured it the 
name of Cimalati, or Love's Creeper." — Sir fV. Jones. 

" Canialat4 may also mean a mythological plant, by 
which all desires are granted to such as inhabit the heaven 
of Indra ; and if ever flower was worthy of paradise, it is 
our charming Ipomxa." — Jb. 

3 " According to Father Premare, in his tract on Chinese 
Mythology, the mother of Fo-hi was the daughter of heaven, 
liurnamed Flower-loving ; and as the nymph was walking 
alone on the bank of a river, she found herself encircled by 
a rainbow, after which she became pregnant, and, at the 
end of twelve years, was delivered of a son radiant as her- 
self." — Asiat. R'.s. 



" How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
" Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 

" 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; 
" Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea. 
" And the stars themselves have flowers for me 

" One blossom of Heaven outblooms them aU 

" Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, 
" With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,* 

"And sweetly the founts of that Valley 
fall; 
" Though bright are the waters of Si.\o-su-hay, 
" And the golden floods that thitherward stray,* 
" Yet — 0, 'tis only the Blest can say 

" How the waters of Heaven outshine them all. 

" Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 
" From world to luminous world, as far 

" As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
" Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 
" And multiply each through endless years, 

" One minute of Heaven is worth them aU ! ' 

The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd 
To her sad song, a teardrop glisten'd 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flow'r, which — Brahmins say — 

Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.® 

" Nymph of a fair hut erring line ! " 
Gently he said — " One hope is thine. 
'♦ 'Tis written in the Book of Fate, 

" The Peri yet may beforgive7i 
" Who brings to this Eternal gate 

" The Gift that is most dear to Heaven! 
" Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin — 
" 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in." 



4 " Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake ot 
Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane 
trees upon it."— Faster. 

6 " The Aitan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, which nma 
into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold m its 
sands, which employs the inhabitants all tlie summer in 
gathering it." — Description of Tibet in Pinkertov. 

6 " The Brahmins of this province ii.sist that the blue 
campac flowers only in Paradise." — Sir W.Jones. It ap- 
pears, however, from a curious letter of the Sultan ol Me- 
nangcabow, given by Marsden, that one place on earth may 
lay claim to the possession of it. " This is the Sultan, whc 
keeps the flower chanipaka that is blue, and to be found is 
no other country but his, being yellow elsewhere.' — J\lar» 
dell's Sumatra. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



403 



Rapidly as comets run 

To th' embraces of the Sun ; — 

Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel hands ' 

At those dark and daring sprites 

Who would climb th' empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the Peri flies, 

And, lighted earthward by a glance 
That just then broke from morning's eyes. 

Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 

But whither shall the Spirit go 

To find this gift for Heav'n ? — "I know 

" The wealth," she cries, " of every urn, 

" In which unnumber'd rubies burn, 

" Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ; * 

" I know where the Isles of Perfume are ' 

" JIany a fathom down in the sea, 

" To the south of sun-bright Ahaby; * 

" I know, too, where the Genii hid 

" The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid,' 

" With Life's elixir sparkling high — 

" But gifts like these are not for the skj'. 

" AVhere was there ever a gem that shone 

" Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne ? 

" And the Drops of Life — O, what would 

they be 
" In the boundless Deep of Eternity ?" 

Wliile thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 
The air of that sweet Indian land. 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O'er coral rocks, and amber beds ; * 
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam 
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 



1 "The Mahometans suppose that falling stars are the 
firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, 
when they approach too near the empyrean or verge of the 
heavens." — Fryer. 

2 The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruins of Per- 
sepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace and the 
eilifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose of 
I'.idiiig in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, 
wliich still remain there. — D'Herbelot, Folneij. 

3 Diodarus mentions tlie Isle of Panchaia, to the south of 
Arabia Felix, where there was a temple of Jupiter. This 
island, or rather cluster of isles, has disappeared, " sunk 
(pays Orandpre) in the abyss made by the fire beneath their 
fiiiindations." — Voyage tu the Indian Ocean. 

* The Isles of Panchaia. 

5 " The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when dig- 
ging for the foundations of Persepolis." — Richardson. 

6 " It is not like the Sea of India, whose bottom is rich 
Willi pearls and ambergris, whose mountains of the coast 
are stored wit)».^old and precious stones, whose gulfs breed 
creatures that yield ivory, and among the plants of whose 
shores ai? euony, red wood, and the wood of Hairzan, aloes, 
camphor cloves, sandal wood and all other spices and aro- 



Whose rivulets are like rich brides, 
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; 
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 
But crimson now her rivers ran 

"With human blood — the smell of death 
Came reeking from those spicy bowers, 
And man, the sacrifice of man. 

Mingled his taint with every breath 
Upwafted from the innocent flowers. 
Land of the Sun ! Avhat foot invades 
Thy Pagods and thy pillar' d shades ^ — 
Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones. 
Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones ? ' 
'Tis He of Gazna ' — fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path. — 

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Torn from the violated necks 

Of many a young and lov'd Sultana ; '" 

Maidens, within their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very fane he slaughters. 
And chokes up -with the glittering wTCcks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 

Downward the Peri turns her gaze. 
And. through the war field's bloody haze 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand, 

Alone beside his native river, — 
The red blade broken in his hand. 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 
" Live," said the Conqueror, " live to share 
" The trophies and the crowns I bear ! " 
Silent that youthful warrior stood — 
Silent he pointed to the flood 



matics ; where parrots and peacocks are birds of the forest, 
and musk and civet are collected upon the lands." — Trav- 
els of two Mohammedans. 

7 in the ground 

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 

About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade, 

High overarch'd, and echoing walks between. 

MiLTOIf. 

For a particular description and plate of the Banyan tree, 
see Gardiner's Ceylon. 

8 " With this immense treasure Mamood returned lo 
Ghizni, and in the year 400 prepared a magnificent festival, 
where he displayed to the peuple his wealth in golden 
thrones and in other ornaments, in a great plain without the 
city of Ghizni." — Ferishla. 

• " Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India 
in the beginning of the 11th century." — See his History in 
Dow and Sir J. Malcolm. 

w " It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan 
Mahmood was so magnificent, that he kept 400 greyhounds 
and bloodhounds, each of which wore a collar set with jew- 
els, and a covering edged with gold and pearls." — Unioer 
sal History, vol. iii. 



404 



LALLA ROOKH. 



All crimson with his country's blood, 
Then sent his last remaining dart, 
For answer, to th' Invader's heart. 

False flew the shaft, though pointed weL ; 
The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell! — 
Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay, 

And, when the rush of war was past, 
Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last — 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
Before its free-born spirit fled ! 

" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 
" My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
" Though foul are the drops that oft distil * 
" On the field of warfare, blood like this, 

" For Liberty shed, so holy is,' 
" It would not stain the purest rUl, 

" That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 
" O, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
" A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 
•< 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
" From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her 
cause ! " 

" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The gift into his radiant hand, 
•' Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 

" Who die thus for their native Land. — 
" But see — alas ! — the crystal bar 
" Of Eden moves not — holier far 
" Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
" That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee ! " 

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 
Now among Afric's lunar Mountains," 



1 Objections may be made to my use of the word Liberty 
in this, and more especially in tlie story that follows it, as 
totally inapplicable to any state of things that has ever ex- 
isted in the East ; but though I cannot, of course, mean to 
employ it in that enlarged and noble sense which is so well 
understood at the present day, and, I grieve to say, so little 
acted upon, yet it is no disparagement to the word to apply 
it to that national independence, that freedom from the 
interference and dictation of foreigners, without which, 
indeed, no liberty of any kind can exist ; and for which both 
Hindoos and Persians fought against their Mussulman inva- 
ders with, in many cases, a bravery that deserved much 
better success. 

2 " The Mountains of the Moon, or the Monies Lunee of 
antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise.'> 
— Bruce. 

"Sometimes called," says Jackson, "Jibbel Kumrie, or 
the white or lunar-colored mountains ; so a white horse is 
called by the Arabians a moon-colored horse." 



Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
Of that Egyptian tide — whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth 
Deep in those sohtary woods, 
Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail the new-born Giant's smile.* 
Thence over Egypt's palmy groves. 

Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,* 
The exil'd Spirit sighing roves ; 
And now hangs listening to the doves 
In warm Rosetta's vale,'* — now loves 

To watch the moonlight on the wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Mceris' Lake.' 
'Twas a fair scene — a Land more bright 

Never did mortal eye behold ! 
Who could have thought, that saw this night 

Those valleys and their fruits of gold 
Basking in Heaven's serenest light ; — 
Those groups of lovely date trees bending 
Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads. 
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 

Warns them to their silken beds ; ^ — 
Those virgin lilies, all the night 

Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and bright, 

When their beloved Sun's awake ; — 
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
The relics of a splendid dream ; 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Nought but the lapwing's cry is heard, 
Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheathe its gleam,) 
Some purple- wing'd Sultana^ sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 
And glittering like an Idol bird ! — 



8 " The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by the n lines 
of Abey and Alawy, or the Giant." — jSstot. Research, vol. L 
p. 387. 

4 See Perry's View of the Levant for an account of the 
sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless grots, cov- 
ered all over with hieroglyphics, in the mountains of Upper 
Egypt. 

6 " The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle doves." 
— Sonnini. 

6 Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Mffiris. 

1 " The superb date tree, whose head languidly reclines, 
like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep." — 
Dafard el Hadad. 

8 " That beautiful bird, with plumage of the finest shin- 
ing blue, with purple beak and legs, tlie natural and living 
ornament of the temples and palaces of the Greeks and Ro- 
mans, which, from the stateliness of its port, as well as the 
brilliancy of its colors, has obtained the title of Sultana." - 
Sonnini. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



405 



Wlio would have thought, that there, ev'n 

there, 
Amid those scenes so still and fair, 
The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
From liis hot wing a deadUer blast, 
More mortal far than ever came 
From the red Desert's sands of flame ! 
So quick, that every living thing 
Of human shape, touch'd by his wing. 
Like plants, where the Simoom hath pass'd, 
At once falls black and withering ! 
The sun went down on many a brow. 

Which, full of bloom and freshness then, 
Is rankling in the pesthouse now. 

And ne'er will feel that sun again. 
And, O, to see th' unburied heaps 
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away, 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hyena stalks • 
Throughout the city's desolate walks * 
At midnight, and his carnage plies : — 

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
Tlie glaring of those large blue eyes ' 

Amid the darkness of the streets ! 

" Poor race of men ! " said the pitying Spirit, 

"Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall — 
" Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, 

" But the trail of the Serpent is over them 
all ! " 
She wept — the air grew pure and clear 

Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 
For there's a magic in each tear, 

Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 

Just then beneath some orange trees. 
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
AVere wantoning together, free. 
Like age at play with infancy — 
Beneath that fresh and springing bower, 

Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
Of one who, at this silent hour. 

Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
One who in life where'er he mov'd. 

Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
VTet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd. 

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! 

t Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in West 
Karbary, when he was tliere, says, " The birds of the air 
tied away from the abodes of men. The hyenas, on the 
cutitrarv, visited the ceuieteries," &c. 

2 " (Jondar was full of hyenas from the time it turned 
dark, till the dawn of day, seeking the different pieces of 
sUuifilitered carcasses, wliich tliis cruel and unclean people 
expose in the streets without burial, and who firmly believe 



None to watch near him — none to slake 

The fire that in his bosom lies. 
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake. 

Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No voice, well known through many a day. 

To speak the last, the parting word, 
Which, when all other sounds decay, 

Is still like distant music heard ; — 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts off into the unknown Dark. 

Deserted youth ! one thought alone 

Shed joy around his soul in death — 
That she, whom he for j-ears had known, 
And lov'd, and might have call'd his own. 

Was safe from this foul midnight's breathy — 
Safe in her fother's princely halls. 
Where the cool airs from fountain falls. 
Freshly perfum'd by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India's land. 
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. 

But see — who yonder comes by stealth,* 

This melancholy bower to seek, 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 

With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? 
'Tis she ^ far off", through moonlight dim, 

He knew his own betrothed bride. 
She, who would rather die with him. 

Than live to gain the world beside ! — 
Her arms are round her lover now. 

His livid cheek to hers she presses, 
And dips, to bind his burning brow. 

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 
Ah ! once, how little did he think 
An hour would come, when he should shrink 
With horror from that dear embrace. 

Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields — now turns away, 
Shuddering as if the venom lay 
All in those proft'er'd lips alone — 
Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unask'd or without shame. 

that these animals are Falashta from the neighboring moun- 
tains, transformed by magic, and come down to eat human 
flesh in the dark in safety." — Bruce. 

8 Bruce. 

* This circumstance has been often introduced into poe 
try ; — by Vincentius Fabricius, by Darwin, and lately, with 
very powerful effect, by Mr. Wilson. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



" O, let nie only breathe the air, 

" The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee, 
"And, whether on its wings it boar 

" Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me ! 
"There — ddnk my tears, while yet they fall - 

" Would that my bosom's blood were balm, 
" And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, 

" To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
" Nay, turn not from me that dear face — 

" Am I not thine — thy own lov'd bride — 
" The one, the chosen one, whose place 

" In life or death is by thy side ? 
' Think'st thou that she, whose only light, 

" In this dim world, from thee hath shone, 
" Could bear the long, the cheerless night, 

" That must be hers, when thou art gone ? 
" That I can live, and let thee go, 
«' AVho art my life itself? — No, no — 
" "When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
•' Out of its heart must perish too ! 
•' Then turn to me, my own love, turn, 
" Before, like thee, I fade and burn ; 
" Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
" The last pure life that lingers there ! " 

She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In charnel airs, or cavern damp. 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One struggle — and his pain is past — 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kiss the maiden gives, one last. 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 

" Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul. 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast — 
" Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, 
" In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
" Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
" Who sings at the last his own death lay,' 
" And in music and perfume dies away ! " 
Thus saying, from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the place, 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face. 
That lilte two lovely saints they secm'd 



1 "In the East, they suppose the PhoBnix to have fifty 
orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail ; and that, 
after living one thousand years, he huilds himself a funeral 
pile, sinjjs a melodious air of ditTerent harmonies through 
his fifty organ pipes, Haps liis wir.gs with a velocity which 
Bets fire to the wood, and consumes hiniselt." — Richardson. 

- " On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thou- 
Gand goblets, made of stars, out of which souls predestined 



Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
From their dim graves, in odor sleeping , 

While that benevolent Peiu beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken 

But morn is blushing in the sky ; 

Again the Peki soars above, 
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh 

Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 

Th' Elysian palm she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 

Smil'd as she gave that offering in : 
And she already hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the throne of Alla swells ; 
And she can see the starry bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake, 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take ! • 

But, ah ! even Pekis' hopes are vain — 

Again the Fates forbade, again 

Th' immortal barrier clos'd — " Not yet," 

The Angel said, as, with regret. 

He shut from her that glimpse of glory — 

" True was the maiden, and her story, 

" Written in light o'er Alla's head, 

" By seraph eyes shall long be read. 

" But, Peri, see — the crystal bar 

" Of Eden moves not — holier far 

" Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be 

"That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee." 

Now, upon Syria's land of roses' 
Softly the light of Eve reposes. 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, 

And whiteits with eternal sleet. 
While summer, in a vale of flowers. 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one, who look'd from upper air 
O'er all th' enchanted regions there. 



to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave." — From Chateau' 
briand's Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in his 
Beauties of Christiunity, 

3 Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a 
beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which that country 
has been always famous — hence, Suristan, the Land of 
Roses. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



407 



How beauteous must have been the glow, 

The life, the sparkling from below ! 

Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 

Of golden melons on their banks, 

More golden where the sunlight falls ; — 

Gay lizards, glittering on the walls ' 

Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright 

As they were all alive with light ; 

And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks 

Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 

With their rich restless wings that gleam 

Variously in the crimson beam 

Of the warm West, — as if inlaid 

"With brilliants from the mine, or made 

Of tearless rainbows, such as span 

Th' unclouded skies of Peiiistax. 

And then the mingling sounds that come, 

Of shepherd's ancient reed,* with hum 

Of the wild bees of Palestine,* 

Banqueting through the flowery vales ; 
And, JoKDAN, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods so full of nightingales.'* 

But nought can charm the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary — 
Joyless she sees the Sun look down 
On that great Temple, once his own,' 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 

Flinging their shadows from on high. 
Like dials, which the wizard. Time, 

Had rais'd to count his ages by ! 

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 

Some amulet of gems, anneal'd 

In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes, 

May teach her where, beneath the moon. 

In earth or ocean, lies the boon, 

The charm, that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies. 

Checr'd by this hope she bonds her thither ; — 
StiU laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 

1 "The number of lizards 1 saw one day in the great 
^urt of the Temple of the Sun at Balbec amounted to many 
thousands ; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined 
ouildings, were covered witli them." — Bruc. 

2 " Tlie Syrinx or Pan's i)ipe is still a pastoral instrument 
in Syria." — Ru.tscl. 

8 " Wild liees, frequent in Palestine, in hollow trunks or 
branches of trees, and the clefts of rocks. Thus it is said 
(Psalm Ixxxi.), 'honey out of the stonij rock.'" — Burder's 
')riental Customs. 

* "The riv»r Jot dan is on both sides beset with little, 



Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
In the rich West begun :o Avither ; — 
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging 

Slowly, she sees a child at play. 
Among the rosy wild flowers singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
The beautiful blue damsel flies,* 
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flowers or flying gems : — 
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play 
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay. 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount ^ 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat. 
Though never yet hath daybeam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that, — 
Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder clouds, of gloom and fire ; 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
The ruin'd maid — the shrine profan'd — 
Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd 
With blood of guests ! — there written, 

all, 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Ere Mercy weeps them out again. 

Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(As if the balmy evening time 
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay. 
Watching the rosy infant's play : — 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, that have burnt all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 

Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But, hark ! the vesper call to prayer. 
As slow the orb of daylight sets, 

thick, and pleasant woods, among whicli thousands ol 
nightingales warble all together." — TAecenot. 

6 The Temple of the Sun at Balbec. 

• " You behold there a considerable number of a remark 
able species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose ap- 
pearance and their attire procured for them the name of 
Damsels." — Sonnini. 

1 Imaret, " hospice oii on Inge et nourrit, gratis, lea pele- 
riiis pendant trois jours " — Tuderini, translated by the Jlbbe 
de Conrnand. — See alsc Castellan's Mceurs des Othonians, 
tom. v. p. 145. 



408 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Ib rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 

The boy has started from the bed 

Of flowers, where he had laid his head. 

And down upon the fragrant sod 

Kneels,' with his forehead to the south, 

Lisping th' eternal name of God 
From Purity's own cherub mouth, . 

And looking, while his hands and eyes 

Are lifted to the glowing skies, 

Like a stray babe of Paradise, 

Just lighted on that flowery plain, 

And seeking for its home again. 

O, 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that child — 

A scene, which might have well beguil'd 

Ev'n haughty Eklis of a sigh 

For glories lost and peace gone by ! 

And how felt he, the wretched Man 

Reclining there — while memory ran 

O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 

Flew o'er the dark flood of his life. 

Nor found one sunny resting-place. 

Nor brought him back one branch of grace. 

" There was a time," he said, in mild, 

Heart-humbled tones — " thou blessed child ! 

«' When, young and haply pure as thou, 

" I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " 

He hung his head — each nobler aim. 

And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 

Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! 

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 

" There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down 

from the moon 
*' Falls through the withering airs of June 
" Upon Egypt's land,* of so healing a power, 
•' So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 

1 " Such Turks as at the common hours of prayer are on 
[lie road, or so employed as not to find convenience to at- 
tend tlie nios(iiies, are still obliged to execute that duty ; nor 
are tlicy ever known to fail, whatever business tliey are 
then about, but pray immediately when the hour alarms 
them, whatever they are about, in that very place they 
chance to stand on ; insomuch that when a janizary, whom 
you have to guard you up and down the city, hears the no- 
tice which is given him from the steeples, he will turn 
about, stand still, and beckon with his hand, to tell his 
charge he must have patience for a while ; when, taking out 
his handkerchief, he spreads it on the ground, sits cross- 
legged thereupon, and says his prayers, though in the open 
niarRet, which having ended, he leaps briskly up, salutes 



" That drop descends, contagion dies, 

" And health reanimates earth and skies ! — 

" O, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 

" The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
" Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 

" One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them 
all ! " 

And now — behold him kneeling there 
By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
While the same sunbeam shines upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one. 
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
The triumph, of a Soul Forgiven ! 

'Twas when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam 
But well Ih' cnraptur'd Peri knevtr 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel thrCAV 
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Iler harbinger of glory near ! 

" Joy, joy forever ! my task is done 

•♦The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is wont 

" O, am I not happy ? I am, I am — 

" To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark ana 
sad 
'< Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,^ 

" And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad 1 

" Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die 
" Passing away like a lover's sigh ; — 
" My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,* 
" Whose scent is the breath of Eternity I 

" Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
" In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief,- - 

the person whom he undertook to convey, and renews liis 
journey with the mild expression of Ghell goliniuim ghell, 

or Come, dear, follow me." Baron Hill's Travels. 

8 Tlie Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypf 
precisely on St. John's day, in June, and is supposed to have 
the effect of stopping the plague. 

3 The Country of Delight — the name of a province in the 
kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy Land, the capital of which 
is called the City of Jewels. Amberabad is another of the 
cities of Jinni.«tan. 

4 The tree Tooba, that stands in Paradise, in tlie palace 
of Mahomet. See Sale's Prelim. Disc. — To(,ba, says D'Her 
belut, signifies beatitude, or eternal happiness 



LALLA ROOKH. 



40J 



' O, what are the brightest that e'er have blown, 
• To the lote tree, springing by Alla's throne,' 

" Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. 
' Joy> j^y forever ! — my task is done — 
' The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won ! " 



"And this," said the Great Chamberlain, "is 
poetry ! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, 
which, in comparison with the lofty and durable 
monuments of genius, is as the gold filigree 
work of Zamara beside the eternal architecture 
of Egypt ! " After this gorgeous sentence, 
which, with a few more of the same kind, Fad- 
LADEEX kept by him for rare and important 
occasions, he proceeded to the anatomy of the 
short poem just recited. The lax and easy kind 
of metre in which it was written ouifht to be 
denounced, he said, as one of the leading causes 
of the alarming growth of poetry in our times. 
K some check were not given to this lawless fa- 
cility, we should soon be overrun by a race of 
bards as numerous and as shallow as the hun- 
dred and twenty thousand Streams of Basra.* 
They who succeeded in this style deserved chas- 
tisement for their very success ; — as warriors 
have been punished, even after gaining a vic- 
tory, because they had taken the liberty of 
gaining it in an irregular or unestablished man- 
ner. What, then, was to be said to those who 
failed ? to those who presumed, as in the pres- 
ent lamentable instance, to imitate the license 
and case of the bolder sons of song, without 
any of that grace or vigor which gave a dignity 
even to negligence ; — who, like them, flung the 
jereed^ carelessly, but not, like them, to the 
mark; — "and who," said he, raising his voice 
to excite a proper degree of wakefulness in his 
hearers, " contrived to appear heavy and con- 
strained in the midst of all the latitude they 

1 Mahomet is described, in the 53d chapter of the Koran, 
an having seen the angel Gabriel " by tlie lote tree, beyond 
which there is no passing: near it is the Garden of Eternal 
Abode." 'J'liis tree, say the commentators, stands in the 
sevcnrli Heavm, on the right hand of the Throne of God. 

2 " It is said tliat the rivers or streams of Basra were 
reckoned in the time of Pelal ben Abi Bordeh, and amount- 
ed to tiie number of one hundred and twenty tiiousand 
streams." — Ebn Haukal. 

8 The name of the javelin with which the Easterns exer- 
cise. — See Castellan, Mmurs des Othomans, torn. iii. p. 16]. 

* " This account excited a desire of visiting the Banyan 
Hospital, as I had heard much of their benevolence to all 
kinds of animals that were either sick, lame, or infirm, 
through age or accident. On my arrival, there were pre- 
sented to my view many horses, cows, and oxen, in one 
52 



allow themselves, like one of those young pa- 
gans that dance before the Princess, who is 
ingenious enough to move as if her limbs were 
fettered, in a pair of the lightest and loosest 
drawers of Masulipatam ! " 

It was but little suitable, he continued, to the 
grave march of criticism to follow this fantasti- 
cal Peri, of whom they had just heard, through 
all her flights and adventures between earth and 
heaven ; but he could not help adverting to the 
puerile conceitedness of the Three Gifts which 
she is supposed to carry to the skies, — a drop 
of blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! How 
the first of these articles was delivered into the 
Angel's " radiant hand " he professed himself 
at a loss to discover ; and as to the safe carriage 
of the sigh and the tear, such Peris and such 
poets were beings by far too incomprehensible 
for him even to guess how they managed such 
matters. "But, in short," said he, "it is a 
waste of time and patience to dwell longer upon 
a thing so incurably frivolous, — puny even 
among its own puny race, and such as only the 
Banyan Hospital * for Sick Insects should un- 
dertake." 

In vain did Lalla Hookh try to soften this 
inexorable critic ; in vain did she resort to her 
most eloquent commonplaces, — reminding him 
that poets were a timid and sensitive race, whose 
sweetness was not to be drawn forth, like that 
of the fragrant grass near the Gange.*, by crush- 
ing and trampling upon them ; * — that severity 
often extinguished every chance of the perfection 
which it demanded ; and that, after all, perfec- 
tion was like the Mountain of the Talisman, — 
no one had ever yet reached its summit.* Nei- 
ther these gentle axioms, nor the still gentler 
looks with which they were inculcated, could 
lower for one instant the elevation of Fadla- 



apartment; in another, dogs, sheep, goats, and monkeys, 
with clean straw for them to repose on Alujve stairs were 
depositories for seeds of many sorts, and flat, broad dishes 
fiir water, for the use of birds and insects." — Parscna'a 
Travels. 

It is said that all animals know the Banyans, that Ibe 
most timid approach them, and that birds will fly nearer to 
them than to other people. — See Grandpre. 

6 "A very fragrant grass from the banks of the Ganges, 
near Heridwar, which in some places covers whole acres, 
and diffuses, when crushed, a strong odor." — Sir JV. Jones 
on the Spikenard of the Ancients. 

« " Near this is a curious hill, called Koh Talism, the 
Mountain of the Talisman, because, according to the tradi- 
tions of the country, no person ever succeeded in gaining its 
summit." — Kinneir. 



tio 



LALLA ROOKH. 



deen's eyebrows, or charm him into any thing 
like encouragement, or even toleration, of her 
poet. Toleration, indeed, was not among the 
weaknesses of Fadladeen : — he carried the 
same spirit into matters of poetry and of re- 
ligion, and though little versed in the beauties 
or sublimities of either, was a perfect master of 
the art of persecution in both. His zeal was 
the same, too, in either pursuit ; whether the 
game before him was pagans or poetasters, — 
worshippers of cows, or writers of epics. 

They had now arrived at the splendid city of 
Lahore, whose mausoleums and shrines, mag- 
nificent and numberless, where Death appeared 
to share equal honors with Heaven, would have 
powerfully affected the heart and imagination 
of Lalla Rookh, if feelings more of this earth 
had not taken entire possession of her already. 
She was here met by messengers, despatclied 
from Cashmere, who informed her that the King 
had arrived in the Valley, and was himself su- 
perintending the sumptuous preparations that 
were then making in the Saloons of the Shali- 
mar for her reception. The chill she felt on 
receiving this intelligence, — which to a bride 
whose heart was free and light would have 
brought only images of affection and pleasure, 
— convinced her that her peace was gone for- 
ever, and that she was in love, irretrievably in 
love, with young Feramorz. The veil had fallen 
off in which this passion at first disguises itself, 
and to know that she loved was now as painful 
as to love without knowing it had been delicious. 
Feramorz, too, — what misery would be his, if 
the sweet hours of intercourse so imprudently 
allowed them should have stolen into his heart 
the same fatal fascination as into hers ; — if, not- 
withstanding her rank, and the modest homage 
he always paid to it, even he should have yielded 
to the influence of those long and happy inter- 
views, where music, poetry, the delightful scenes 
of nature, — all had tended to bring their hearts 
close together, and to waken by every means that 
too ready passion, which often, like the young 
of the desert bird, is warmed into life by the 
eyes alone ! ' She saw but one way to preserve 
herself from being culpable as well as unhappy, 
and this, however painful, she was resolved to 



1 " The Arabians believe tliat the ostriches hatch their 
voiiiig by only looking at them." — P. VaiisUbc, Rclat. 
d'Egypte. 

s See Sale's Koran, note, vol. ii. p. 484. 

8 Oriental Tales. 



adopt. Feramorz must no more be admitted 
to her presence. To have strayed so far into the 
dangerous labyrinth was wrong, but to linger in 
it, while the clew was yet in her hand, would be 
criminal. Though the heart she had to offer to 
the King of Bucharia might be cold and broken, 
it should at least be pure ; and she must only 
endeavor to forget the short dream of happiness 
she had enjoyed, — like that Arabian shepherd, 
who, in wandering into the wilderness, caught 
a glimpse of the Gardens of Irim, and then lost 
them again forever ! ^ 

The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was 
celebrated in the most enthusiastic manner. 
The Rajas and Omras in her train, who had 
kept at a certain distance during the journey, 
and never encamped nearer to the Princess than 
was strictlj'- necessary for her safeguard, here 
rode in splendid cavalcade through the city, 
and distributed the most costly presents to the 
crowd. Engines were erected in all the squares, 
which cast forth showers of confectionery among 
the people ; while the artisans, in chariots ^ 
adorned with tinsel and flj'ing streamers, ex- 
hibited the badges of their respective trades 
through the streets. Such brilliant displays of 
life and pageantry among the palaces, and domes, 
and gilded minarets of Lahore, made the city 
altogether like a place of enchantment ; — par- 
ticularly on the day when Lalla Rookh set out 
again upon her journey, when she was accom- 
panied to the gate by all the fairest and richest 
of the nobility, and rode along between ranks 
of beautiful boys and girls, who kept waving 
over their heads plates of gold and silver flow- 
ers,'' and then threw them around to be gathered 
by the populace. 

For many days after their departure from 
Lahore, a considerable degree of gloom hung 
over the whole party. Lalla Rookh, who had 
intended to make illness her excuse for not 
admitting the young minstrel, as usual, to the 
pavilion, soon found that to feign indisposition 
was unnecessary ; — Fadladeen felt the loss of 
the good road they had hitherto travelled, and 
was very near cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed 
memory !) for not having contmued his deleeta- 



* Ferishta. " Or rather," saya Scott, upon the passage 
of Ferishta, from which this is taken, "small coins, stami>ed 
with the figure of a (lower. They are still used in India tc 
distribute in charity, and, on occasion, thrown by tlie purse 
bearers of the great among the populace." 



LALLA ROOKH. 



411 



ble alley of trees,' at least as far as the moun- 
tains of Cashmere ; — while the Ladies, who 
had nothing now to do all daj' but to be fanned 
by peacocks' feathers and listen to Fadladeen, 
seemed heartily weary of the life they led, and, 
in spite of all the Great Chamberlain's criti- 
cisms, were so tasteless as to wish for the poet 
again. One evening, as they were proceeding 
to their place of rest for the night, the Princess, 
who, for the freer enjoyment of the air, had 
mounted her favorite Arabian palfrey, in pass- 
ing by a small grove heard the notes of a lute 
from within its leaves, and a voice, which she but 
too well knew, singing the following words : — 

Tell me not of joys above, 

If that world can give no bliss, 

Truer, happier than the Love 
Which enslaves our souls in this. 

Tell me not of Houris' eyes ; — 
Far from me their dangerous glow, 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 

WTio, that feels what Love is here, 
All its falsehood — aU its pain — 

Would, for ev'n Elysium's sphere, 
liisk the fatal dream again ? 

Who, that 'midst a desert's heat 

Sees the waters fade away, 
Would not rather die than meet 

Streams again as false as they ? 

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these 
words were uttered, went to Lalla. Rookh's 
heart ; — and, as she reluctantly rode on, she 
could not help feeling it to be a sad but still 
sweet certainty, that Fekamorz was to the full 
as enamoured and miserable as herself. 

Tlie place where they encamped that evening 
was the first delightful spot they had come to 
since tliey left Lahore. On one side of them 
was a giove full of small Hindoo temples, and 

1 The fine road made by the Emperor Jehan-Guire from 
Agra to Lahore, planted with trees on each side. This road 
is 250 leagues in length. It has " little pyramids or tur- 
rets," says Bernirr, " erected every half league, to mark 
the ways, and frequent wells to afford drink to passengers, 
and to water the young trees." 

2 The Baya, <ir Indian Grossbeak. — Sir JV. Jones. 

3 " Here is a large pagoda bv a tank, on the water of 
which float multitudes of the beaiitiful red lotus : the flower 



planted with the most graceful trees of the East; 
where the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken 
plantains of Ceylon were mingled in rich con- 
trast with the high fan-like foliage of the Pal- 
myra, — that favorite tree of the luxurious bird 
that lights up the chambers of its nest witli 
fireflies.- In the middle of the lawn where rlic 
pavilion stood there was a tank sunounded l)y 
small mango trees, on the clear cold waters of 
which floated multitudes of the beautiful red 
lotus ; ' while at a distance stood the ruuis of a 
strange and awful-looking tower, which seemed 
old enough to have been the temple of some 
religion no longer known, and which spoke the 
voice of desolation in the midst of all that bloom 
and loveliness. This singular ruin excited the 
wonder and conjectures of all. Lali.a Rookii 
guessed in vain, and the all-pretending Fadla- 
deen, who had never till this journey been 
beyond the precincts of Delhi, was proceeding 
most learnedly to show that he knew nothing 
whatever about the matter, when one of the 
Ladies suggested that perhaps Feramorz could 
satisfy their curiosity. They were now ap- 
proaching his native mountains, and this tower 
might perhaps be a relic of some of those dark 
superstitions, which had prevailed in that coun- 
try before the light of Islam dawned upon it. 
The Chamberlain, who usually preferred his 
own ignorance to the best knowledge that any 
one else could give him, was by no means 
pleased with this officious reference ; and the 
Princess, too, was about to interpose a faint 
word of objection, but, before either of them 
could speak, a slave was despatched for Feiia- 
MOKZ, who, in a very few minutes, made his 
appearance before them — looking so pale and 
unhappy in Lalla Rookh's eyes, that she re- 
pented already of her cruelty in having so long 
excluded him. 

That venerable tower, he told them, was the 
remains of an ancient Fire Temple, built by 
those Ghebers or Persians of the old religion, 
who, many hundred years since, had fled hither 
from their Arab conquerors,'' preferring liberty 
and their altars in a foreign land to the alterna- 

is larger than that of the white water lily, and Is the most 
lovely of the nyniplin;as I have seen." — Mrs. Oraliam''s 
Journal of a Residence in India. 

* " On les voit persecutes par les Kha'.ifes se retirer dans 
les muntagties du Kernian : plusieurs choisirent pour relraito 
la Tartaric et la Chine; d'autres s'arreterent sur les borda 
du Gange, i I'est de Delhi." — JIJ. Anquttit, Mcino.'res de 
I'Academie, torn. xxxi. p. 346. 



tl2 



LALLA ROOKH. 



tive of apostasy or persecution in their own. 
It -svas impossible, he added, not to feel inter- 
ested in the many glorious but unsuccessful 
struggles, -which had been made by these origi- 
nal natives of Persia to cast off the yoke of their 
bigoted conquerors. Like their own Fire in the 
Burning Field at Bakou,' when suppressed in 
one place, they had but broken out with fresh 
llame in another ; and, as a native of Cashmere, 
of that fair and Holy Valley, which had in the 
same manner become the prey of strangers,' 
and seen her ancient shrines and native princes 
swept away before the march of her intolerant 
invaders, he felt a sympathy, he owned, with 
tue sufferings of the persecuted Ghebers, which 
every monument like this before them but 
tended more powerfully to awaken. 

It was the first time that Feramorz had ever 
ventured upon so much 2>rose before Fadladeen, 
and it may easily be conceived what effect such 
prose as this must have produced upon that 
most orthodox and most pagan-hating per- 
sonage. He sat for some minutes aghast, 
ejaculating only at intervals, "Bigoted con- 
querors ! — sympathj' with Fire-worshippers ! " ' 
— while FEiiAMORZ, happy to take advantage of 
this almost speechless horror of the Chamber- 
lain, proceeded to say that he knew a melan- 
choly story, connected with the events of one 
of those struggles of the brave Fire-worship- 
pers against their Arab masters, which, if the 
evcnhig was not too far advanced, he should 
have much pleasure in being allowed to relate 
to the Princess. It Mas impossible for Lalla 
RooKH to refuse ; — he had never before looked 
half so animated ; and when he spoke of the 
Holy Valley his eyes had sparkled, she thought, 
like the talismanic characters on the cimeter 
of Solomon. Her consent was therefore most 
readily granted ; and while Fadladeen sat in 
unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and 
abomination in every line, the poet thus began 
his ?:ory of the Fire-worshippers : — 

1 The " Ager ardens " described by Kcmjifer, Amanitat. 
Exot. 

- " Cashmere (say its historians) had its own princes 
4000 years before its conquest by Akbar in 1585. Akhar 
would liave found some ditiiculty to reduce this paradise of 
Uie Indies, situated as it is within such a fortress of moun- 
fams, but its monarch, YusefKhan, was basely betrayed by 
Jiis Onirahs." — Pennant. 

3 Voltaire tells us that In his Tragedy, " Les Guebres," 
lie was generally supposed to have alluded to the Jansen 
ists. I should not be surprised if this story of the Fire-wor- 
Bhipperswere found capable of a similar doubleness of appli- 
cation. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea ; * 

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
Bask in the night beam beauteously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
'Tis moonlight in Haumozia's * walls. 
And through her Emik's porphyry halls, 
Where, some hours since, was heard the swell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel,' 
Bidding the biight-eycd sun farewell; — 
The peaceful sun, whom better suits 

The music of the bulbul's nest, 
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes, 

To sing him to his golden rest. 
All hush'd — there's not a breeze in motion; 
The shore is silent as the ocean. 
If zephyrs come, so light they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven; — 
The wind tower on the Emik's dome ' 

Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 



Ev'n he, that tj'rant Arab, sleeps 

Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 

While curses load the air he breathes, 

And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths 

Are starting to avenge the shame 

His race hath brought on Iran's * name. 

Hard, heartless Chief, unmov'd alike 

'Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike; — 

One of that saintly, murderous brood, 

To carnage and the Koran given, 
Who think through unbelievers' blood 

Lies their directest path to heaven ; — 
One, who will pause and kneel unshod 

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'a, 
To mutter o'er some text of God 

Engraven on his reeking sword ; ' — 
Nay, Avho can coolly note the line, 
The letter of those words divine. 
To which his blade, with searching art. 
Had sunk into its victim's heart ! 

* The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which separates 
the shores of Persia and Arabia. 

6 The present Gonibaroon, a town on the Persian side of 
the Gulf. 

6 A Moorish instrument of music. 

f " At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have 
towers for the purpose of catching tlie wind, and cooling the 
houses." — Le Bruyn. 

8 " Iran is the true general name for the empire of Per 
sia." — Asiat. Hes. Disc. 5. 

9 " On the blades of their ciinefers some verse from thi 
Koran is usually inscribed." — Russel. 



LALLA ROOIvH. 



413 



Just Alla ! what must be thy look, 

When such a wretch before thee stands 
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, — 

Turning the leaves with bloodstain' d hands. 
And wresting from its page sublime 
His creed of lust, and hate, and crime ; — 
Ev'n as those bees of Tkebizond, 

Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad 
With their pure smile the gardens round, 

Draw venom forth that drives men mad.' 

Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 
Xever was Iran doom'd to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
Iler throne had fall'n — her pride was crush'd. 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd. 
In their own land, — no more their own, — 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd, 
To Moslem shrines — shame ! — were turn'd, 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd. 
And cursed the ftiith their sires ador'd. 
Yet has she hearts, 'mid all this ill. 
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 
With hope and vengeance ; — hearts that yet — 

LDie gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
They've treasur'd from the sun that's set, — 

Beam, all the light of long-lost days ! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 

To aecond all such hearts can dare ; 
As he shall know, well, dearly know. 

Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there. 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray. 
Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine ; 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd 

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power ; — 
None but the loving and the lov'd 

Should be awake at this sweet hour. 



1 " There is a kind of Rhndodendros about Trebizond, 
whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence 
drives people mad." — Tournefurt. 

2 " Their kings wear plumes of black herons' feathers 
upon the right side, as a badge of sovereignty." — Hanwinj. 

3 " The Fountain of Vouth, by a Mahometan tradition, is 
situated in some dark region of the East." — Richardson. 

< Arabia Felix. 

6 " In the midst of the garden is the chiosk, that is, a 
large room, commonly beautified with a fine fountain in the 
midst of it. It is raised nine or ten steps, and enclosed with 
gilded lattices, round which vines, jessamines, and honey- 
suckles, make a sort of green wall ; large trees are planted 
round this place, which is the scene of their greatest pleas- 
ures." — Lady M. fV, MontagVL. 



And see — where, high above those rocka 
That o'er the deep their shadows fling, 
Yon turret stands ! — where ebon locks, 
As glossy as a heron's vsdng 
Upon the turban of a king,* 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild, - - 
'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child. 
All truth and tenderness and grace, 
Though born of such ungentle race ; — 
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain ! •* 

O, what a pure and sacred thing 

Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight 
Of the gross world, illumining 

One only mansion with her light ! 
Unseen by man's disturbing eye, — 

The flower that blooms beneath the sea, 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
So, HiNDA, have thy face and mind, 
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrin'd. 
And O, what transport for a lover 

To lift the veil that shades them o er ! — 
Like those who, all at once, discover 

In the lone deep some fairy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before. 
And sleep, and wake in scented airs 
No lip had ever breath'd but theirs. 

Beautiful are the maids that glide, 

On summer eves, through Yemen's "• dales, 
And bright the glancing looks they hide 

Behind their litters' roseate veils ; — 
And brides, as delicate and fair 
As the white jasmine flowers they wear, 
Hath Yexien in her blissful clime, 

Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower,* 
Before their mirrors count the time,* 

And grow still lovelier every hour. 
But never yet hath bride or maid 

In Araby's gay Harem smil'd, 

6 The women of the East are never without their look 
ing glasses. " In Barbary," says Shaw, " they are so fond 
of their looking glasses, which they hang upon their breasts, 
that they will not lay them aside, even when after the dnul- 
gery of the day they are obliged to go two or three miles 
with a pitcher or a goat's skin to fetch wMer." — Travels 

In other parts of Asia they wear little looking glasses on 
their thumbs. " Hence (and from the lotus being consid- 
ered the emblem of beauty) is the meaning of the followin| 
mute intercourse of two lovers before their parents : — 
" ' He, with salute of defere*)ce due, 
A lotus to his forehead press'd ; 
She rais'd her mirror to his view. 
Then turn'd it inward to her breast ' " 

Asiatic Miscellany, vol. ii 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Whose boasted brightness would not fade 
Before Al Hassan's blooming child. 

Light as the angel shapes that bless 
An infant's dream, yet not the less 
llich in all woman's loveliness ; — 
With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
Dark Vice would turn abash'd away, 
Tilinded like serpents, when they gaze 
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze ; ' — 
Yet fill'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds with all the bliss. 
The fond, weak tenderness of this : 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 

Where, through sotae shades of earthly feeling. 
Religion's soften'd glories shine. 

Like light through summer foliage stealing, 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
As makes the very darkness there 
!More beautiful than light elsewhere. 

Such is the maid who, at this hour. 

Hath risen from her restlese sleep. 
And sits alone in that high bower. 

Watching the stiU and shining deep. 
A-h I 'twas not thus, — with tearful eyes 

And beating heart, — she us'd to gaze 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 

In her own land, in happier days. 
"Why looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged frown 

Blackens the mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep. 
For man to scale that turret's height ! — 

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire. 
When high, to catch the cool night air, 

After the daybeam's withering fire,* 
He built her bower of freshness there. 



1 " Tliey say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the 
mstre of those stones (emeralds), he hnmediately becomes 
blind." — Whined ben Mdalazii, Treatise on Jewels. 

2 " At Gumbaroon and the Isle of Ormus it is sometimes 
so hot, that the people are obliged to lie all day in the wa- 
ter." — Marco Pulo. 

s This mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible. 
Struy says, " I can well assure the reader that their opinion 
is not true, who suppose this mount to be inaccessible." He 
adds, that " the lower part of the mountain is cloudy, misty, 
and dark, the middlemost part very cold, and like clouds 
of snow, but tlie upper regions perfectly calm." — It was on 
this mountain that the Ark waF supposed to have rested af- 
ter tlie Deluge, and part of it, they say, exists there still, 



And had it decked with costliest skill. 

And fondly thought it safe as fair; — 
Think, reverend dreamer ! think so still. 

Nor wake to learn what Love can dare ; — 
Love, all -defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ; — 
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice ! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive 

For pearls, but when the sea's at rest. 
Love, in the tempest most alive. 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
Yes — Araby's unrivall'd daughter, 
Though high that tower, that rock-way rude 

There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek. 
Would climb th' untrodden solitude 

Of Arakat's tremendous peaV,^ 
And think its steeps, though dark and dread, 
Heav'n's pathways, if to thee thej' led ! 
Ev'n now thou seest the flashing spray, 
That lights his oar's impatient way ; - 
Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
Of his swift bark against the rock. 
And stretchest down thy arms of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 
Like her to whom, at dead of night. 
The bridegroom, with his locks of light,* 
Came, in the flush of love and pride. 
And scal'd the terrace of his bride ; — 
When, as she saw him rashly spring. 
And midway up in danger cling. 
She flung him down her long black hair, 
Exclaiming, breathless, " There, love, there ! " 
And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero Zal in that fond hour. 
Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold. 

Now climbs the rocks to Hinda's bower. 
See — light as up their granite steeps 

The rock goats of Arabia clamber,* 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps. 

And now is in the maiden's chamber. 



which Struy thus gravely accounts for : — " Whereas none 
can remember that the air on the top of the hill did ever 
change or was subject either to wind or rain, which is pre- 
sumed to be the reason tliat the Ark has endured so long 
without being rotten." — See Carri's Travels u.'ierc the 
Doctor laughs at this whole account of Mount Ararat. 

* In one of the books of the Slia.li Nimeh, when Zal (a 
celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his white hair,) 
comes to the terrace of his mistress Rodahver at niglit, she 
lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent ; — he, 
however, manages it in a less romantic way by fixing his 
crook in a projecting beam. — See Champion\i Fe.rdosi. 

5 " On the lofty hills of Arabia Petraea are rock goats." — 
}fiebiihr. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



415 



She loves — but knows not wliom she loves, 

Nor what his race, nor whence he came ; — 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 

Some beauteous bird without a name, 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze. 
From isles in th' undiscovered seas. 
To show his plumage for a day 
To wondering eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly — her nameless lover ? 

Alla forbid ! 'twas by a a moon 
As fair as this, while singing over 

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon,' 
Alone, at this same witching hour. 

She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bower, 

Where nightly now they mix their sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
"Was pausing on his moonlight way 
To listen to her lonely lay ! 
This fancy ne'er hath left her mind : 

And — though, when terror's swoon had 
past. 
She saw a youth, of mortal kind, 

Before her in obeisance cast, — 
Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
Strange, awful words, — and gleams have broken 
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, 

O, she hath fear'd her soul was given 
To some unhallow'd child of air. 

Some erring Spirit cast from heaven. 
Like those angelic youths of old. 
Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould, 
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies, 
And lost tneir heaven for woman's eyes. 
Fond girl ! nor fiend nor angel ho 
Who wooes thy young simplicitj- ; 
But one of earth's impassioned sons. 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day God's living fire. 

But quench'd to-night that ardor seems, 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow ; — 
Never before, but in her dreams, 

Had she beheld him pale as now : 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep. 
From which 'twas joy to wake and weep ; 
Visions, that will not be forgot, 

But sadden every waking scene. 
Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 

All wither'd where they once have been. 

1 " Canun, espece de psaltcrion, avec des cordes de 
boyaux ; Its dames en touchent dans le serrail, avec des 



" How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 
Of her own gentle voice afraid. 
So long had they in silence stood, 
Looking upon that tranquil flood — 
" How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 
"To-night upon yon leafy isle! 
" Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 
" I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 
•' And we, within its fairy bowers, 

" Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
" Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

" And we might live, love, die alone ! 
" Far from the cruel and the cold, — 

" Where the bright eyes of angels only 
" Should come around us, to behold 

" A paradise so pure and lonely. 
" Would this be world enough for thee ? " — 
Playful she turn'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek put on ; 
But when she mark'd how mournfully 

His eyer, met hers, that smile was gone ; 
And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 
"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, 
"My dreams have boded all too right — 
" We part — forever part — to-night ! 
" I knew, I knew it could not last — 
" 'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past ! 
" O, ever thus, fi.-om childhood's hour, 
" I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
♦« I never loved a tree or flower, 

" But 'twas the first to fade away. 
" I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, 

" To glad me with its soft black eye, 
" But when it came to know me well, 

" And love me, it was sure to die ! 
" Now too — the joy most like divine 

" Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
" To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 

" O misery ! must I lose that too ? 
" Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — 

" Those frightful rocks — that treacherous 
sea — 
" No, never come again — though sweet, 

" Though heaven, it may be death to thee. 
" Farewell — and blessings on thy way, 

" Where'er thou go'st, beloved stranger! 
" Better to sit and watch that ray, 
" And think thee safe, though far away, 

" Than have thee near me, Mid in danger ! " 

" Danger ! — O, tempt me not to boast — " 
The youth exclaim'd — " thou little know'st 



decailles armees de pointes de cooc' 
by De Cournand. 



■ Toderiiti, translated 



41G 



LALLA ROOKH. 



" ^Vhat he can brave, who, born and nurs'd 
" In Danger's paths, has dar'd her worst ; 
•' Upon whose ear the signal word 

" Of strife and death is hourly breaking ; 
" Who sleeps with head upon the sword 

" His fover'd hand must grasp in waking. 
" Danger ! — " 

" Say on — thou fear'st not then, 
" And we may meet — oft meet again ? " 

" 0, look not so — beneath the skies 
" I now fear nothing but those eyes. 
" If aught on earth could charm or force 
" My spirit from its dcstin'd course, — 
" If aught could make this soul forget 
" The bond to which its seal is set, 
'< 'Twould be those eyes ; — they, only they, 
" Could melt that sacred seal away ! 
" But no — 'tis lix'd — my awful doom 
" Is fix'd — on this side of the tomb 
•' We meet no more ; — why, why did Heav- 
en 
" Mingle two souls that earth has riven, 
" Has rent asunder wide as ours ? 
'« O, Arab maid, as soon the Powers 
" Of Light and Darkness may combine, 
" As I be link'd with thee or thine ! 

■ Thy Father " 

" Holy Alla save 

« His gray head from that lightning glance ! 
' Thou know'st him not — he loves the brave ; 

'< Nor lives there under heaven's expanse 
« One who would prize, would worship thee 
" And thy bold spirit, more than he. 
' Oft Avhen, in childhood, I have play'd 

" With the bright falchion by his side, 
" I've heard him swear his lisping maid 

" In time should be a warrior's bride. 
" And still, whene'er at Harem hours, 
" I take him cool sherbets aiid flowers, 
" He tells me, when in playful mood, 

" A hero shall my bridegroom be, 

1 " They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress on their cushee 
or girdle, as not to dare to be an instant without it." — 
O-rone's Voyage. — " Le jeune lioinme nia d'abord la chose ; 
niais, ayant ete depouill6 de sa robe, et la large ceinture 
qu'il portoit conime Ghebr," &c. &.c. — D'Herbelot, art. Ag- 
duani. " Pour se distinguer des Idolafres de I'Inde, les 
Guebres se ceignent tous d'un cordon de laine, ou de poil 
Je chameau." — Encyclopcdie Fran^oise. 

D'Herbelot says this belt was generally of leather. 

2 " They suppose the Throne of the Almighty is seated in 
the sun, and hence their worship of that luminary." — flan- 
wmj. " As to tire, the Ghebers place the spring head of it in 
that globe of fire, the Sun, by them called Mythras, or Mi- 
hir, to which tliey pay the highest reverence, in gratitude 
for the manifold benefits flowing from its ministerial 



'♦ Since maids are best in battle woo'd, 

" And won with shouts of victory ! 
" Nay, turn not from me — thou alone 
" Art form'd to make both hearts thy own. 
" Go — join his sacred ranks -- thou know'st 

«' Th' unholy strife these Persians wage : — 
" Good Hcav'n, that frown ! — even now thcu 
glow'st 

" With more than mortal warrior's rage. 
" Haste to the camp by morning's light, 
" And, M-hen that sword is rais'd in fight, 
" O, stiU remember. Love and I 
" Beneath its shadow trembling lie ! 
" One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire, 
" Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 

" Abhors " 

" Hold, hold — thy words are death— " 

The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back, and show'd beneath 

The Ghcber belt that round him clung.' — 
" Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see 
" All that thy sire abhors in me ! 
" Yes — / am of that iinpious race, 

" Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and even, 
" Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 

" Among the living lights of heaven •: * 
" Yes — / am of that outcast few, 
" To Iran and to vengeance true, 
" Who curse the hour your Arabs came 
" To desolate our shrines of flame, 
" And swear, before God's burning eye, 
"To break our country's chains, or die ! 
" Thy bigot su'c, — nay, tremble not, — 

" He, who gave birth to those dear eyes, 
" With me is sacred as the spot 

«' From which our fires of worship rise ! 
" But know — 'twas he I sought that night, 

" When, from my watch boat on the sea, 
" I caught this turret's glimmering light, 

*♦ And up the rude rocks desperately 
" Rush'd to my prey — thou know'st the rest — 
" I climb'd the gory vulture's nest, 

cience. But they are so far from confounding the subordi- 
nation of the Servant with the majesty of its Creator, that 
they not only attribute no sort of sense or reasoning to the 
sun or fire, in any of its operations, but consider it as a pure- 
ly passive blind instrument, directed and governed by the 
immediate impression on it of the will of God ; but they do 
not even give that luminary, all-glorious as it is, more tlian 
the second rank amongst his works, reserving tlie first for 
that stupendous production of divine power, the mind of 
man." — Orose. The false charges brought against the re- 
ligion of these people by their Mussulman tyrants is but one 
proof among many of the truth of this writer's remark, that 
" calumny is often added to oppression, if but fur tlie sak* 
of justifying it." 



LALLA ROOKH. 



417 



" And found a trembling dove within ; — 

'• Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin — 

" If Love hath made one thought his own, 

" That Vengeance claims first — last — alone • 

•' 0, had we never, never met, 

" Or could this heart ev'n now forget 

" How link'd, how bless'd we might have 

been, 
"Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
" Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 

" In neighboring vallej'S had we dwelt, 
" Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 

" At the same kindling altar knelt, — 
" Then, then, while all those nameless ties, 
" In which the charm of Country lies, 
" Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
" Till Ikan's cause and thine Avere one ; 
" While in thy kite's awakening sigh 
" I heard the voice of days gone by, 
•'And saw, in every smile of thine, 
" Retiu-ning hours of glory shine ; — 
*' While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 

" Liv'd, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through 
thee, — 
" God ! who coiUd then this sword withstand ? 

" Its verj' flash were victory ! 
" But now — estrang'd, divorc'd forever, 
" Far as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 
" Our only ties what love has wove, — 

" In faith, friends, country, sunder'd wide ; 
•• And then, then only, true to love, 

" When false to all that's dear beside ! 
"' Thy father Iran's deadliest foe — 
" Thyself, perhaps, ev'n now — but no — 
•' Hate never look'd so lovely yet ! 

" No — sacred to thy soul will be 
" The land of him who could forget 

" AH but that bleeding land for thee. 
"When other eyes shall see, unmov'd, 

" Her widoAvs mourn, her warriors fall, 
" Thou'lt think how Avell one Gheber lov'd, 

" And for his sake thou'lt weep for all! 

"But look- " 

W^ith sudden start he turn'd 
And pointed to the distant wave. 
Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd 

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave ; 
And fiery darts, at intervals,* 

Flew vip all sparkling from the main, 



1 " The Mameluks that were in the other boat, when it 
was dark used to shoot up a sort of fiery arrows into the air 
which in some measure resembled liglUning or falling 
stars." — Baumirarten. 

- " Within the enclosure whicli surrounds this monument 
(at Gualior) is a small tomb to tlie memory of Tan-8ein, a 
33 



As if each star that nightly falls. 
Were shooting back to heaven again. 

" My signal lights ! — I must away — 

" Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 

" Farewell — sweet life ! thou cling'st in vain ■ 

" Now, Vengeance, I am thine again ! " 

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 

Nor look'd — but from the lattice dropp d 

Down 'mid the pointed crags beneath, 

As if he fled from love to death. 

While pale and mute young Hinda stood. 

Nor mov'd, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her from her trance of woe ; — 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

" I come — I come — if in that tide 
" Thou sleep'st to-night, I'll sleep there too, 

" In death's cold wedlock, by thy side. 
" O, I would ask no happier bed 

" Than the chill wave my love lies tinder : - 
" Sweeter to rest together dead. 

" Far sweeter, than to livt asunder ! " 
But no — their hour is not yet come — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
Wafting him fleetly to his home. 

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie ; 
And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 

Its moonlight way before the wind, 
As if it bore all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 



The Princess, Avhose heart was sad enough 
already, could have wished that Feramorz had 
chosen a less melancholy story ; as it is only to 
the happy that tears are a luxury. Her Ladies, 
however, were by no means sorry that love Avas 
once more the Poet's theme ; for, whenever he 
spoke of love, they said, his voice Avas as SAveet 
as if he had chcAvcd the leaves of that enchant- 
ed tree, Avhich grows over the tomb of the mu- 
sician, Tan-Sein.'-^ 

Their road all the morning had lain through 
a A-ery dreary country ; — through vallej's, cov- 
ered Avith a low bushy jungle, Avhere, in more 
than one place, the awful signal of the bamboo 



musician of incomparable skill, who flourished at the court 
of Akbar. The tomb is overshadowed by a tree, concern- 
ing which a superstitious notion prevails, that the chewing 
of its leaves will give an extraordinary melody to the voice." 
— JVurrative of a Journey from Agra to Ouiein, by IF Hun- 
ter, Esq. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



staff,' with the white flag at its top, reminded 
the traveller that, in that very spot, the tiger 
had made some human creature his victim. It 
was, therefore, with much pleasure that they 
arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and 
encamped under one of those holy trees, whose 
smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to 
destine them for natural temples of religion. 
Beneath this spacious shade, some pious hands 
nad erected a row of pillars ornamented with 
the most beautiful porcelain," which now sup- 
plied the use of mirrors to the young maidens, 
as they adjusted their hair in descending from 
the palanquins. Here, while, as usual, the Prin- 
cess sat listening anxiously, with Fadladeen in 
one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, 
the young Poet, leaning against a branch of the 
♦.ree, thus continued his story : — 



The mom hath risen clear and calm. 

And o'er the Green Sea^ palely shines. 
Revealing Bahrein's '' groves of palm. 

And lighting Kishma's * araber vines. 
Fresh smell the shores of Araby, 
While breezes from the Indian Sea 
Blow round Selama's * sainted cape. 

And curl the shining flood beneath, — 
Whose waves are rich with many a grape, 

And cocoanut and flowery wreath, 
Which pious seamen, as they pass'd, 
Had toward that holy headland cast — 
Oblations to the Genii there 
For gentle skies and breezes fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her flight ^ 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
And hides her from the morning star 



1 " It is usual to place a small white triangular flag, fixed 
to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve feet long, at tlie place 
ivliere a tiger has destroyed a man. It Is common for the 
pasfengers also to throw each a stone or brick near the spot, 
so that in the course of a little time a pile equal to a good 
wagon load is collected. The sight of these flags and piles 

f stones imparts a certain melancholy, not perhaps altogeth- 
r void of apprehension." — Oriental Field Sports, vol. ii. 

2 "The Ficus Indica is called the Pagod Tree and Tree 
of Coi.iicils ; the first, from the idols placed under its shade ; 
the second, because meetings were held under its cool 
branches. In some places it is believed to be the haunt of 
spectres, as the ancient spreading oaks of Wales have been 
of fairies ; in others are erected beneath the shade pillars 
of stone, or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented with 
the most beautiful porcelain to supply the use of mirrors." 
— Pennimt. 

« The Persian Gulf. — " To dive for pearls in the Green 
Bea, or Persian Gulf." — Sir W. Jones. 



Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn, — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose nightdrops would not 
stain 
The best and brightest cimeter' 
That ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign. 

And see — the Sun himself ! — on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light ! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sublime, 
Hath first of all the starry choir 
Trod in his Maker's steps of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, 
When Iran, like a sunflower, turn'd 
To meet that eye where'er it burn'd ? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeeb 
To the nut groves of Samarcand, 
Thy temples flam'd o'er all the land! 
Where are they ? ask the shades of them 

Who, on Cadessia's * bloody plains, 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem. 

And bind her ancient faith in chains : — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
On foreign shores, unlov'd, unknown, 
Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates,' 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains. 
Far from his beauteous land of dates. 

Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains : 
Yet happier so than if he trod 
His own belov'd, but blighted, sod, 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
0, he would rather houseless roam 

Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches to the conqueror's creed ! 



* Islands in the Gulf. 

6 Or Selemeh, the genuine name of the headland at the 
entrance of the Gulf, commonly called Cape Musseldom. 
"The Indians, when they pass the prommtory, throw 
cocoanuts, fruits, or flowers into the sea, to secure a pro- 
pitious voyage." — Mnrier. 

6 " The nightingale sings from the pomegranate groves 
in the daytime, and from the loftiest trees at night." — flu*- 
seVs Aleppo. 

^ In speaking of the climate of Shiraz, Francklin says, 
" The dew is of such a pure nature, that if the brightest 
cimeter should be exposed to it all night, it would not re- 
ceive the least rust." 

8 The place where the Persians were finally defeated by 
the Arabs, and their ancient monarchy destroyed. 

9 Derhend. — " Les Turcs appellent cette ville Derail 
Capl, Porte de Fer; ce sont les Caspiae Port* des anciens.'' 
— D'Herbelot 



LALLA ROOKH. 



419 



Is Iran's pride then gone forever, 

Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves ? — 
No — she has sons, that never — never — 

Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 

While heaven has light or earth has graves ; — 
Spirits of fire, that brood not long, 
But flash resentment back for wrong ; 
And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds 
Of vengeance ripen into deeds. 
Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, 
They burst, like Zeilax's giant palm,' 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round ! 
Yes, Emir ! he, who scal'd that tower. 

And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast, 
Had taught thee, in a Glieber's power 

How safe ev'n tyrant heads may rest — 
Is one of many, brave as he. 
Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 
Who, though they know the strife is vain, 
Who, though they know the riven chain 
Snaps but to enter in the heart 
Of him who rends its links apart. 
Yet dare the issue, — blest to be 
Ev'n for one bleeding moment free. 
And die in pangs of liberty ! 
Thou know'st them well — 'tis some moons 
since 

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, 
Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, 

Have swarm' d among these Green Sea 
crags ; 
Yet here, ev'n here, a sacred band 
Ay, in the portal of that land 
Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own, 
Their spears across thy path have thrown ; 
Here — ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er — • 
Ilebellion brav'd thee from the shore. 
Kebellion ! foul, dishonoring word. 

Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 

Of mortal ever lost or gain'd. 
How many a spirit, born to bless. 

Hath sunk beneath that withering name. 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 

Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
As exhalations, when they burst 
From the warm earth, if chill'd at first, 

1 The Talpot or Talipot tree. " This beautiful palm tree, 
which grows in the heart of the forests, may be classed 
among tlw loftiest trees, and becomes still higher when on 
ihe point of bursting forth from its leafy summit. The 
shealh which then envelops tlie flower is very large, and, 
when it bursts, maiies an explosion like the report of a can- 
non."- {'k'uiberg. 



If check'd in soaring from the plain, 
Darken to fogs and sink again ; — 
But, if they once triumphant spread 
Their wings above the mountain head, 
Become enthron'd in upper air. 
And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 

And who is he, that wields the might 

Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sabre's dazzling light * 

The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink ? 
Who comes, embower'd in the spears 
Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers ? — 
Those mountaineers that truest, last, 

Cling to their country's ancient rites, 
As if that God, whose eyelids cast 

Their closing gleam on Iran's heights, 
Among her snowy mountains threw 
The last light of his worship too ! 

'Tis Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 

Chills like the muttering of a charm ! — 
Shout but that awful name around. 

And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
'Tis Hafed, most accurs'd and dire 
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 
Of whose malign, tremendous power 
The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 
Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 
That each aff"righted sentinel 
Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes. 
Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 
A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth. 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings,* 

Who in their fairy helms, of yore 
A feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan'd to see their shrines expire. 
With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood ! 

Such were the tales, that won belief. 
And such the coloring Fancy gave 

To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief, — 
One who, no more than mortal brave, 

2 " When the bright cimeters make the eyes of our heroea 
wink." — The Monllakat, Poem of Amru. 

3 Tahmuras, and other ancient Kings of Persia ; whose 
adventures in Fairyland among the Peris and Dives may 
be found in Richardson's curious Dissertation. The griffin 
Simoorgh, they say, took some feathers from her breast for 
Tahmuras, with which he adorned his helmet, and trans- 
mitted them afterwards to his d«>«<'.endants. 



120 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Fought for the land his soul ador'd, 

For happy homes and altars free, — 
His only talisman, the sword, 

His only spell- word, Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero line, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names, that have sanctified their blood ; 
As Lebanon's small mountain flood 
Is render'd holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks.* 
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past. 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead. 
Though fram'd for Iran's happiest years. 
Was born among her chains and tears ! — 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd. 
Like shrubs beneath the poison blast — 
No — far he fled— indignant fled 

The pageant of his country's shame ; 
While every tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so welcom'd he 
The sparkle of the first sword drawn 

For vengeance and for liberty ! 

But vain was valor — vain the flower 
Of Kerman, in that deathlul hour. 
Against Al Hassan's whelming power. — 
In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
Upon the threshold of that realm 
He came in bigot pomp to sway, 
And with their corpses bloek'd his way — 
In vain — for every lance they rais'd, 
Thousands around the conqueror blaz'd ; 



f This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy River 
from the " cedar saints " among which it rises. 

In the Lettres Edifiantes, tliere is a different cause as- 
ngned for its name of Holy. " In these are deep caverns, 
which formerly served as so many cells for a great number 
of recluses, who had chosen these retreats as the only wit- 
nesses upon earth of the severity of their penance. The 
tears of these pious penitents gave tlie river of which we 
have just treated the name of the Holy River." — See Cha- 
Uaubriand's Beauties of Christianity. 

2 This mountain is ray own creation, as the " stupendous 
rliain," of which I suppose it a link, does not extend quite 
so far as the shores of the Persian Gulf. " This long and 
lofty range of mountains formerly divided Media from As- 
syria, and now forms the boundary of the Persian and Turls- 
ish empires. It runs parallel with the river Tigris and Pw- 



For every arm that lin'd their shore, 
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, — 
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 
Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd 
As dates beneath the locust cloud. 
There stood — but one short league away 
From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 
A rocky mountain, o'er the Sea 
Of Oman beetling awfully ; * 
A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
Like naked giants, in the flood. 

As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
While, on its peak, that brav'd the sky, 
A ruin'd Temple tower'd, so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross ^ 
Struck the wild ruins with her wing, 
And from her cloud-rock' d slumbering 
Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 
That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in ; — 
And such the strange, mysterious din 
At times throughout those caverns roll'd,— 
And such the fearful wonders told 
Of restless sprites imprison'd there. 
That bold were Moslem, who would dare, 
At twilight hour, to steer his skifl" 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliif.* 

On the land side, those towers sublime, 
That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
Were sever'd from the haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen. 
So fathomless, so full of gloom, 
No eye could pierce the void between : 



sian Gulf, and almost disappearing in the vicinity of Gom 
beroon (Harmozia) seems once more to rise in the southern 
districts of Kerman, and following an easterly course 
through the centre of Jleckraun and Balouchistan, is entire- 
ly lost in the deserts of Sinde." — KimiierU Persian Empire. 

3 These birds sleep in the air. They are most common 
about the Cape of Good Hope. 

4 " There is an extraordinary hill in this neighborhood, 
called Koh6 Gubr, or the Guebre's mountain. It rises in 
the form of a lofty cupola, and on tlie summit of it, they say, 
are the remains of an Atush Kudu or Fire Temple. It is 
superstitiously held to be the residence of Deeves or Sprites, 
and many marvellous stories are recounted of the injury 
and witchcraft suffered by those who essayed in former days 
to ascend or explore it."— Pottinger^s Beloochistan. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



421 



It secm'd a place where Gholes might come 
^^'ith their foul banquets from the tomb, 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below. 

The sound of many torrents came, 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow. 

Or floods of ever restless flame. 
For, each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on fire ; ' 
And, though forever past the days 
When God was worshipp'd m the blaze 
Tliat from its lofty altar shone, — 
Though fled the priests, the votaries gone. 
Still did the mighty flame burn on,"'' 
Through chance and change, through good and 

ill. 
Like its own God's eternal wiU, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 

Thither the vanquish' d Hafeu led 

His little army's last remains ; — 
" "Welcome, terrific glen ! " he said, 
" Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 

" Is Heav'n to him who flies from chains ! " 
O'er a dark, narrow bridgeway, known 
To him and to his Chiefs alone, 
They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the tow- 
ers, — 
" This home," he cried, " at least is ours ; — 
•' Here we may bleed, unmpck'd by hymns 

" Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
♦« Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 

" To quiver to the Moslem's tread- 
" Stretch'd on this rock, while vultures' beaks 
" Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks, 
" Here — happy that no tyrant's eye 
" Gloats on our torments — we may die ! " — 

'Twas night when to those towers they came, 

And gloomily the fitful flame, 

That from the ruin'd altar broke. 

Glared on his features, as he spoke : — 

" 'Tis o'er — what men could do, we've done — 

" If Iran will look tamely on, 

1 The Ghebers generally built Uieir temples over subter- 
raneous fires. 

2 '■ At the city of Yezd, in Persia, which is distingiP3b'>d 
by the appellation of the DarQb Abadut, or Seat of Religion, 
lice Guebres are permitted to have an Atush Kw'.a or Fire 
Tomple (which, they assert, has had the sacred fire in it 
■tiiice the days of Zoroaster) in tlieir own compartment of 
the city ; but for this indulgence they ar" indebted to the 
avarice, not the tolerance of th« Persian go"ernment, which 
taxes tliem at twenty-five rupees each man." — Pottin^cr's 
Beloochistan. 



"And see her priests, her warriors driven 

" Before a sensual bigot's nod, 
" A wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven, 

" And makes a pander of his God ; 
"If her proud sons, her high-born souls, 

" Men, in whose veins — O last disgrace ! 
" The blood of Zal and Rustam ^ rolls, — 

" If they will court this upstart race, 
" And turn from Mithea's ancient ray, 
" To kneel at shrines of yesterday ; 
" If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 

" Why, let them — till the land's despair 
" Cries out to Heav'n, and bondage grows 

" Too vile for ev'n the vile to bear ! 
" Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
" Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
" Each coward tear the slave lets fall 
" Back on his heart in drops of gall. 
" But here, at least, are arms unchain'd, 
" And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 

" This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
" Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 

" And though but few — though fast the wave 
" Of life is ebbing from our veins, 
" Enough for vengeance still remains. 
" As panthers, after set of sun, 
" Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
" Across the dark-sea robber's way,* 
" We'll bound upon our startled prej' ; 
" And when some hearts that proudest swell 
"Have felt our falchion's last farewell ; 
" When Hope's expiring throb is o'er, 
" And ev'n Despair can prompt no more, 
" This spot shall be the sacred grave 
" Of the last few who, vainly brave, 
" Die for the land they cannot save ! " 

His Chiefs stood round — each shining blade 

Upon the broken altar laid — 

And though so wild and desolate 

Those courts, where once the Mighty sate ; 

Nor longer on those mouldering towers 

Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers. 

With which of old the Magi fed 

The wandering Spirits of their Dead : * 



3 Ancient heroes of Persia. " Among the Guebres there 
are some, who boast their descent from Rustam." — Ste- 
phen's Persia. 

* See Russel's account of the panther's attacking travel- 
lers in the night on the sea-shore about the roots of Lebanon. 

6 " Among other ceremonies the Magi used to place upon 
the tops of high towers various kinds of rich viands, upon 
which it was supposed the Perls and the spirits of their »• 
parted heroes regaled themselves." — Richardsuu. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Though neither pries*, nor rites were there, 
Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate r ' 
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air. 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ; ' 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard them, while on that altar's fires 
They swore ^ the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed, 
Should be, in Ikan's injur'd name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame — 
The last of all her patriot line, 
Before her last untrampled Shrine ! 

Brave, suffering souls ! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe, 
"Whom love tirst touch'd with others' woe — 
"Whose life, as free from thought as sin, 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide. 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once, Emiu! thy unheeding child, 
'Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smil'd, — 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and towers,* 
Before the combat's reddening stain 

Hath fall'n upon her golden flowers. 
Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd, 
While Hoav'n but spur'd the sire she lov'd, 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlistening and aloof she stood — 
And oft, when thou hast pac'd along 

Thy Harem halls with furious heat, 
Hast thou not curs'd her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear ! 

Far other feelings Love nath brought — 
Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, 

She now has but the one dear thought. 
And thinks that o'er, almost to madness ! 

Oft doth her sinkuig heart recall 

His words — " for my sake weep for all ; " 

And bitterly, as day on day 
Of rebel carnage fast succeeds. 



1 In the ceremonies of the Ghebera round their Fire, as 
described by Lord, " the Daroo," he says, " giveth them wa- 
ter to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the inuuth, 
to cleanse them from inward iincleanness." 

2 " Early in the morning, tliey (Ihe Parsecs or Ghebers at 
Oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions to the Sun, to 
i\'honi upon all tlie altars there are spheres consecrated, 
niade by magic, resembling the c'rcles of the sun, and when 
the sun rises, these orbs seem w be inflamed, and to turn 



She weeps a lover snatch' d away 

In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. 
There's not a sabre meets her eye, 

But with his lifeblood seems to swim ; 
There's not an arrow wings the sky, 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with footstep light 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
And — had he look'd with clearer sight, 
Had not the mists, that ever rise 
From a foul spirit, dimm'd his eyes — 
He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, 
When from the field of blood he came. 
The faltering speech — the look estrang'd — 
Voice, step, and life, and beauty chang'd — 
He would have mark'd all this, and known 
Such change is wrought by Love alone ! 

Ah ! not the Love, that shoiild have bless'i^ 
So young, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosperous Love, 
That pledg'd on earth and seal'd above, 
Grows in the world's approving eyes. 

In friendship's smile and home's caress. 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness ! 
No, HiNDA, no, — thy fatal flame 
Is nurs'd in silence, sorrow, shame ; — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul's darkness buried deep. 

It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure, — 
Some idol, without shrine or name, 
O'er which its pale-ey'd votaries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep. 

Seven nights have darken'd Oman's sea, 
Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, 
She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Gheber's bark awaj, — 
And still she goes, at midnight hour, 
To weep alone in that high bower. 
And watch, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles first made her weep ; — 
But watching, weeping, all was vain, 
She never saw his bark agaiir. 



round with a great noise. They have every one a censer in 
their hands, and oflfer incense to the sun." — Rabbi £r.i,Ja- 
min. 

3 " Nul d'entre eux osernit se perjurer, qnand il a pris i 
temoin cet ^l^ment terrible ct vengeur."- -£«ci/.7o;;crfi« 
fVanfoise, 

< " A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal rains, and the 
ploughed fields are covered with the Persian lily, of a f» 
splendent yellow color." — Rassel's Aleppo. 



LALLA. ROOKH. 



4/i 



The owlet's solitary cry, 

The nighthawk, flitting darkly by, 

And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
Which reek'd with that day's banquetting — 

Was all she saw, was all she heard. 

'Tis the eighth morn — Al Hassan's brow 

Is brighten'd with unusual joy — 
Wkat mighty mischief glads him now, 

Who never smiles but to destroy ? 
The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, 
When toss'd at midnight furiously,' 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh. 
More surely than that smiling eye ! 
" Up, daughter, up — the Kerna's " breath 
•' Has blown a blast would waken death, 
"And j'et thou sleep'st — up, child, and see 
" This blessed day for Heaven and me, 
" A day more rich in Pagan blood 
" Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood. 
" Before another dawn shall shine, 
" His head — heart — limbs — will all be mine ; 
" This very night his blood shall steep 
«' These hands all over ere I sleep ! " — 

'• His blood ! " she faintly scream'd — her mind 
Still singling otie from all mankind — 
" Yes — spite of his ravines and towers, 
" Hafed, my child, this night is ours. 
" Thanks to all-conquering treachery, 

" Without whose aid the links accurs'd, 
" That bind these impious slaves, would be 

" Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
" That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
" My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
" Whose baffling spells had almost driven 
" Back from their course the Swords of Heaven, 
•' This night, with all his band shall know 
" How deep an Arab's steel can go, 
" When God and Vengeance speed the blow. 
" And — Prophet ! by that holy wreath 
" Thou wor'st on Ohod's field of death,^ 
" I swear, for every sob that parts 
" In anguish from these heathen hearts, 
■ ' A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
" Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. 



1 " It is observed, with respect to the Sea of Herkend, 
that when it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparlcles like 
&re." — Travel.i of Two Mohammedans. 

2 A kind of trumpet ; — it " was that used by Tamerlane, 
the sound of wiiich is described as uncommonly dreadful, 
and BO loud as to Je heard at the distance of several miles." 
— RichariUvn. 

8 " Mohammed hi d two helmets, an interior and exterior | 



"But, ha ! — she sinks — that look so wild — 
" Those livid lips — my child, my child, 
" This life of blood befits not thee, 
" And thou must back to Araby. 

" Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
'* In scenes that man himself might dread, 
" Had I not hop'd our every tread 

" Would be on prostrate Persian necks — 
" Curs'd race, they offer swords instead ! 
" But cheer thee, maid, — the wind that now 
" Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow, 
" To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
'• And, ere a drop of. this night's gore 
" Have time to chill in yonder towers, 
" Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers ! " 

His bloody boast was all too true ; 

There lurk'd one wretch among the few 

Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count 

Aroimd him on that Fiery Mount, — 

One miscreant, who for gold betray 'd 

The pathway through the valley's shade 

To those high towers, whore Freedom stood 

In her last hold of flame and blood. 

Left on the field last dreadful night. 

When, sallying from their Sacred height, 

The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight 

He lay — but died not with the brave ; 

That sun, which should have gilt his grave, 

Saw him a traitor and a slave ; — 

And, while the few, who thence return'd 

To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

They left behind on glory's bed. 

He liv'd, and, in the face of mom, 

Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn. 

O for a tongue to curse the slave, 

Whose treason, like a deadly blight. 
Comes o'er the councils of the brave. 

And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
May Life's unblessed cup for him 
Be drugg'd Avith treacheries to the brim, — 
With hopes, that but allure to fly, 

With joys, that vanish while he sips. 
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye. 

But turn to ashes on the- lips I * 



one ; the latter of which, called Al Mawashah, the fillet, 
wreath, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of 
0\\oA." — Universal History. 

* " They say that there are apple trees upon the sides oJ 
this sea, which bear very lovely fruit, but within are all fiil 
of a^hcs." — Thcvenot. The same is asserted of the orangea 
there ; v. Wlman's Travels in Asi: tic Turkey. 

"The Asphalt Lake, known bj Iho name of the Dead 



I2i 



LALLA ROOKH. 



His country's curse, his children's shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 
May he, at last, with lips of flame 
On the parch'd desert thirsting die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh,' 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And, when from earth his spirit flies, 

Just Prophet, let the damn'd one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell ! 



Lalla Rookh had, the night before, been 
visited by a dream which, in spite of the im- 
pending fate of poor Hafed, made her heart 
more than usually cheerful during the morning, 
and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation 
of a flower that the Bidmusk has just passed 
over." She fancied that she was sailing on that 
Eastern Ocean, where the sea gypsies, who live 
forever on the water,^ enjoy a perpetual sum- 
mer in wandering from isle to isle, when she 
saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It 
was like one of those boats which the Maldivian 
islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and 
waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odo- 
riferous wood, as an off'ering to the Spirit whom 
they call King of the Sea. At first, this little 
hark appeared to be empty, but, on coming 
nearer 

Sea, is very remarkable on account of the considerable pro- 
portion of salt which it contains. In this respect it surpass- 
es every other known water on the surface of the earth. 
'J'his {Treat proportion of bitter tasted salts is the reason why 
neiilier animal nor plant can live in this water." — Kla- 
proth's Chemical Analysis of the Water of the Dead Sea, 
Annals of Philosophy, January, 1813. liassdi/uist, however, 
doubts the truth of this last assertion, as there are shellfish 
to be found in the lake. 

Lord Byron has a similar allusion to the fruits of the Dead 
Sea, in that wonderful display of genius, his third Canto of 
Cliilde Harold, — magnificent beyond any thing, perliaps, 
tliat even he has ever written. 

1 " The Suhrab or Water of the Desert is said to be 
caused by the rarefaction of the atmosphere from extreme 
heat; and, which augments the delusion, it is most frequent 
hi hollows, where water might be expected to lodge. 1 have 
seen bushes and trees reflected in it, with as much accuracy 
as tliough it had been the face of a clear and still l.ike." — 
Pottinger, 

" As to the unbelievers, their works are like a vapor in a 
plain, which the thirsty traveller thinketh to be water, until 
when he Cometh thereto he findeth it to be nothing." — Ko- 
ran, chap. 24. 

2 " A wind which prevails in February, called Bidmusk, 
from a small and odoriferous flower of that name." — " Tlie 
wuid which blows tliese flowers conintonly lasts till the end 
pf thn month " — l-» fif"!!''- 



She had proceeded thus far in relating the 
dream to her Ladies, when Feramohz appeared 
at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, 
of course, every thing else was forgotten, and 
the continuance of the story was instantly re- 
quested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set 
to burn in the cassolets ; — the violet sherbets* 
were hastily handed round, and after a short 
prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of 
Nava,* which is always used to express the 
lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus 
continued : — 



The day is loweryig — stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
Dispers'd and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy. 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain 

But tells of storm to come or past ; — 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war horse in the blast ; — 
There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling. 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
While some, already burst and riven, 
Seem melting down the verge of heaven ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty womb that gave him birth, 
And, having swept the firmament, 

Was now in fierce career for earth. 

3 " The Biajus are of two races : the one is settled on 
Borneo, and are a rude but warlike and industrious nation, 
who reckon themselves the original possessors of the island 
of Borneo. The other is a species of sea gypsies or itinerant 
fishermen, who live in small covered boats, and enjoy a per- 
petual summer on the eastern ocean, shifting to leeward 
from Island to island, with the variations of the monsoon. 
In some of their customs this singular race resemble the 
natives of the Maldivia islands. The Maldivians annually 
launch a small bark, loaded with perfumes, gums, flowers, 
and odoriferous wood, and turn it adrift at the mercy of 
winds and waves, as an ofTering to the Spirit of the Winds; 
and sometimes similar ofl^erings are made to the spirit whom 
they term the King of the Sea. In like manner the Biajus 
perforin their offering to the god of evil, launching a small 
bark, loaded with all the sins and misfortunes of the nation, 
which are imagined to fall on the unhappy crew that may 
be so unlucky as first to meet with it." — Dr. Leyden on the 
Languages and Literature of the Indo-Chinese Nations. 

4 " The sweet-scented violet is one of the plants most et- 
teemed, particularly for its great use in Sorbet, which t /ey 
make of violet sugar." — Hasselquist. 

" The sherbet they most esteem, and which is drank by 
the Grand Signor himself, is made of violets and sugar." — 
Tavernier. 

6 " Last of all she took a guitar, and sung a pathetic air in 
the measure called Nava, which is always used to express 
the lamentntions of absent lovers." — PerMin Tales. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



42a 



On earth 'twas yet all calm around, 
A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 
The diver steer'd for Okmus' bowers, 
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours ; 
The sea birds, with portentous screech, 
Flew fast to land ; — upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paus'd, with glance 
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse ; — 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore. — 
No music tim'd her parting oar," 
Nor friends upon the lessening strand 
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand. 
Or speak the farewell, heard no more ; — 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way. 
Like some ill-destin'd bark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears.* 
And where was stern Al Hassan then ? 
Could not that saintly scourge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
No — close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood. — 

With that keen, second scent of death, 
Jiy which the vulture snuffs his food 

In the still warm and living breath ! ' 
While o'er the wave his weeping daughter 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter, — 
As a young bird of Babylon,* 
Let loose to tell of victory won, 
Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 
By the red hands that held her chain' d. 

And does the long-left home she seeks 
.Light up no gladness on her cheeks ? 
The flowers she nurs'd — the well-known groves, 
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves — 
Once more to see her dear gazelles 
Come bounding with their silver beUs ; 



1 " The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages 
with music." — //<irmer. 

2 " The Gate cif Tears, the straits or passage into the Red 
Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name 
from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navi- 
gation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was dis- 
tinguished ; which induced them to consider as dead, and 
to wear^nourning for all who had the boldne.ss to hazard the 
passage through it into the Efhiopic ocean." — Richardson. 

^ " I have been told that whensoever an animal falls 
down deail, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly 
appear." — Pennjuit. 



Her birds' new plumage to behold. 

And the gay, gleaming fishes count, 
She left, all HUeted with gold, 

Shooting around their jasper fount ; * 
Her little garden mosque to see, 

And once again, at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby rosary * 

In her own sweet acacia bower. — 
Can these delights, that wait her now. 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No, — silent, from her train apart, — 
As if even now she felt at heart 
The chill of her approaching doom, — 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 
And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave. 
Looks, with a shudder, to those towers, 
Where, in a few short awful hours. 
Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
•' Where art thou, glorious stianger ! thou, 
" So lov'd, so lost, where art thou now .'' 
" Foe — Gheber — infidel — whate'er 
"Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to 

bear, 
" Still glorious — still to this fond heart 
" Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 
" Yes — Alla, dreadful Alla ! yes — 
" If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
" Let the black waves that round us roll, 
" Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 
" Forgetting faith — home — father — all — 
"Before its earthly idol fall, 
" Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him — 
" For, O, so wildly do I love him, 
" Thy Paradise itself were dim 
" And joyless, if not shar'd with him ! " 
Her hands were clasp' d — her eyes Ui 
turn'd, 

Dropping their tears like moonlight rain ; 
And, though her lip, fond raver ! burn'd 

With words of passion, bold, profane. 
Yet was there light around her brow, 

A holiness in those dark eyes. 



* " They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat, oi 
Babylonian pigeon." — Travels of certain F.nglishmen. 

5 "The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to divert herself 
with feeding tame fish in her canals, some of which w%re 
many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she 
caused to be put round them." — Harris. 

6 " Le Tesplh, qui est im chapelet, compose de 99 petitea 
boules d'agathe, de jaspe, d'anibre, de corail, oil d'autre ma- 
tiere precieuse. J'en al vu un superbe au Seigneur Jerpos ; 
il etoit de belles et grosses perles parfaltes et dgahs, estimt 
trente mille piastres." — Toderini. 



64 



42G 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Which show'd — though wandering earthward 
now, — 
Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
Yes — for a spirit pure as hers 
Is always pure, ev'n while it errs ; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! 

So wholly had her mind forgot 

AU thoughts but one, she heeded not 

The rising storm — the wave that cast 

A moment's midnight, as it pass'd — 

Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 

Of gathering tumult o'er her head — 

Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie 

"With the rude riot of the sky. — 

But, hark ! that warwhoop on the deck — 

That crash, as if each engine there. 
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 

Mid yells and stampings of despair ! 
Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 
'Tis not the storm, though fearfully 
The ship has shudder'd as she rode 
O'er mountain waves — " Forgive me, God ! 
" Forgive me " — shriek'd the maid, and knelt. 
Trembling all over — for she felt 
As if her judgment hour was near ; 
While crouching round, half dead with fear. 
Her handmaids clung, nor breath'd, nor stirr'd — 
When, hark ! — a second crash — a third — 
And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
Had riv'n the laboring planks asunder, 
The deck falls in — what horrors then ! 
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men 
Come mix'd together through the chasm, — 
Some wretches in their dj'ing spasm 
Still fighting on — and some that call 
«' For God and Ikan ! " as they fall ! 

Whose was the hand that turn'd away 

The perils of th' infuriate fraj'. 

And snatch'd her breathless from beneath 

This wUdermcnt of wreck and death ? 

She knew not — for a faintness came 

Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame 

Amid the ruins of that hour 

Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, 

Beneath the red volcano's shower. 

But, O, the sights and sounds of dread 

That shock'd her ere her senses fled ! 

1 The meteors that Pliny calls " faces." 

* " The brilliant Canopus, unseen in European climates." 
.— Brown. 

3 Pee VVilford's learned Essays on the Sacred Isles in the 
West. 

* A precious stone of the Indies, called by the ancients. 



The yawning deck — the crowd that strove 
Upon the tottering planks above — 
The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er 
The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with gore 
Flutter'd like bloody flags — the clash 
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 
Upon their blades, high toss'd about 
Like meteor brands ' — as if throughout 

The elements one fury ran. 
One general rage, that left a doubt 

Which was the fiercer, Heav'n or Man ! 

Once too — but no — it could not be — 

'Twas fancy all — yet once she thought, 
While yet her fading eyes could see. 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form. 

That glory of her soul, — even then, 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 

Shining above his fellow men, 
As, on some black and troublous night, 
The Star of Egypt, '^ whose proud light 
Never hath beam'd on those who rest 
In the White Islands of the West,^ 
Burns through the storm with looks of flame 
That put Heav'n's cloudier eyes to shame. 
But no — 'twas but the minute's dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had halfway pass'd her pallid lips, 
A deathlike swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead. 

How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; 
WTien warring winds have died away, 
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity, — 
Fresh as if Day again were born. 
Again upon the lap of Morn ! — 
When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
And scattcr'd at the Avhirlwind's will. 
Hang floating in the pure air still. 
Filling it all with precious balm, 
In gratitude for this sweet calm ; — 
And every drop the thunder showers 
Have left upon the grass and flowers 
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning gem* 
Whose liquid flame is born of them ! 

Cerauniuin, because it was supposed to be found in places 
where thunder had fallen. TertuUian says it has a glitter 
ing appearance, as if there had been fire in it ; and the an 
thor of the Dissertation in Harris's Voyages, supposes it u 
be the opal. 



LALLA ROOKn. 



427 



When 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle airs, 
And each a different perfume bears, — 
As if the loveliest plants and trees 
Had vassal breezes of their own 
To watch and wait on them alone, 
And waft no other breath than theirs : 
When the blue waters rise and fall. 
In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 
And ev'n that swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves 
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest. 
Too newly to be quite at rest. 

Such was the golden hour that broke 
Upon the world, when Hinda woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 
No motion but the water's sound 
Rippling against the vessel's side. 
As slow it mounted o'er the tide. — 
But where is she ? — her eyes are dark, 
Are wilder'd still — is this the bark. 
The same, that from Harmozia's bay 
Bore her at morn — whose bloody way 
The seadog track' d ? — no — strange and new 
Is all that meets her wondering view. 
Upon a galliot's deck she lies, 

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, — 
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes. 

Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. 
But the rude litter, roughly spread 
With war cloaks is her homely bed, 
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung. 
For awning o'er her head are flung. 
Shuddering she look'd around — there lay 

A group of warriors in the sun. 
Resting their limbs, as for that day 

Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
Lost in unconscious revery ; 
And some, who seem'd but ill to brook 
That sluggish calm, with many a look 
To the slack sail impatient cast. 
As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 

Blest Alla ! who shall save her now ? 

There's not in all that warrior band 
One Arab sword, one turban'd brow 

From her own Faithful Moslem land. 
Their garb — the leathern belt ' that wraps 

Each yellow vest* — that rebel hue — 



1 D^Herbelot, art. Agduani. 

2 " The Guebres are known by a dark yellow color, 
which tlie men affecT in tlieir clothes." — Thevenot. 



The Tartar fleece upon their caps ' — 

Yes — yes — her fears are all too true. 
And Heav'n hath, in this dreadful hour, 
Abandon'd her to Hafed's power ; — 
Hafed, the Gheber ! — at the thought 

Her very heart's blood chills within ; 
He, whom her soul was hourly taught 

To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
Some minister, whom Hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where'er he went, 
And fling, as o'er our earth he trod, 
His shadow betwixt man and God ! 
And she is now his captive, — thrown 
In his fierce hands, alive, alone ; 
His the infuriate band she sees, 
All infidels — all enemies ! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross'd her like lightning, as again. 
With boldness that despair had lent. 

She darted through that armed crowd 
A look so searching, so intent. 

That ev'n the sternest warrior bow'd 
Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 
As if he guess'd whose form they sought. 
But no — she sees him not — 'tis gone. 
The vision that before her shone 
Through all the maze of blood and storm, 
Is fled — 'twas but a phantom form — 
One of those passing, rainbow dreams, 
Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams 
Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 
In trance or slumber round the soul. 

But now the bark, with livelier bound. 

Scales the blue wave — the crew's in mo- 
lion. 

The oars are out, and with light sound 
Break the bright mirror of the ocean. 

Scattering its brilliant fragments round. 

And now she sees — with horror sees. 

Their course is toward that mountain hold, — 

Those towers, that make her lifeblood freeze, 

Where Mecca's godless enemies 

Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpions, roU'd 
In their last deadly, venomous fold ! 

Amid th' illumin'd land and flood 

Sunless that mighty mountain stood ; 

Save where, above its awful head. 

There shone a flaming cloud, blood red, 

As 'twere the flag of destiny 

Hung out to mark where death would be ! 



» " The Kolah, or cap, worn by the Persians, ib made oj 
the skin of the sheep of Tartary." — fVaring. 



t28 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Had her bewilder'd mind the power 
Of thought in this terrific hour, 
She well might marvel where or how 
Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow, 
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
Of path but through the glen alone. — 
But every thought was lost in fear, 
When, as their bounding bark drew near 
The craggy base, she felt the waves 
Hurry them toward those dismal caves, 
That from the Deep in windings pass 
Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass ; — 
And loud a voice on dock commands 
To lower the mast and light the brands! — 
Instantly o'er the dashing tide 
Within a cavern's mouth they glide. 
Gloomy as that eternal Porch 

Through which departed spirits go : — 
Not ev'n the flare of brand and torch 
Its flickering light could further throw 
Than the thick flood that boil'd below. 
Silent they floated— as if each 
Sat breathless, and too aw'd for speech 
In that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seem'd dark, — so sullenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave. 
As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 

But soft — they pause — the current turns 
Beneath them from its onward track ; — 
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 
The vexed tide, all foaming, back. 
And scarce the oars' redoubled force 
Can stem the eddy's whirling force ; 
When, hark ! —some desperate foot has sprung 
Among the rocks — the chain is flung — 
The oars are up — the grapple clings. 
And the toss'd bark in moorings swings. 
Just then, a daybcam through the shade 
Broke tremulous — but ere the maid 
Can see from whence the brightness steals. 
Upon her brow she shuddering feels 
A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
A bandage round her burning eyes ; 
While the rude litter where she lies, 
ITplifted by the warrior throng, 
O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 

Blest power of sunshine ! — genial Day, 
What balm, what life is in thy ray ! 
To feel thee is such real bliss. 
That had the world no joy but this. 
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet, — 
[t were a world too exouisite 



For man to leave it for the gloom. 
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
Ev'n HiNDA, though she saw not where 

Or Avhither wound the perilous road, 
Yet knew by that awakening air. 

Which suddenly around her glow'd, 
That they had risen from darkness then 
And breath'd the sunny world again ! 

But soon this balmy freshness fled — 

For now the steepy labyrinth led 

Through damp and gloom — 'mid crash of 

boughs. 
And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 
The leopard from his hungry sleep, 

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, 
And long is heard, from steep to steep, 

Chasing them down their thundering way ! 
The jackal's cry — the distant moan 
Of the hyaena, fierce and lone — 
And that eternal saddening sound 

Of torrents in the glen beneath, 
As 'twere the ever-dark Profound 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death ! 
All, all is fearful — ev'n to see. 

To gaze on those terrific things 
She now but blindly hears, would be 

Belief to her imaginings ; 
Since never yet was shape so dread. 

But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown. 
And by such sounds of horror fed. 

Could frame more dreadful of her own. 

But does she dream ? has Fear again 

Perplex'd the workings of her brain, 

Or did a voice, all music, then 

Come from the gloom, low whispering near — 

" Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here ? " 

She does not dream — all sense, all ear, 

She drinks the words, " Thy Gheber's here." 

'Twas his own voice — she could not err — 

Throughout the breathing world's extent 
There was but one such voice for her, 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
O, sooner shall the rose of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel's lay 

Open her bosom's glowing veil,* 
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 
A breath of the beloved one ! 



1 A frequent image among the oriental poets. "The 
nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the 
thin veils of tlie rosebud and the rose." — Jami. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near. 
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink. 

Hath power to make ev'n ruin dear, — 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross'd 
By fears for him, is chill' d and lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 
That one of Gheber blood should look, 
With aught but curses in his eye, 
On her — a maid of Araby — 
A Moslem maid — the child of him, 

AVhose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim. 

And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

AVhich comes so fast — O, who shall stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way ? 
What arm shall then the victim cover, 
Or from her father shield her lover ! 

" Save him, my God ! " she inly cries — 
" Save him this night — and if thine eyes 

" Have ever welcom'd with delight 
" The sinner's tears, the sacrifice 

" Of sinners' hearts — guard him this night, 
" And here, before thy throne, I swear 
■' From my heart's inmost core to tear 

" Love, hope, remembrance, though they be 
•' Link'd with each quivering lifestring there, 

" And give it bleeding all to Thee ? 
" Let him but live, — the burning tear, 
• The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 
" Which have been all too much his own, 
" Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. 
" Youth pass'd in penitence, and age 
" In long and painful pilgrimage, 
<' Shall leave no traces of the flame 
" That wastes me now — nor shall his name 
«' E'er bless my lips, but when I pray 
" For his dear spirit, that away 
♦' Casting from its angelic ray 
"Th' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine 
" Kedeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! 
" Think — think what victory to win 
" One radiant soul like his from sin, — 
" One wandering star of virtue back 
<' To its own native, heavenward track I 
" Let him but live, and both are Thine, 

" Together thine — for, bless' d or cross'd, 



• Blossoms of the sorrowful Nyctantlies give a durable 
tolor to silk. — Remarks on t.he Husbandry of Bengal, p. 200. 
NiUna is one of the Indian names of this flower. — Sir JV. 
Jones. The Persians call it Gul. — Carreri 



Living or dead, his doom is mine, 
" And, if he perish, both are lost ! 



The next evening Lalla Rookh was en- 
treated by her Ladies to continue the relation 
of her wonderful dream ; but the fearful interest 
that hung round the fate of Hinda and her lover 
had completely removed every trace of it from 
her mind ; — much to the disappointment of a 
fair seer or two in her train, who prided them- 
selves on their skill in interpreting visions, and 
who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, 
that the Princess, on the very morning after the 
dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms 
of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.' 

Fadladeen, whose indignation had more than 
once broken out dming the recital of some parts 
of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to 
have made up his mind to the infliction ; and 
took his seat this evening with all the patience 
of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his pro- 
fane and seditious story as follows : — 



To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 
That lay beneath that mountain's height, 
Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leaves 
At its calm setting — when the West 
Opens her golden bowers of rest, 
And a moist radiance from the skies 
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 
Of some meek penitent, whose last. 
Bright hours atone for dark ones past. 
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiven. 
Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven ! 

'Twas stillness all — the winds that late 

Had rush'd through Kerman's almond groves, 
And shaken from her bowers of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves,^ 
Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 

Were melted all to form the stream : 



2 " In parts of Kerman, whatever dates are shaken from 
the trees by the wind they do not touch, but leave them foi 
those who have not any, or for traveller*--." — l^'Aw Hnukat 



430 



LALLA ROOKH. 



And her fair islets, small and bright, 
With their green shores retiected there, 

Look like those Peri isles of light, 
That hanpj by spellwork in the air. 

But vainly did those glories burst 
On Hinda's dazzled eyes, when first 
The bandage from her brow was taken. 
And, pale and aw'd as those who waken 
In their dark tombs — when, scowling near, 
The Searchers of the Grave ' appear, — 
She shuddering turn'd to read her fate 

In the fierce eyes that flash'd around ; 
And saw those towers all desolate. 

That o'er her head terrific frown' d, 
As if defying ev'n the smile 
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. 
In vain with mingled hope and fear, 
She looks for him whose voice so dear 
Had come, like music, to her ear — 
Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled. 
A.nd 0, the shoots, the pangs of dread 
That tlirough her inmost bosom run. 

When voices from without proclaim 
" Hafed, the Chief" — and, one by one. 

The warriors shout that fearful name ! 
He comes — the rock resounds his tread — 
How shall she dare to lift her head. 
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear ? 
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells. 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 
As in those hellish fires that light 
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night.* 
How shall she bear that voice's tone. 
At whose loud battle cry alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
Scatter'd like some vast caravan. 
When, stretch'd at evening round the well, 
They hear the thirsting tiger's yeU. 

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down. 
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown. 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now : 
And shuddering as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior band. — 
Never was pause so full of dread ; 

Till Hafed with a trembling hand 
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said, 



1 The two terrible angels, Monkir and Nakir, who are 
called " the Searcliers of the Grave " in the " Creed of the 
ortiiodox Mahometans " given by Ockley, vol. ii. 



" HiNDA ; " — that word was all he spoke, 
And 'twas enough — the shriek that broke 

From her full bosom, told the rest. — 
Panting with terror, joy, surprise. 
The maid but lifts her wondering eyes. 

To hide them on her Gheber's breast ! 
'Tis he, 'tis he — the man of blood. 
The fellest of the Firefiend's brood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight, 
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight, — 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smil'd 
In her lone tower, and left such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 
That she belie v'd her bower had given 
Rest to some wanderer from heaven ! 

Moments there are, and this was one, 
Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of sun 
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse — 

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's burning lips. 

Sweetening the very edge of doom ! 
The past — the future— all that Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they last ! 

Ev'n he, this youth — though dimm'd and gone 

Each star of Hope that cheer'd him on — 

His glories lost — his cause betray'd — 

Iran, his dear-lov'd country, made 

A land of carcasses and slaves. 

One dreary waste of chains and graves ! — 

Himself but lingering, dead at heart. 

To see the last, long struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart. 

Then lay him down and share her death — 
Ev'n he, so sunk in wretchedness, 

W^ith doom still darker gathering o'er him. 
Yet, in this moment's pure caress. 

In the mild eyes that shone before him. 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth. 
That he was lov'd — well, warmly lov'd — 
O, in this precious hour he prov'd 
How deep, how thorough felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of woe ; — 
How exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 



2 " The Arabians call the mandrake ' the Devil's candle, 
on account of its shining appearance in the night." — Rick 
ardson. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



431 



Of misery's cup — how keenly quafTd, 
Though death must follow on the draught ! 

She, too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep, 
F trgcts all fears, all miseries, 

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile, 
Who dreams of joj', and sobs the while ! 
The mighty Ruins where they stood, 

Upon the mou^it's high, rocky verge, 
I-ay open towards the ocean flood. 
Where lightly o'er the illumin'd surge 
Many a fair bark that, all the day, 
Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay 
Now bounded on, and gave their sails, 
Yet dripping, to the evening gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done, 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun. 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star 
Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 
Were still with lingering glories bright, — 
As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 

The Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny vest 

Kehind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
Never was scene so form'd for love ! 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell — Heav'n glows above, 
And their pure hearts, to transport given. 
Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav'n. 

But ah ! too soon that dream is past — 

Again, again her fear returns ; — 
Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast, 

More faintly the horizon burns, 
And every rosy tint that lay 
On the smooth sea hath died away. 
Hastily to the darkening skies 
A glance she casts — then wildly cries 
" At night, he said — and, look, 'tis near — 

" Fly, fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly — 
" Soon will his murderous band be here, 

" And I shall see thee bleed and die. — 
" Hush ! heard'st thou not the tramp of men 
" Sounding from yonder fearful glen ? — 
" Perhaps ev'n now they climb the wood — 

"Fly, fly — though still the West is bright, 
" He'll come — O, yes — he wants thy blood — 

" I know him — he'll not wait for night ! " 

In terrors ev'n to agony 

She clings around the wondering Chief ; — 
*• Alas, poor 'wilder'd maid ! to me 

« Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. 



" Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
" Beneath my shade but perish'd too — 
" My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 
" And nothing lives that enters there ! 
" Why Avere our barks together driven 
" Beneath this morning's furious heaven? 
" Why, when I saw the prize that chance 

" Had thrown into my desperate arms, — 
•' When, casting but a single glance 

•' Upon thy jjale and prostrate charms, 
" I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 

" Thy safety through that hour's alarms) 
" To meet th' unmanning sight no more — 
" Why have I broke that heart- wrung vow ? 
" Why weakly, madly met thee now ? — 
" Start not — that noise is but the shock 

" Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd — 
" Dread nothing here — upon this rock 

" We stand above the jarring world, 
" Alike beyond its hope — its dread — 
" In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 
" Or, could ev'n earth and hell unite 
" In league to storm this Sacred Height, 
♦' Fear nothing thou — myself, to-night, 
" And each o'erlooking star that dwells 
" Near God will be thy sentinels ; — 
" And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 

" Back to thy sire " 

" To-morrow ! — no — ' 
The maiden scream'd — " Thou'lt never see 
" To-morrow's sun — death, death will be 
" The night cry through each reeking tower, 
" Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! 
" Thou art betray'd — some wretch who knew 
" That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
" Nay, doubt not — by yon stars, 'tis true — 
" Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
" This morning, with that smile so dire 
" He wears in joy, he told me all, 
" And stamp' d in triumph through our hall, 
" As though thy heart already beat 
" Its last life throb beneath his feet ! 
" Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then 

" His victim was my own lov'd youth ! — 
'• Flj' — send — let some one watch the glen — 

•' By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth ! " 

O, colder than the wind that freezes 

Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd, 

Is that congealing pang which seizes 
The trusting bosom, when betray'd. 

He felt it — deeply felt — and stood, 

As if the tale had frozen his blood, 
So maz'd and motionless was he ; — 

Like one whom sudden spells enchant. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Or isome mute, marble habitant 
Of the still Halls of Ishmonie ! ' 

But soon the painful chill was o'er, 
And his great soul, herself once more, 
Look'd from his brow in all the rays 
Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 
Never, in moment most elate, 

Did that high spirit loftier rise ; — 
While bright, serene, determinate. 

His looks are lifted to the skies, 
As if the signal lights of Fate 

Were shining in those a^^"ful eyes ! 
'Tis come — his hour of martyrdom 
In Iran's sacred cause is come ; 
And, though his life hath pass'd away 
Like lightning on a stormy day, 
Yet shall his death hour leave a track 

Of glory, permanent and bright, 
To which the brave of after times. 
The suffering brave, shall long look bacK 

With proud regret, — and by its light 

Watch through the hours of slavery's night 
For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes. 
This rock, his monument aloft. 

Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 
And hither bards and heroes oft 

Shall come in secret pilgrimage. 
And bring their warrior sons, and tell 
The wondering boys where Hafed fell ; 
And swear them on those lone remains 
Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 
Never — while breath of life shall live 
Within them — never to forgive 
Th' accursed race, whose ruthless chain 
Hath left on Iran's neck a stain 
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! 



Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow ; 
And ne'er did Saint of Issa ^ gaze 

On the red wreath, for martyr's twin'd, 
More proudly than the youth surveys 

That pile, which through the gloom behind, 
Half lighted by the altar's fire. 
Glimmers — his destin'd funeral pyre ! 



1 For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified city in Upper 
Eeypt, where it is said there are many statues of men, wo- 
men, &c. to be seen to this day, see Perry's View of the Levant. 

2 Jesus. 

8 The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their great 
Prophet, was thrown into the fire by order of Nimrod, 
■Jie flame turned instantly into " a bed of roses, where the 
".hild sweetly reposed." — T'oiwrnjer. 



Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands. 

Of every wood of odorous breath. 
There, by the Fire God's shrine it stands, 

Readj' to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who swore 
To perish there, when hope was o'er — 
The few, to whom that couch of flame. 
Which rescues them from bonds and shame, 
Is sweet and welcome as the bed 
For their own infant Prophet spread. 
When pitying Heav'n to roses turn'd 
The death flames that beneath him burn'd * ! 

With watchfulness the maid attends 
His rapid glance, where'er it bends — 
Why shoot his eyes such awful beams ? 
What plans he now ? what thinks or dreams r 
Alas ! why stands he musing here. 
When every moment teems with fear ? 
" Hafed, my own beloved Lord," 
She kneeling cries — " first, last ador'd ! 
"If in that soul thou'st ever felt 

•' Half whr.t thy lips impassion'd swore. 
" Here, on mj^ knees that never knelt 

" To any but their God before, 
" I praj' thee, as tnou -ov'st me, fly — 
" Now, now — ere yet their blades are niah. 
" O haste — the bark that bore me hitner 

" Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea 
" East — west — alas, I care not whither. 

" So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
" Go where we will, this hand in thine. 

" Those eyes before me smiling thus. 
" Through good and ill, through storm and shme. 

" The world's a world of love for us ! 
" On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, 
" Where 'tis no crime to love too well ; — 
" Where thus to worship tenderly 
" An erring child of light like thee 
" Will not be sin — or, if it be, 
" Where we may weep our faults away, 
" Together kneeling, night and day, 
" Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 
" And I — at any God's, for thine ! " 

Wildly these passionate words she spoke — 
Then hung her head, and wept for shame , 



Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a story told in 
Dion Prusceus, Orat. .16, that the love of wisdom and virtue 
leading him to a solitary life upon a mountain, he tound it 
one day all in a flame, shining with celestial fire, out of 
which he came without any harm, and instituted certair 
sacrifices to God, who, he declared, then appeared to hiio. 
— v. Patrick on Exod'OSj iii. 2. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



433 



Sobbing, as if a heart string broke 

With every deep-heav'd sob that came. 
While ho, young, warm — O wonder not 
If, for a moment, jiride and fame, 
His oath — his cause — that shrine of flame, 
And Iran's self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
O'er hours to come — o'er days and nights, 
Wing d with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 
Was born to kindle and to share. 
A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 

To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud 

Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
Starting, he brush'd the drops away, 
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray ; — 
Like one who, on the morn of fight, 
Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm'd, not staui'd its light. 

Yet, though subdued th' unnerving thrill, 
Its warmth, its weakness linger'd still 

So touching in each look and tone, 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd, 

Half thought the hero's soul was grown 

As soft, as yielding as her own. 
And smil'd and bless'd him while he said, — 
'♦ Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
' ' Where fadeless truth like ours is dear, — 
" K there be any land of rest 

" For those who love and ne'er forget, 
" O, comfort thee — for safe and blest 

" We'll meet in that calm region yet ! " 

Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart, 
When the rous'd youth impatient flew 
To the tower wall, where, high in view, 
A ponderous sea horn ' hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm fiend at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, that signal knew ; 
For 'twas th' appointed warning blast, 
Th' alarm, to tell when hope was past, 
And the tremendous death die cast ! 

1 " The shell called Siiankos, common to India, Africa, 
and the Mediterranean, and still used in many parts as a 
trumpet for blowing alarms or giving signals : it sends forth 
a deep and hollow sound." — Peimant. 



And there, upon the mouldering tower, 
Hath hung this sea horn many an hour, 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
That dirge note of the brave and free. 

They came — his Chieftains at the call 
Came slowly round, and with them all — 
Alas, how few ! the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went gayly prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbalon. 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun. 
And, as their coursers charg'd the wind, 
And the white ox tails stream'd behind, 
Looking, as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God ! 
How fall'n, how alter' d now ! how wan 
Each scarr'd and faded visage shone. 
As round the burning shrine they came; — 

How deadly was the glare it cast. 
As mute they paus'd before the flame 

To light their torches as they pass'd ! 
'Twas silence all — the youth hath plann'd 
The duties of his soldier band ; 
And each determin'd brow declares 
His faithful Chieftains well know theirs. 

But minutes speed — night gems the skies — 
And O, how soon, ye blessed eyes. 
That look from heaven, ye may behold 
Sights that will turn your star fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope. 
The maiden sees the veteran group 
Her litter sQently prepare. 

And lay it at her trembling feet ; — 
And now the youth, with gentle care. 

Hath plac'd her in the shelter'd seat. 
And press'd her hand — that lingering press 

Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness. 

When that hold breaks, is dead forever. 
And yet to her this sad caress 

Gives hope — so fondly hope can err ! 
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess — 

Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
'Twas warmth — assurance — tenderness — 

'Twas any thing but leaving her. 

"Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds grow 

dark, 
" But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark ; 

» " The finest ornament for the horses is made of six large 
flying tassels of long white hair, taken out of the tails of 
wild oxen, that are to be found in some places of the In 
dies." — Thevenot, 



434 



LALLA ROOKH. 



"And by to-morrow's dawn — O bliss ! 

" With thee upon the sun-bright deep, 
" Far off, I'll but remember this, 

" As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ; 
" And thou " but ah ! — he answers not — 

Good Heav'n ! — and does she go alone ? 
She now has reach'd that dismal spot. 

Where, some hours since, his voice's tone 
Had come to soothe her fears and ills. 
Sweet as the angel Israfil's,' 
When every leaf on Eden's tree 
Is trembling to his minstrelsy — 
Yet now — O, now, he is not nigh. — 

" Hafed ! my Hafed ! — if it be 
" Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 

" Let me but stay to die with thee, 
" And I wiU bless thy loved name, 
" Till the last life breath leave this frame. 
" 0, let our lips, our checks be laid 
" But near each other while they fade ; 

" Let us but mix our parting breaths, 
" And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
" You too, who hurry me away 
" So cruelly, one moment stay — 

" O, stay — one moment is not much — 
" He yet may come — for him I pray — 
•' Hafed ! dear Hafed ! — " all the way 

In wild lamentings, that would touch 
A heart of stone, she shrieked his name 
To the dark woods — no Hafed came : — 
No — hapless pair — you've look'd your last : - 

Your hearts should both have broken then : 
The dream is o'er — your doom is cast — 

You'll never meet on earth again ! 

Alas for him, who hears her cries ! 

Still half way down the steep he stands, 
Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 

The glimmer of those burning brands, 
That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
Light all he loves on earth away ! 
Hopeless as they who, far at sea. 

By the cold moon have just consign'd 
The corse of one, lov'd tenderly. 

To the bleak flood they leave behind ; 
And on the deck still lingering stay, 
And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. 

But see — he starts — what heard he then ? 
That dreadful shout ! — across the glen 



1 " The angel Israfil, who has the most melodious voice 
of all God's creatures." — Sale. 



From the land side it comes, and loud 

Rings through the chasm ; as if the crowd 

Of fearful things, that haunt that dell. 

Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell, 

Had all in one dread howl broke out. 

So loud, so terrible that shout ! 

" They come — the Moslems come ! " — he 

cries. 
His proud soul mounting to his eyes, — 
•' Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam 
" Enfranchis'd through yon starry dome, 
" Rejoice — for souls of kindred fire 
" Are on the wing to join your choir ! " 
He said — and, light as bridegrooms bound 
To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep 
And gain'd the Shrine — his Chiefs stood 

round — 
Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, at that cry aceurs'd. 
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst. 
And hark ! — again — again it rings ; 
Near and more near its echoings 
Peal through the chasrii — 0, who that then 
Had seen those listening warrior men. 
With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of 

flame 
Tum'd on their Chief — could doubt the 

shame, 
Th' indignant shame with which they thrill 
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ? 

He read their thoughts — they were his own — 

" What ! while our arms can wield these 
blades, 
'♦ Shall we die tamely ? die alone ? 

" Without one victim to our shades, 
" One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
'* The sabre from its toil may sleep ? 
" No — God of Iran's burning skies ! 
" Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice. 
" No — though of all earth's hope bereft, 
" Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. 
" We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

" Live in the awe-struck minds of men, 
" Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

" Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
<' Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile remains 
" Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
" But his the best, the holiest bed, 
" Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead ! " 

Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
While vigor, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart. — Th' exulting foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 



LALLA ROOKH. 



435 



Track' (1 by his torches' lurid fire, 

Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale ' 
The mighty serpent, in his ire. 

Glides on with glittering, deadly trail. 
No torch the Ghebers need — so well 
They know each mystery of the dell, 
So oft have, in their wanderings, 
Cross'd the wild race that roimd them dwell. 

The very tigers from their delves 
Look out, and let them pass, as things 

Untam'd and fearless like themselves ! 

There was a deep ravine, that lay 
Yet darkling in the Moslem's way ; 
Fit spot to make invaders rue 
The many fall'n before the few. 
The torrents from that morning's sky 
Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast high. 
And, on each side, aloft and wild. 
Huge cliffs and toppling crags were pil'd, — 
The guards with which young Freedom lines 
The pathways to her mountain shrines. 
Here, at this pass, the scanty band 
Of Iran's last avengers stand ; 
Here wait, in silence hke the dead, 
And listen for the Moslem's tread 
So anxiously, the carrion bird 
Above them flaps his wing unheard ! 

They come — that plunge into the water 
Gives signal for the work of slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now — if e'er your blades 

Had point or prowess, prove them now — 
Woe to the file that foremost wades ! 

They come — a falchion greets each brow, 
And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
Beneath the gory waters suiik. 
Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and numberless ; 
Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band. 

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
But listless from each crimson hand 

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
Never was horde of tyrants met 
With bloodier welcome — never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations poux'd ! 

All up the dreary, long ravine, 
By the red, murky glimmer seen 



1 See Hoole upon the Story of Siiibad. 

2 " In this thicket upon the banks of the Jordan several 
sorts of wild beasts are wont to harbor tliemselves, whose 
"leing washed out of the covert by the overflowings of the 



Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood 
Lie scattcr'd round and burn in blood, 
What ruin glares ! what carnage swims ! 
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, 
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand, 
In that thick pool of slaughter stand ; — 
W^retches who wading, half on fire 

From the toss'd brands that round them 

%. 
'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire ; — 
And some who, grasp'd by those that die. 
Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 
In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 

But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 
Countless as towards some flame at night 
The North's dark insects wing their flight, 
And quench or perish in its light, 
To this terrific spot they pour — 
TUl, bridg'd with Moslem bodies o'er, 
It bears aloft their slippery tread. 
And o'er the dying and the dead. 
Tremendous causeway ! on they pass. 
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas, 
What hope was left for you ? for you, 
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes ; — 
Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, 
And burn with shame to find how few. 

Crush'd down by that vast multitude. 
Some found their graves where first they stood ; 
While some with hardier struggle died, 
And still fought on by Hafed's side, 
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 
Towards the high towers his gory track } 
And, as a lion swept away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
From the wild covert where he lay,* 

Long battles with th' o'erwhelming tide, 
So fought he back with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 

But whither now ? their track is lost, 

Their prey escap'd — guide, torches gone — 

By torrent beds and labyrinths cross'd. 
The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on — 

" Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 

They panting cry, " so far behind ; 



river, gave occasion to that allusion of Jeremiah, he shaU 
come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan." — MaundreU't 
Aleppo. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



" O for a bloodhound's precious scent, 

" To track the way the Gheber went ! " 

Vain wish — confusedly along 

They rush, more desperate as more wrong ; 

Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights. 

Yet glittering up those gloomy heights. 

Their footing, maz'd and lost, they miss, 

And down the darkling precipice 

Are dash'd into the deep abyss ; 

Or midway hang, impal'd on rocks, 

A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 

Of ravening vultures, — while the dell 

Reechoes with each horrid yeU. 

Those sounds — the last, to vengeance dear, 
That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear, — 
Now reach'd him, as aloft, alone, 
Upon the steep way breathless thrown, 
He lay beside his reeking blade. 

Resign' d, as if life's task were o'er, 
Its last blood offering amply paid. 

And Iran's self could claim no more. 
One only thought, one lingering beam 
Now broke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness — 'twas she. 

His heart's pure planet, shining yet 
Above the waste of memory, 

When aE life's other lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 
It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd, 

Each fear that chill'd their loves was past, 
And not one cloud of earth remain'd 

Between him and her radiance cast : — 
As if to charms, before so bright, 

New grace from other worlds was given, 
And his soul saw her by the light 

Now breaking o'er itself from heaven ! 

A voice spoke near him — 'twas the tone 

Of a lov'd friend, the only one 

Of all his warriors, left with life 

From that short night's tremendous strife. — 

" And must we then, my chief, die here ? 

" Foes round us, and the Shrine so near ! " 

These words have rous'd the last remains 

Of life within him— " what ! not yet 
"Beyond the reach of Moslem chains ! " 

The thought could make cv'n Death forget 
His icy bondage — vnth a bound 
He springs, all bleeding, from the ground. 
And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 
Ev'n feebler, heavier than his own. 
And up the painful pathway leads. 
Death gaining on each step he treads. 



Speed them, thou God, who heard' st their vowl 
They mount — they bleed — O save them now — 
The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er. 
The rock weed's dripping with their gore ; — 
Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length. 
Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength ! 
Haste, haste — the voices of the Foe 
Come near and nearer from below — 
One effort more — thank Heav'n ! 'tis past, 
They've gained the topmost steep at last. 
And now they touch the temple's walls. 

Now Hafed sees the Fire divine ! — 
When, lo ! — his weak, worn comrade falls 

Dead on the threshold of the shrine. 
" Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 

" And must I leave thee withering here, 
" The sport of every ruffian's tread, 

" The mark for every coward's spear ? 
" No, by yon altar's sacred beams ! " 
He cries, and, with a strength that seems 
Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
Of the fall'n Chief, and towards the flame 
Bears him along ; — with death-damp hand 

The corpse upon the pyre he lays. 
Then lights the consecrated brand. 

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze 
Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea. — 
" Now, Freedom's God ! I come to Thee," 
The youth exclaims, and with a smile 
Of triumph vaulting on the pile. 
In that last effort, ere the fires 
Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires 1 

What shriek was that on Oman's tide ? 

It came from yonder drifting bark. 
That just hath caught upon her side 

The death light — and again is dark. 
It is the boat — ah, why delay'd ? — 
That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 
Confided to the watchful care 

Of a small veteran band, with whom 
Their generous Chieftain would not share 

The secret of his final doom, 
But hop'd when Hinda, safe and free, 

Was render'd to her father's eyes. 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 

The ransom of so dear a prize. — 
Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate. 
And proud to guard their beauteous freight, 
Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves 
That foam around those frightful caves, 
When the curs'd war whoops, known so well 
Came echoing from the distant d»ll - 
Sudden each oar, upheld and still. 

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



437 



^iid, driving at the current's will, 
They rock'd along the whispering tide ; 

While every eye, in mute dismay, 

Was toward that fatal mountain turn'd, 

Where the dim altar's quivering ray 
As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd. 

O, 'tis not, HiNDA, in the power 

Of Fancy's most terrific touch 
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour — 

Thy silent agony — 'twas such 
As those who feel could paint too well, 
But none e'er felt and liv'd to tell ! 
'Twas not alone the dreary state 
Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate, 
When, though no more remains to dread, 

The panic chill will not depart ; — 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 

Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart ; 
No — pleasures, hopes, affections gone, 
The wretch may bear, and yet live on, 
Like things, within the cold rock found 
Alive, when all's congeal'd around. 
But there's a blank repose in this, 
A calm stagnation, that were bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, 
Now felt through all thy breast and brain ; — 
That spasm of terror, mute, intense. 
That breathless, agoniz'd suspense. 
From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching, 
The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 
Calm is the wave — heav'n's brilliant lights 

Reflected dance beneath the prow ; — 
Time was when, on such lovely nights. 

She who is there, so desolate now. 
Could sit all cheerful, though alone, 

And ask no happier joy than seeing 
That starlight o'er the waters thrown — 
No joy but that, to make her blest. 

And the fresh, buoyant sense of Being, 
Which bounds in youth's j^et careless breast, — 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright. 
How different now! — but, hark, again 
The yell of havoc rings — brave men ! 
In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand 
On the bark's edge — in vain each hand 
Half draws the falchion from, its sheath ; 

All's o'er — in rust your blades may lie ; — 
He, at whose word they've scatter'd death, 

Ev'n now, this night, himself must die ! 
Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 

And ask, and wonderi.ig guess what means 
The battle cry at this dead hour — 

Ah ! she could tell you — she, who leans 



Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ; — 

Too well she knows — her more than life. 
Her soul's first idol and its last. 

Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. 

But see — what moves upon the height? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence toward the Shrine 
All eyes are turn'd — thine, Hinda, thine 

Fix their last fading lifebeams there. 
'Twas but a moment — fierce and high 
The death pile blaz'd into the sky. 
And far away, o'er rock and flood 

Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
While Hafed, like a vision stood 
Reveal' d before the burning pyre. 
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire 

Shrin'd in its own grand element ! 
" 'Tis he ! " — the shuddering maid exclaim. 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more ; 
High burst in air the funeral flames. 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er! 
One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave ; 

Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze. 

Where still she fix'd her dying gaze. 
And, gazing, sunk into the wave, — 

Deep, deep, — where never care or pain 

Shall reach her innocent heart again J 



Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter ! 

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea,) 
No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water. 

More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee, 

O, fair as the sea flower close to thee grow- 
ing. 
How light was thy heart till Love's witc:hery 
came, 
Like the wind of the south ^ o'er a summer lute 
blowing. 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its 
frame ! 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny high- 
lands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the 
doom 



1 " This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of hitea, 
that they can never be tuned while it lasts." — Stephens' 
Persia. 



433 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Isl- 
ands, 
With nought but the sea star ' to light up her 
tomb. 

And still, when the merry date season is burn- 
ing." 
And calls to the palm groves the young and 
the old, 
The happiest there, from their pastime return- 
ing 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she 

dresses 

Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 

"VYiU think of thy fate till, neglecting her 

tresses. 

She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Ikan, beloved of her Hero ! forget 
thee — 
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they 
start, 
Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set 
thee, 
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. 

Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
With every thing beauteous that grows in the 
deep; 
Each flower of the rock and each gem of the 
billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 

That ever the sorrowing sea bird has wept ; ' 
With many a shell, in whose hoUow-wreath'd 
chamber 
We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have 
slept. 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie dark- 
ling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian * are 
sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 



1 " One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian 
aj{ Is a fish which the English call Star fish. It is circu- 

ar, and at night very himinoiis, resenihling the full moon 
surrounded by rays." — .Vina JIbu Taleb. 

2 For a description of the merriment of the date time, of 
theii work 'iieir dances, and their return home from tlie 



Farewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet foun- 
tain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave. 
They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that 
mountain, 
They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in 
this wave. 



PREFACE 

TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME. 

The station assigned to " The Fudge Family," 
in the following pages, immediately after Lalla 
Rookh, agrees but too closely with the actual 
order in which these two works M'cre originally 
written and published. The success, far ex- 
ceeding my hopes and deserts, with which 
Lalla Rookh was immediately crowned, re- 
lieved me at once from the anxious feeling 
of responsibility under which, as my readers 
have seen, that enterprise had been com- 
menced, and which continued for some time 
to haunt me amidst all the enchantments of my 
task. I was therefore in the true holiday 
mood, when a dear friend, with whose name 
is associated some of the brightest and pleasant- 
cst hours of my past life,'' kindly off"ered me a 
seat in his carriage for a short visit to Paris. 
This proposal I, of course, most gladly accept- 
ed ; and, in the autumn of the year 1817, found 
myself, for the flrst time, in that gay capital. 

As the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty 
was still of too recent a date for any amalgama- 
tion to have yet taken place between the new 
and ancient order of things, all the most prom- 
inent features of both regimes were just then 
brought, in their fullest relief, into juxtapo- 
sition ; and, accordingly, the result was suuh 
as to suggest lo an unconcerned spectator quite 
as abundant matter for ridicule as for gravf; 
political consideration. It would be difficul', 
indeed, to convey to those who had not 
themselves seen the Paris of that period, any 



palm groves at the end of autumn with the fruits, see Kemv 
fcr, Amamitat. Ezot. 

3 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concre- 
tion of the tears of birds. — See Trevoux, Chambers. 

* " The bay Kieselarke, which is otherwise called th« 
Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines as Are "— Struy. 

6 Air. Rogers. 



LALLA IIOOKH. 



439 



clear notion of that anomalous aspect, both 
social and political, which it then presented. 
It was as if, in the days succeeding the Deluge, 
a small coterie of antediluvians had been sud- 
denly evoked from out of the deep to take the 
command of a new and freshly-starting world. 

To me, the abundant amusement and interest 
which such a scene could not but afford was a 
good deal heightened by my having, in my 
j-outhful days, been made acquainted with some 
of those personages who were now most in- 
terested in the future success of the Legitimate 
cause. The Comte D'Artois, or Monsieur, I 
had met in the year 1802-3, at Donington 
Park, the seat of the Earl of Moira, under 
whose princely roof I used often and long, 
in those days, to find a most hospitable home. 
A small party of distinguished French emi- 
grants were already staying on a visit in the 
house when Monsieur and his suite arrived ; 
and among those were the present King of 
France and his two brothers, the Due de Mont- 
pensier, and the Comte de Beaujoliiis. 

Some doubt and uneasiness had, I remember, 
been felt by the two latter brothers, as to the 
reception they were likely to encounter from 
the new guest ; and as, in those times, a cropped 
and unpowdered head was regarded generally as 
a symbol of Jacobinism, the Comte Beaujolais, 
who, like many other young men, wore his hair 
in this fashion, thought it, on the present occa- 
sion, most prudent, in order to avoid all risk of 
offence, not only to put powder in his hair, but 
also to provide himself with an artificial cue. 
This measure of precaution, however, led to a 
slight incident after dinner, which, though not 
very royal or dignified, was at least creditable to 
the social good humor of the future Charles X. 
On the departure of the ladies from the dining 
room, we had hardly seated ourselves in the old- 
fashioned style, round the fire, when Monsieur, 
who had hajjpened to place himself next to 
B?aujolais, caught a glimpse of the ascititious 
tail, — which, having been rather carelessly put 
on, had a good deal straggled out of its place. 
With a sort of scream of jocular pleasure, as 
if delighted at the discovery. Monsieur seized 
the stray appendage, and, bringing it round into 
full view, to the great amusement of the whole 
company, popped it into poor grinning Beau- 
iolais' mouth. 



1 See p. 155 of this edition. 

2 In employing tlie past tense here, I 



the present lord 



On one of the evenings of this short visit of 
Monsieur, I remember Curran arriving unex- 
pectedly, on his way to London ; and, having 
come too late for dinner, he joined our party 
in the evening. As the foreign portion of 
the company was then quite new to him, 1 
was able to be useful, by informing him of the 
names, rank, and other particulars of the party 
he found assembled, from Monsieur himself 
down to the old Due de Lorge and the Baron de 
Rolle. When I had gone through the whole 
list, " Ah, poor fellows ! " he exclaimed, with 
a mixture of fun and pathos in his look, truly 
Irish, " Poor fellows, all dismounted cavalry ! " 

On the last evening of Monsieur's stay, I was 
made to sing for him, among other songs, 
" Farewell, Bessy ! " one of my earliest attempts 
at musical composition. As soon as I had 
finished, he paid me the compliment of reading 
aloud the words as written under the music ; 
and most royal havoc did he make, as to this 
day I remember, of whatever little sense or 
metre they could boast. 

Among my earlier poetic writings, more than 
one grateful memorial may be found of the 
happy days I passed in this hospitable man- 
sion, ' — 

Of all my sunny moms and moonlight nights 
On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights. 

But neither verse nor prose could do any justice 
to the sort of impression I still retain of those 
long-vanished days. The library at Donington 
was ■■* extensive and valuable ; and through the 
privilege kindly granted to me of retiring thither 
for study, even when the family were absent, I 
frequently passed whole weeks alone in that 
fine library, indulging in all the first airy castle 
building of authorship. The various projects, 
indeed, of future works that used then to pass 
in fruitless succession through my mind, can 
be compared only to the waves as described by 
the poet, — 

" And one no sooner touch'd the shore, and died, 
Than a new follower rose." 

With that librarj' is also connected another 
of my earlier poems, — the verses addressed to 
the Duke of Montpensier on his portrait of the 
liady Adelaide Forbes ; '' for it was there that 
this truly noble lady, then in the first dawn of 
her beauty, used to sit for that picture ; while, 



injustice, whose filial wish I know it is to Itecp all at Don 
ington exactly as his noble father left it. 
3 See p. C5 of this edition 



t40 



LALLA ROOKH. 



in another part of the library, the Duke of 
Orleans, — engaged generally at that time with 
j a volume of Clarendon , — was by such studies 
unconsciously preparing himself for the high 
and arduous destiny, which not only the Good 
Genius of France, but his own sagacious and 
intrepid spirit, had marked out for him. 

I need hardly say how totally different were 
all the circumstances under which Monsieur 
himself and some of his followers were again 
seen by me in the year 1817 ; — the same actors, 
indeed, but with an entirely new change of 
Bcenery and decorations. Among the variety 
ot aspects presented by this change, the ridicu- 
lous certainly predominated ; nor could a satirist 
who, like Philoctetes, was smitten with a fancy 
for shooting at geese,' ask any better supply of 
such game than the high places, in France, at 
that period, both lay and ecclesiastical, afforded. 
As I Avas not versed, however, sufficiently in 
French politics to venture to meddle with them, 
even in sport, I found a more ready conductor 
of laughter — for which I was then much in 
the mood — in those groups of ridiculous Eng- 
lish who were at that time swarming in all 
directions throughout Paris, and of all whose 
various forms of cockneyism and nonsense I 
endeavored, in the personages of the Fudge 
Family, to collect the concentrated essence. 
The result, as usual, fell very far short of what 
I had myself preconceived and intended. But, 
making its appearance at such a crisis, the work 
brought with it that best seasoning of all such 
Jeux-d'esp)-it, the apropos of the moment ; and, 
accordingly, in the race of successive editions, 
Lalla Rookh was, for some time, kept pace with 
by Miss Biddy Fudge. 

The series of trifles contained in this volume, 
entitled " Rhymes on the Road," were written 
partly as their title implies, and partly at a sub- 
sequent period from memorandums made on 
the spot. This will account for so many of 
those pieces being little better, I fear, than 
"prose fringed with rhyme." The journey to 
a part of Avhich those Rhymes owed their 
existence was commenced in company with 
Lord John Russell in the autumn of the year 
1819. After a week or two passed at Paris, to 
enable Lord John to refer to Barillon's Letters 
for a new edition of his Life of Lord Russell 
then preparing, we set out together for the 



1 " Pinnigero, non armigero in corpore tela exercean- 
tiir : " — the words put by Accius in th«) mouth of Philoc- 
tetes. 



Simplon. At Milan, the agreeable society of 
the late Lord Kinnaird detained us for a fe^^ 
days ; and then my companion took the route to 
Genoa, while I proceeded on a visit to Lord 
Byron, at Venice. 

It was during the journey thus briefly de- 
scribed, I addressed the well-known Remon- 
strance to my noble friend,^ which has of late 
been frequently coupled with my prophetic 
verses on the Duke of Wellington,' from the 
prescient spirit with which it so confidently 
looked forward to aU that Lord John has since 
become in the eyes of the world. 

Of my visit to Lord Byron, — an event, to 
me so memorable, — I have already detailed all 
the most interesting particulars in my published 
Life of the poet ; and shall here only cite, from 
that work, one passage, as having some refer- 
ence to a picture mentioned in the following 
pages. " As we were conversing after dinner 
about the various collections of paintings I had 
seen that njprning, on my saying that, fearful as 
I was of ever praising any picture, lest I should 
draw on myself the connoisseur's sneer, for my 
pains, I would yet, to him, venture to own that 
I had seen a picture at Milan, which — — ' The 
Hagar ! ' * he exclaimed, eagerly interrupting 
me ; and it was, in fact, that very pictui-e I was 
about to mention to him as having awakened in 
me, by the truth of its expression, more real 
emotion than anj' I had yet seen among the 
chefs-d'cDuvre of Venice." 

In the society I chiefly lived with, while at 
Rome, I considered myself singularly fortunate ; 
though but a blind worshipper of those powers 
of Ai-t of which my companions were all high 
priests. Canova himself, Chantrey, Lawrence, 
Jackson, Ttu-ner, Eastlake, — such were the 
men of whose presence and guidance I enjoyed 
the advantage in visiting all that unrivalled 
Rome can boast of beautiful and grand. That 
I derived from this course of initiation any thing 
more than a very humbling consciousness of my 
own ignorance and want of taste, in matters of 
art, I will not be so dishonest as to pretend. 
But, to the stranger in Rome every step forms 
an epoch ; and, in addition to all its own count- 
less appeals to memory and imagination, the 
agreeable auspices under which I first visited 
all its memorable places could not but render 
every impression I received more vivid and 



2 See Miscellaneous Poems. 

3 See p. 229 of this edition. 

* Abraham dismissing Hagar, by Guerci 



LALLA ROOKH. 



441 



permanent. Thus, with my recollection of the 
Sepulchre of St. Peter, and its ever-burning 
lamps, for which splendid spot Canova was then 
meditating a statue,' there is always connected 
in my mind the exclamation which I heard 
break from Chantrey after gazing, for a few mo- 
ments, in silence, upon that glorious site, — 
" What a place to work for ! " 

In one of the poems contained in this volume ' 
ollusion is made to an evening not easily for- 
gotten, when Chantrey and myself were taken 
by Canova to the Borghese Palace, for the pur- 
pose of showing us, by the light of a taper — 
his favorite mode of exhibiting that work — his 
beautiful statue of the Princess Borghese, called 
the Venere Vincitrice. In Chantrey's eagerness 
to point out some grace or effect that peculiarly 
struck him, he snatched the light out of Ca- 
nova's hand ; and to this circumstance the fol- 
lowing passage of the poem referred to Avas 
meant to allude : — 

When he, thy peer in art and fame. 
Hung o'er the marble with delight ;3 
And, while his ling'rlng hand would steal 

O'er every grace the taper's rays, 
Gave thee, with all the gen'rous zeal 
Such master spirits only feel. 

That best of fame — a rival's praise. 

One of the days that still linger most pleas- 
antly in my memory, and which, I trust, neither 
Lady Calcott nor Mr. Eastlake have quite for- 
gotten, was that of our visit together to the 
Palatine Mount, when, as we sauntered about 
that picturesque spot, enjoying the varied views 
of Rome which it commands, they made me, 
for the first time, acquainted with Guidi's spir- 
ited Ode on the Arcadians, in which there is 
poetry enough to make amends for all the non- 
sense of his rhyming brethren. Truly and 
grandly does he exclaim, — 

" Indomita e superba ancor 6 Roma 
Benche si veggii col gran busto a terra ; 

Son piene di splendor le sue ruine, 
E il gran cenere sue si mostra etemo." 

With Canova, while sitting to Jackson for a 
portrait ordered by Chantrey, I had more than 
once some interesting conversation, — or, rather, 
listened while he spoke, — respecting the polit- 
ical state of Europe at that period, and those 
•'bricconi," as he styled them, the sovereigns 
of the Holy Alliance ; and, before I left Rome, 

1 A statue, I believe, of Pius VI. 

2 See Rhymes on the Road. 

» A slight alteration here has rendered these verses more 
56 



he kindly presented to me a set of engravings 
from some of his finest statues, together with 
a copy of the beautifully printed collection of 
Poems, which a Roman poet named Missirini 
had written in praise of his different " Marmi." 

When Lord John Russell and myself parted, 
at Milan, it was agreed between us, that after a 
short visit to Rome, and (if practicable within 
the allowed time) to Naples, I was to rejoin him 
at Genoa, and from thence accompany him to 
England. But the early period for which Par- 
liament was summoned, that year, owing to the 
violent proceedings at Manchester, rendered it 
necessary for Lord John to hasten his return to 
England. I was, therefore, most fortunate, un- 
der such circumstances, in being permitted by 
my friends Chantrey and Jackson to join in 
their journey homeward ; through which lucky 
arrangement, the same precious privilege I had 
enjoyed, at Rome, of hearing the opinions of 
such jjractised judges, on all the great works of 
art I saw in their company, was afterwards con- 
tinued to me through the various collections we 
visited together, at Florence, Bologna, Modena, 
Parma, Milan, and Turin. 

To some of those pictures and statues that 
most took my fancy, during my tour, allusions 
will be found in a few of the poems contained 
in this volume. But the great pleasure I de- 
rived from these and many other such works 
arose far more from the poetical nature of their 
subjects than from any judgment I had learned 
to form of their real merit as works of art, — 
a line of lore in which, notwithstanding my 
course of schooling, I remained, I fear, unen- 
lightened to the last. For all that Avas lost 
upon me, however, in the halls of Art, I was 
more than consoled in the cheap picture gallery 
of Nature ; and a glorious sunset I witnessed 
in ascending the Simplon is still remembered 
by me with a depth and freshness of feeling 
which no one work of art I saw in the galleries 
of Italy has left behind. 

I have now a few words to devote to a some- 
what kindred subject with which a poem or twf» 
contained in the following pages are closely con- 
nected.* In my Preface to the First Volume of 
this collection, I briefly noticed the taste for 
Private Theatrical Performances which pre- 
vailed during the latter half of the last century 
among the higher ranks in Ireland. This taste 
continued for nearly twenty years to survive 

true to the actual fact than they were in their original 
form. 
* See Miscellaneous Poems. 



142 



LALLA ROOKH. 



the epoch of the Union, and in the perform- 
ances of the Private Theatre of Kilkenny gave 
forth its last, as well as, perhaps, brightest 
flashes. The life and soul of this institution 
■was our manager, the late Mr. Richard Power, 
a gentleman who could boast a larger circle of 
attached friends, and through a life more free 
\Vom shadow or alloy, than any individual it 
has ever been my lot to know. No livelier 
proof, indeed, could be required of the sort of 
feeling entertained towards hun than was once 
shown in the reception given to the two follow- 
ing homely lines which occurred in a Prologue 
I wrote to be spoken by Mr. Corry in the char- 
acter of Vapid. 

'Tis said our worthy manager intends 

To help my night, and ke, you know, has friends.! 

These few simple words I write with the as- 
sured conviction that they would produce more 
effect from the homefelt truism they contained 
than could be effected by the most labored bm-st 
of eloquence ; and the result was just what I 
Uad anticipated, for the house rung, for a con- 
siderable time, with the heartiest plaudits. 

The chief comic, or rather farcical, force of 
the company lay in my friend Mr. Corry, and 
" longo intervallo," myseK ; and though, as 
usual, with low comedians, we were much 
looked down upon by the lofty lords of the 
buskin, many was the sly joke we used to in- 
dulge together, at the expense of our heroic 
brethren. Some waggish critic, indeed, is said 
to have declared that of all the personages of 
our theatre he most admired the prompter, — 
" because he was least seen and best heard." 
But this joke was, of course, a mere good- 
humored slander. There were two, at least, of 
our dramatic corps. Sir Wrixon Becher and Mr. 
Rothc, whose powers, as tragic actors, few ama- 
teurs have ever equalled ; and Mr. Corry — 
perhaps alone of all our company — would have 
been sure of winning laurels on the public stage. 

As to my own share in these representations, 
the following list of my most successful char- 
acters will show how remote from the line of 
the Heroic was the small orbit through which 
I ranged ; my chief parts having been Sam, in 
" Raising the Wind," Robin Roughhead, Mungo, 
Sadi, in the " Mountaineers," Spado, and Peep- 
ing Tom. In the part of Spado there occur 
bCveral allusions to that gay rogue's shortness 
of stature which never failed to be welcomed 

1 See Miscellaneous Poems. 



by my auditors with laughter and cheers ; and 
the words " Even Sanguino allows I am a ckvet 
little fellow " was always a signal for this sor 
of friendly explosion. One of the songs, in- 
deed, written by O'Keefe for the character of 
Spado so much abounds with points thus per- 
sonally applicable, that many supposed, with 
no great compliment either to my poetry or my 
modesty, that the song had been written, ex- 
pressly for the occasion, by myself. The follow- 
ing is the verse to which I allude, and for the 
poetry of which I was thus made responsible : — 

" Though born to be little's my fate, 

Yet so was tlie great Alexander ; 
And, when I walk under a gate, 

I've no need to stoop like a gander. 
I'm no lanky, long hoddy doddy, 

Whose paper kite sails in the sky ; 
Though wanting two feet, in my body, 

In soul, I aui thirty feet high." 

Some further account of the Kilkenny Theatre, 
as well as of the history of Private Theatricals 
in general, will be found in an article I wrote on 
the subject for the Edinburgh Review, vol. xlvi. 
No. 92, p. 368. 



The singular placidity Avith which Fadladeex 
had listened, during the latter part of this ob- 
noxious story, surprised the Princess and Fera- 
MORZ exceedingly ; and even inclined towards 
him the hearts of these unsuspicious young 
persons, who little knew the source of a com- 
placency so marvellous. The truth was, he had 
been organizing, for the last few days, a most 
notable plan of persecution against the poet, in 
consequence of some passages that had fallen 
from him on the second evening of recital, — 
which appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to 
contain language and principles, for which noth- 
ing short of the summary criticism of the Cha- 
buk ^ would be advisable. It was his intention, 
therefore, inamediately on their arrival at Cash- 
mere, to give information to the King of Bu- 
charia of the very dangerous sentiments of his 
minstrel ; and if, unfortunately, that monarch 
did not act with suitable vigor on the occasion, 
(that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to Fera- 
MORZ, and a place to Fadladeen,) there would 
be an end, he feared, of all legitimate govern- 
ment in Bucharia. He could not help, how- 
ever, auguring better both for himself and the 

2 " The application of whips or rods." — D^^buis 



LALLA ROOKH. 



443 



caus3 of potentates in general ; and it was the 
pleasure arising from these mingled anticipa- 
tions that diffused such unusual satisfaction 
through his features, and made his eyes shine 
out, like poppies of the desert, over the wide 
and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. 

Having decided upon the Poet's chastisement 
in f,>as ixj.~L:).tx, h? thought it but humanity to 
spare him the minor tortures of criticism. Ac- 
cordingly, when they assembled the following 
evening in the pavilion, and Lalla Rookh was 
expecting to see all the beauties of her bard 
melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criti- 
cism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian 
queen, — he agreeably disappointed her, by 
merely saying, with an ironical smile, that the 
merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at 
a much higher tribunal ; and then suddenly 
passed off into a panegyric upon all Mussul- 
man sovereigns, more particularly his august 
and Imperial master, Aurungzebe, — the wisest 
and best of the descendants of Timur, — who, 
among other great things he had done for man- 
kind, had given to him, Fadladeen, the very 
profitable posts of Betel Carrier and Taster of 
Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the 
Girdle of Beautiful Forms,' and Grand Nazir, 
or Chamberlain of the Harem. 

They were now not far from that Forbidden 
River,* beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass ; 
and were reposing for a time in the rich valley 
of Hussun Abdaul, which had always been a 
favorite resting-place of the Emperors in their 
annual migrations to Cashmere. Here often 
had the Light of the Faith, Jehanguire, been 
known to wander with his beloved and beauti- 
ful Nourmahal ; and here would Lalla Rookh 
have been happy to remain forever, giving up 
the throne of Bucharia and the world, for Fek- 



1 Kempfer mentions such an officer among the attendants 
of the King of Persia, and calls him " formE corporis esti- 
mator." His business was, at stated periods, to measure 
the ladies of the Harem by a sort of regulation girdle, whose 
limits it was not thought graceful to exceed. If any of them 
outgrew this standard of shape, they were reduced by absti- 
nence till they came within proper bounds. 

2 The Attock. 

" Akbar on his way ordered a fort to be built upon the 
Nilab, which he called Attock, which means in the Indian 
language Forbidden ; for, by the superstition of the Hindoos, 
11 was held unlawful to cross that river." — Dow's Hindos- 
tan. 

3 " The inhabitants of this country (7inge) are never af- 



AMORz and love in this sweet, lonely valley. 
But the time was now fast approaching when 
she must see him no longer, — or, what was 
still worse, behold him with eyes whose every 
look belonged to another ; and there was a 
melancholy preciousness in these last moments, 
which made her heart cling to them as it \\ouk( 
to life. During the latter part of the journey, 
indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness, from 
which nothing but the presence of the young 
minstrel could awake her. Like those lamps 
in tombs, which only light up when the air is 
admitted, it was only at his approach that her 
eyes became smiling and animated. But here, 
in this dear valley, every moment appeared an 
age of pleasure ; she saw him all day, and was, 
therefore, all day happy, — resembling, she often 
thought, that people of Zinge,' who attribute 
the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one 
genial star that rises nightly over their heads.'' 

The whole party, indeed, seemed in their live- 
liest mood during the few days they passed in 
this delightful solitude. The young attendants 
of the Princess, who were here allowed a much 
freer range than they could safely be indulged 
with in a less sequestered place, ran wild among 
the gardens and bounded through the meadow;?, 
lightly as young roes over the aromatic plains 
of Tibet. While Fadladeen, in addition to the 
spiritual comfort derived by him from a pil- 
grimage to the tomb of the Saint from whom 
the valley is named, had also opportunities of 
indulging, in a small way, his taste for victims, 
by putting to death some hundreds of those 
unfortunate little lizards,* which all jnous Mus- 
sulmans make it a point to kill ; — taking for 
granted, that the manner in which the crea- 
ture hangs its head is meant as a mimicry of 
the attitude in which the Faithful say their 
prayers. 



fiicted with sadness or melancholy ; on this subject tlie 
Sheik Mu-al-Khcir-Ailiari has the following distich : — 

" ' Who is the man without care or sorrow, (tell) that . 
may rub my hand to him. 

" ' (Behold) the Zingians, without care or soriow, frolic- 
some with tlpsines3 and mirth.' 

" The pliilosophers have discovered that the cause of tliu 
cheerfulness proceeds from the influence of the star fc'oheil 
or Canopus, which rises over them every night." — Kztracl 
from a Qeographical Persian Manuscript called Heft Aldim. 
or the Sevm Climates, translated by W. Ouseley, Esq. 

* The star Soheil, or Canopus. 

s "The lizard Stellio. The Arabs call it Hardun. Tli« 
Turks kill it, fur they imagine that by declining the head ii 
mimics them when they say their prayers." — JIasselguist. 



444 



LALLA ROOKH. 



About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were 
those Royal Gardens,' which had grown beau- 
tiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, and 
were beautiful still, though those eyes could 
see them no longer. This p.ace, -with its flow- 
ers a ad its holy silence, interrupted only by the 
dipping of the wings of birds in its marble 
basins filled with the pure water of those hills, 
was to Lalla Rookh all that her heart could 
fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heav- 
enly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Da- 
mascus, "it was too delicious ;" ■■' — and here, 
in listening to the sweet voice of Feiiamorz, or 
reading in his eyes what yet he never dared to 
tell her, the most exquisite moments of her 
whole life were passed. One evening, when 
they had been talking of the Sultana Nour- 
mahal, the Light of the Harem,^ who had so 
often wandered among these flowers, and fed 
with her own hands, in those marble basins, the 
small shining fishes of which she was so fond,'' 
— the youth, in order to delay the moment of 
separation, proposed to recite a short story, or 
rather raphsody of which this adored Sultana 
was the heroine. It related, he said, to the re- 
concilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel which 
♦ook place between her and the Emperor during 
a Feast of Roses at Cashmere ; and would 
remind the Princess of that difference between 
Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress Marida,' 
which was so happily made up by the soft 
strains of the musician, Moussali. As the story 
was chiefly to be told in song, and Feramorz 
had unluckily forgotten his own lute in the 
valley, he borrowed the vina of Lalla Rookh's 
little Persian slave, and thus began : — 



- for these particulars respecting Hussum Abdaul I am 
indehted to the very interesting Introduction of Mr. Elphin- 
stone's work upon Caubul. 

2 " As you enter at tliat Bazaar, without the gate of Da- 
mascus, you see the Green Mosque, so called because it lialh 
a steeple faced with green glazed bricks, which render it 
very resplendent ; it is covered at top witli a pavilion of the 
same stuff. The Turks say this mosque was made in that 
place, because Mahomet being come so far, would not enter 
the town, saying it was too delicious." — Thevenot. This 
reniii ds one of the following pretty passage in Izaak Wal- 
ton : — " When I sat last on this primrose bank, and looked 
down these meadows, I thought of them as Charles the Em- 
peror did of the city of Florence, ' that they were too pleas- 
ant to be looked on, but only on holidays.' " 

3 Nonmiahal signifies Light of the Harem. She was af- 
terwards called Nourjehan, or the Light of the World. 



Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, 
With its roses the brightest that earth evei 
gave,* 

Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains as clear 
As the love-lighted eyes thtit hang over their 



O, to see it at sunset, — when warm o'er the 

Lake 
Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, 
Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to 

take 
A last look of her mirror at night ere she 

goes ! — 
When the shrines through the foliage are 

gleaming half shown. 
And each hallows the hour by some rites of its 

OAvn. 
Here the music of pray'r from a minaret swells, 
Here the Magian his urn, full of perfume, is 

swinging. 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 
Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is 

ringing.' 
Or to see it by moonlight, — when melloAvly 

shines 
The Hght o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; 
When the waterfalls gleam, like a quick fall of 

stars. 
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of 

Chenars 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet 
From the cool, shining walks where the young 

people meet. — 
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes 
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
Hills, cupolas, fountains, caU'd forth every 

one 
Out of darkness, as if but just born of the 

Sun. 



* See note 5, p. 425, of this edition. 

6 " Haroun Al Raschid, cinquifeme Khalife des Abassides, 
s'^tant un jour hrouille avec une de ses maitresses nominee 
Maridah, qu'il aimott cependant jusqu'i I'exces, et cette me- 
sintelligence ayant deji dure quelque terns conimen^a i s'en- 
nuyer. Giafar Barmaki, son favori, qui s'en ap|«ercut, com- 
nianda i Abbas ben Ahnaf, excellent poete de ce terns li, de 
composer quelques vers sur le sujet de cette brouillerie. Ce 
poete executa I'ordre de Giafar, qui fit chanter ces vei-s par 
Moussali en presence du Khalife, et ce prince fut tellenient 
touche de la tendresse des vers du poete et de la douceur de 
la voix du musicien qu'il alia aiissit8t trouver Maridah, et 
fit sa paix avec elle. — D'Herbelot. 

» " The rose of Kashmire for its brilliancy and delicacy 
of odor has long been proverbial in the East." — Forster. 

7 " Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded 
with ravishing melody." — Sang of Jayadeva. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the 

day, 
From his Harem of night flowers stealing awaj' ; 
And the wind, full of wantonness, wooes like a 

lover 
The young aspen trees,' tQl they tremble all 

over. 
When the East is as warm as the light of first 

hopes, 
And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl' d. 
Shines in through the mountainous portal " that 

opes. 
Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the 

world ! 

But never yet, by night or day, 
In dew of spring or summer's ray, 
Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 
As now it shines — all love and light, 
Visions by day and feasts by night ! 
A happier smile illumes each brow. 

With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 
And all is ecstasy, — for now 

Tlie Valley holds its Feast of Roses ; ' 
The joyous Time, when pleasures pour 
Profusely round and, in their shower, 
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose, — 

The Flow'ret of a hundred leaves,* 
Expanding while the dew fall flows, 

And every leaf its balm receives. 

'Twas when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool. 
When Day had hid his sultry flame 

Behind the palms of Baramoule," 
When maids began to lift their heads, 
Refresh'd from their embroider'd beds. 
Where they had slept the sun away, 
And wak'd to moonlight and to play. 
All were abroad — the busiest hive 
On Bela's * hills is less alive. 
When saffron beds are full in flower. 
Than look'd the Valley in that hour. 

1 " The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with 
arbors and large-leaved aspen trees, slender and tall." — 
Bender. 

- " Tlie Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed by the Ma- 
hominetans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to 
the Lake." — Forster. 

8 " The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their 
remaining in bloom." — See PUtro ae la Valle. 

4 " Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe 
a particular species."— Oi^sc/q/. 6 Bernier. 

6 A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Me- 
moirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds 
ol saffron flowers about Cashmere. 

f " It is the custom among the women to employ the 



A thousand restless torches play'd 

Through every grove and island shade ; 

A thousand sparkling lamps were set 

On every dome and minai'et ; 

And flelds and pathways, far and near, 

Were lighted by a blaze so clear. 

That you could see, in wandering round. 

The smallest rose leaf on the ground. 

Yet did the maids and matrons leave 

Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 

And there were glancing eyes about. 

And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 

In open day, but thought they might 

Look lovely then, because 'twas night. 

And all were free, and wandering. 

And all exclaim' d to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Roses yet ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So clear as that which bless' d them there ; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 

And what a wilderness of flowers ! 
It seem'd as though from all the bowers 
And fairest fields of all the year. 
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 

With the rich buds that o'er it lie, - 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 

Had fall'n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy, — the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet ; — 
The minaret crier's chant of glee 
Sung from his lighted gallery,'' 
And answer'd by a ziraleet 
From neigboring Harem, Avild and sweet ; — 
The merry laughter, echoing 
From gardens, where the silken swing ® 
Wafts some delighted girl above 
The top leaves of the orange grove ; 
Or, from those infant groups at play 
Among the tents ^ that line the way, 

JMaazeen to chant from the gallery of the nearest minaiet, 
which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women as 
sembled at the house respond at intervals witli a ziraleel oj 
joyous chorus." — Russet. 

8 " The swing is a favorite pastime in the East, as pro- 
moting a circulation of air, e.xtremely refreshing in those 
sultry climates." — Richardson. 

" The swings are adorned with festoons. This pastime 
is accompanied with music of voices and of instruments, 
hired by the masters of the swings." — Theveiiot. 

9 " At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we beheld an in- 
finite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, 
women, boys, and girls, with music, dances," &c. &.c. — 
Herbert. 



(46 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Flinging, unaw'd by slave or mother, 

Handfuls of roses at each other. — 

Then, the sounds from the Lake, — the low 

■whispering in boats, 
As they shoot through the moonlight ; — the 

dipping of oars. 
And the wild, airy warbling that every where 

floats. 
Through the groves, round the islands, as if 

all the shores. 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave.' 
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of 

feeling, 
That soft from the lute of some lover are steal- 
ing, — 
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching 

power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. ff 
O, best of delights as it every where is 
To be near the lov'd One, — what a rapture is his 
"S^'ho in moonlight and music thus sweetly may 

glide 
O'er the Lake of Cashmeke, with that One by 

his side ! 
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear. 
Think, think what a Heav'n she must make of 

Cashmere ! 

So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar,'' 

When from power and pomp and the trophies 

of war 
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of the Harem, his yoimg Nour- 

mahal. 
When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror 

rov'd 
By the banks of that Lake, with his only belov'd. 
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully 

snatch 
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not 

match, 
And preferr'd in his heart the least ringlet that 

curl'd 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the 

world. 



1 " An old commentator of the Chon-King says, the an- 
cients having remarked that a current of water made some 
of the stones near its banks send forth, a sound, they de- 
tached some of them, and being charmed with tlie dehghtful 
BourKi tliey emitted, constructed King or musical instru- 
ments of them." — Orosier. 

This miraculous quality has been attributed also to the 
shore of Attica. " Unjus littus, ait Capella, concentum mu- 
Eicura iUisis terr-B undis redJere, quod propter tantam erudi- 



Thcre's a beauty forever unchangingly bright, 
Like the long, sunny lapse of a suinmer-day'a 

light. 
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made 

tender, 
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. 
This teas not the beauty — O, nothing like this, 
That to young Nourmahal ghve such magic of 

bliss ! 
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days. 
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it 

flies 
From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to 

the eyes ; 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in 

gleams. 
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'n in his 

dreams. 
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace, 
That charm of all others, was born with her face ! 
And when angry, — for ev'n in the tranquillest 

climes 
Light breezes will ruflle the blossoms some- 
times — 
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when 

shaken. 
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye. 
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy 

revealingo 
From innermost shrines, came the light of her 

feelings. 
Then her mirth — 0, 'twas sportive as ever 

took wing 
From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird 

in spring ; 
Illum'd by a wit that would fascinate sages. 
Yet playful as Peris just loos'd from their cages.' 
While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from 

her soul ; 
And where it most sparkled no glance could 

discover, 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten" d aL over. 



tionis vim puto dictum." — Ludov. Fives in Auguslin de 
Civitat. Dei, lib. nviii. c. 8. 

2 Jehangiiire was the son of the Great Acbar. 

3 In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the 
former took the latter prisoners, "they shut them up in iron 
cages, and hung them on the highest trees. Here they were 
visited by their companions, who brought them tlie choices! 
odors." — Richardson. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



447 



Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
^Vhcn it breaks into dimples and laughs in the 

sun. 
Such, such were the peerless enchantments, 

that gave 
NouRMAHAL the proud Lord of the East for her 

slave : 
And though bright was his Harem, — a living 

parterre 
Or the flow'rs ' of this planet — though treasures 

were there. 
For which Soliman's self might have giv'n all 

the store 
That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his 

shore, 
Yet dlnl before her were the smiles of them 

all, 
And the Light of his Harem was young NouR- 



But where is she now, this night of joy, 

"When bliss is every heart's employ ? — 

When all around her is so bright. 

So like the visions of a trance, 

That one might think, who came by chance 

Into the vale this happy night, 

He saw that City of Delight '^ 

111 Fairyland, whose streets and towers 

Are made of gems and light and flowers ! 

AVhere is the lov'd Sultana ? where, 

Wlien mirth brings out the young and fair, 

Docs she, the fairest, hide her brow. 

In melancholy stillness now ? 

Ala.T ! — how light a cause may move 

Di^^-ension between hearts that love ! 

Hearts that the world in vain had tried. 

And sorrow but more closely tied ; 

That stood the storm, when waves were rough, 

Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 

Like ships that have gone down at sea, 

When heaven was all tranquillity ! 

A something, light as air — a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken — 
O, love, that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. 
And ruder words will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin ; 

1 In tlie Malay language the same word signifies women 
*nd flowers. 

s The capital of Shadukiam. See note 3, p. 408, of this 
edition. 

8 See the representation of the Eastern Cupid, pinioned 
closely round with wreaths of flowers, in Picart^s C6remo- 
n.es Religieuses. 

* " Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch. 



And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said ; 
Till liist declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone. 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds, — or like the slrefTn, 
That smiling left the mountain 6 brow 

As though its waters ne'er could sever, 
,Yct, ere it reach the plain below. 

Breaks into floods, that part forever. 

0, you, that have the charge of Love, 

Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
As in the Fields of Bliss above 

He sits, with flow'rets fetter' d round ; ^ — 
Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
For ev'n an hour, a minute's flight 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
Like that celestial bird, — whose nest 

Is found beneath far Eastern skies, — 
Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, 

Lose all their glory when he flies ! * 

Some diflference, of this dangerous kind, — 

By which, though light, the links that bind 

The fondest hearts may soon be riven ; 

Some shadow in Love's summer heaven, 

Which, though a fleecy speck at ftrst. 

May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 

Such cloud it is, that now hangs over 

The heart of the Imperial Lover, 

And far hath banish'd from his sight 

His Nouumahal, his Harem's Light ! 

Hence is it, on this happy night. 

When Pleasure through the fields and groves 

Has let loose all her world of loves. 

And every heart has found its own, 

He wanders, joyless and alone, 

And weary as that bird of Thrace, 

Whose pinion knows no resting-place.* 

In vain the loveliest checks and eyes 
This Eden of the Earth supplies 

Come crowding round — the cheeks are pale, 
The eyes are dim : — tiough rich the spot 

which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial 
Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated 
with beautiful colors, but when it flies they lose all their 
splendor." — Orosier. 

5 "As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known t» 
rest, they are called by the French ' les Siines damnees.'" 
Dallojcay. 



448 



LALLA ROOKH. 



With every flow'r this earth has got, 

\Vliat is it to the nightingale, 
K there his darling rose is not ? ' 
In vain the Valley's smiling throng 
Worship him, as he moves along ; 
He heeds them not — one smile of hers 
Is worth a world of worshippers. 
They but the Star's adorers are, 
She is the Heav'n that lights the Star ! 

Hence is it, too, that Nourmahal, 

Amid the luxuries of this hour, 
Far from the joyous festival. 

Sits in her own sequester' d bower, 
With no one near, to soothe or aid, 
But that inspir'd and wondrous maid, 
Namouna, the Enchantress ; — one, 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has run, 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
Nay, rather, — as the west wind's sigh. 
Freshens the floAver it passes by, — 
Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Y'et on her smiles a sadness hung, 
And when, as oft, she spoke or sung 
Of other worlds, there came a light 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
That all believ'd nor man nor earth 
Were conscious of Namouna's birth ! 
All spells and talismans she knew. 

From the great Mantra,' which around 
The Air's sublimer Spirits drew. 

To the gold gems ' of Afric, bound 
Upon the wandering Arab's arm. 
To keep him from the Siltim's * harm. 
And she had pledg'd her powerful art, — 
Pledg'd it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her sphere. 
What 'twas to lose a love so dear, — 
To find some spell that should recall 
Her Selim's* smile to Nourmahal ! 



1 " You may place a hundred haiidfuls of fragrant herbs 
and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his 
constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his be- 
loved rose." — Jami. 

2 " He is said to have found the great Mantra, spell or 
talisman, through which he ruled over the elements and 
spirits of all denominations." — ffiZ/ord. 

3 " The gold jewels of Jinnie, which are called by the 
Arabs El Herrez, from the supposed charm they contain." 
— Jackson. 

4 "A demon, supposed to liaunt woods, &c. in a human 
shape." — RichaiJion. 



'Twas midnight — through the lattice, wreath'd 
With woodbine, many a perfume breat^^'d 
From plants that wake when others sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odor to themselves all day, 
But, when the sunlight dies away, 
Let the delicious secret out 
To every breeze that roams about ; — 
When thus Namouna : — 'Tis the hour 
" That scatters spells on herb and flower, 
" And garlands might be gather'd now, 
"That, twin'd around the sleeper's brow, 
" Would make him dream of such delights, 
•' Such miracles and dazzling sights, 
" As Genii of the Sun behold, 
" At evening, from their tents of gold 
" Upon th' horizon — where they play 
" Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 
" Their sunny mansions melt away.- 
" Now, too, a chaplet might be wreath'd 
" Of buds o'er which the moon has breath'd, 
'< Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd, 

" Might bring some Peri from the skies, 
" Some sprite, whose very soul is made 

" Of flow'rets' breaths and lovers' sighs, 

•' And who might tell " 

" For me, for me,' 
Cried Nourmahal impatiently, — 
" O, twine that wreath for me to-night." 
Then, rapidly, with foot as light 
As the young musk roe's, out she flew. 
To cull each shining leaf that grew 
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams, 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
Anemones and Seas of Gold,* 

And new-blown lilies of the river. 
And those sweet flow'rets, that unfold 

Their buds on Camadeva's quiver ; ^ — 
The tube rose, with her silvery light. 

That in the Gardens of Malay 
Is call'd the Mistress of the Night,* 
So like a bride, scented and bright. 

She comes out when the sun's away ; — 



6 The name of Jehanguire before his accession to the 
throne. 

6 " Heniasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of the 
brightest gold color." — Sir W, Jones. 

7 " This tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the most delight 
ful on earth, and the delicious odor of its blossoms justly 
gives them a place in the quiver of Camadeva, or the God 
of Love." — Id. 

8 " The Malayans style the tube rose (Polianthes tubero- 
sa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress of the Jiight." — Pen- 
nant. 




'^(e<- 




dt^A^'. 



cM^: 



'W^ 
ih 




M 



»;^^^fer^£?^ 









PJ (2) OJ IE ra A D{] A \la 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zamaba's shades ; ' — 
And the white moon flower, as it shows, 
On Serendib's high crags, to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail, 
Scenting her clove trees in the gale ; 
In short, all flow'rets and all pla-nts. 

From the divine Amrita tree,* 
That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortalitj', 
Down to the basil tuft,'' that waves. 
Its fragrant blossom over graves. 
And to the humble rosemary. 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the desert ■* and the dead : — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gather'd by young Noukmahal, 
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers 

And leaves, till they can hold no more ; 
Then to Namouna flies, and showers 

Upon her lap the shining store. 
With what delight th' Enchantress views 
So many buds, bath'd with the dews 
And beams of that bless'd hour ! — her glance 
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, 
As, in a kind of holy trance. 

She hung above those fragrant treasures, 
Bending to drink their balmy airs. 
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flow'rs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life — for none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare. 
Nor ever in aught earthly dip. 
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, 
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell. 



1 The people of the Batta country in Sumatra (of which 
Zamara is one of th« ancient names), " when not engaged 
in war, lead an idle, inactive life, passing the day in play- 
ing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, 
among which the globe amaranthus, a native of the country, 
mostly prevails." — Marsden, 

2 " The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu or rose 
apple) is called Amrita, or immortal, and the niythologists 
of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing 
ambrosial fruit." — Sir W. Jones. 

3 Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generally 
found in churchyards. 

" The women in Egypt go, at least two days in the week, 
to pray and weep at the sepulchres of the dead ; and the 
custom then is to throw upon the tombs a sort of herb, 
which the Arabs call rt/wn, and which is our sweet basil." 
— Maillft, Lett. 10. 

* " In the Great Desert are found many stalks of lavender 
and rosemary " — .dsitt. Res. 



57 



Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves : — 

I know where the winged visions dwell 

That around the night bed plaj' ; 
I know each herb and flow'ret's bell. 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The image of love, that nightly flies 

To visit the bashful maid. 
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The dream of a future, happier hour, 

That alights on misery's brow. 
Springs out of the silvery almond flower, 

That blooms on a leafless bough." 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 

The glitter of mines unfold, 
Inhabit the mountain herb,® that dyes 

The tooth of the fawn like gold. 
The phantom shapes — O touch not them 

That appall the murderer's sight. 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem. 

That Shrieks, when pluck'd at night ! 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fad.?. 

The dream of the injur'd, patient mind, 
That smiles at the wrongs of men, 



s " The almond tree, with white flowers, blossoms on tho 
bare branches." — HasselquisU 

6 An herb on Mount Libanus, which is said to communi- 
cate a yellow golden hue to the teeth of the goats and other 
animals that graze upon it. 

Jfiebuhr thinks this may be the herb which the Bastcrn 
alchemists look to as a means of making gold. " Most of 
those alchemical enthusiasts think themselves sure of suc- 
cess, if they could but find out the herb, which gilds the 
teeth and gives a yellow color to the flesh of the sheep that 
eat it. Even the oil of this plant must be of a golden color 
It is called Haschischat ed dab." 

Father Jerom Dandini, however, asserts that the teeth o*" 
the goats at Mount Libanus are of a silver color ; and adds, 
" this confirms me that which I observed in Candia: to wit, 
that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a certain herb, 
which renders their teeth of a golden color; which, accord- 
ing to my judgment, cannot otherwise proceed than from 
the mines which are under ground." — Dandini, Voyage t<^ 
Mount Libanus. 



450 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Is found in the bruis'd and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. 

Then hasten we, maid. 

To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

No sooner was the flowery crown 

Placed on her head, than sleep came down, 

Gently as nights of summer fall. 

Upon the lids of Nouhmahal ; — 

And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 

As full of small, rich harmonies 

As ever wind, that o'er the tents 

Of AzAR ' blew, was full of scents. 

Steals on her ear, and floats and swells, 

Like tlie first air of morning creeping 
Into those wreathy, Red Sea shells. 

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping ; " 
And now a Spirit form'd, 'twould seem, 

Of music and of light, — so fair. 
So brilliantly his features beam, 

And such a sound is in the air 
Of sweetness when he waves his wings, — 
Hovers around her, and thus sings : 



From Chindara's •'' warbling fount I come, 
Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell ; 
From Chindara's fount, my fairy home. 

Where in music, morn and night, I dwell. 
Where lutes in the air are heard about. 

And voices are singing the whole day 
long. 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 
Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song ! 
Hither I come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 



1 The myrrh country. 

2 " This idea (of deities living in shells) was not unknown 
to the Greeks, who represent the young Nerites, one of the 
Cupids, as living in shells on the shores of the Red Sea." — 
Wilfcrd. 

3 " A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be 
constantly playing." — Richiirdson. 

* " The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by car- 
rying the fruit of the cinnamon to difTerent places, is a great 
disseminator of this valuable tree." — See Brown's Illustr. 
Tab. 19. 

6 " Whenever our pleasure arises from a succession of 
Bounds, it is a perception of a complicated nature, made up 
of a sensation of the present sound or note, and an idea or 
remembrance of the foregoing, while tlieir mixture and con- 



For mine is the lay that lightly floats. 
And mine are the murmuring, dying notes, 
That fall as soft as snow on the sea. 
And melt in the heart as instantly : — 
And the passionate strain that, deeply goiag, 

Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
As the musk wind, over the water blowing, 

Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. 

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
The Spirits of past Delight obey ; — 
Let but the tuneful talisman sound. 
And they come, like Genii, hovering ro\ind. 
And mine is the gentle song that bears 

From soul to soul, the wishes of love, 
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 

The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.* 

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 

The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; * 

When Memory links the tone that is gone 

With the blissful tone that's still in the 
ear; 
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 

To a note more heavenly still that is near. 

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 
Can as do%vny soft and as yielding be 
As his own white plume, that high amid death 
Through the field has shone — yet moves with 

a breath ! 
And, O, how the eyes of Beauty glisten, 

When Music has reach'd her inward soul, 
Like the silent stars, that wink and listen 
While Heaven's eternal melodies roll. 
So, hither I come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight -WTeath, 
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 



currence produce such a mysterious delight, as neither could 
have produced alone. And it is often heightened by an an- 
ticipation of the succeeding notes. Thus Sense, Memory, 
and Imagination, are conjunctively employed."- Gerrard 
on Taste. 

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Pleasure, as ex- 
plained by Cicero : — " Quocirca corpus gaudere tamdiu, 
dum prtEsentem sentiret voluptatem : animum et prsesentem 
percipere pariter cum cornnre et prospicere venientem, nee 
pra;teritam praeterfluere sinere." 

Madame de Stael accounts upon the same principle for 
the gratification we derive from rhyme : — " Elle est I'image 
de I'esp^rance et du souvenir. Un son nous fait desirer ce- 
lui qui doit lui repondre, et quand le second retentit il nouf 
rajjpelle celui qui vient de nous iciiapper." 



LALLA ROOKH. 



451 



Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn, 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,' 
As if the morn had wak'd, and then 
Shut close her lids of light again. 
And NouRMAHAL is up, and trying 

The wonders of her lute, whose strings — 
O, bliss ! — now murmur like the sighing 

From that ambrosial Spirit's wings. 
And then, her voice — 'tis more than human — 

Never, till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs. 

When angel sighs are most divine. — 
" O, let it last till night," she cries, 

" And he is more than ever mine." 
And hourly she renews the lay. 

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away, — 

For things so heavenly have such fleet- 
ness ! 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string, 

And pours again each sound along, 
Like echo, lost and languishing. 

In love with her own wondrous song. 

That evening, (trusting that his soul 
Might be from haunting love releas'd 



- " The Persians have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim 
anil the Soobhi Sadig, tlie false and the real daybreaic. 
They account for this phenomenon in a most whimsical 
manner. They say that as the sun rises from behind the 
Kolii Qaf (Mount Caucasus), it passes a l)ole perforated 
through that mountain, and that darting its rays through it, 
it is the cause of the Soobhi Kazim, or this temporary ap- 
pearance of daybreak. As it ascends, the earth is again 
veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the mountain, 
and brings with it the Soobhi Sadig, or real morning." — 
Scutt Waring. He thinks Milton may allude to this, when 
he says, — 

" Ere the blabbing Eastern scout, 

The nice morn on the Indian steep 

From her cabin'd loophole peep.'' 
2 " In the centre of tlie plain, as it approaches the Lake, 
one of the Delhi Emperors, I believe Shah Jehan, construct- 
ed a spacious garden called the Shalimar, which is abun- 
dantly stored with fruit trees and flowering shrubs. Some 
of the rivulets which intersect the plain are led into a canal 
at the back of the garden, and flowing through its centre, or 
occasionally thrown into a variety of waterworks, compose 
the chief beauty of the Shalimar. To decorate this spot the 
Mogul Princes of India have displayed an equal magnifi- 
cence and taste ; especially Jehan Glieer, who, with the en- 
chanting Noor Mahl, made Kashmire his usual residence 
during the summer months. On arches thrown over the 
canal are erected, at equal distances, four or five suits of 
apartments, eac'j consisting of a saloon, with four rooms at 



By mirth, by music, and the bowl,) 

Th' Imperial Selim held a feast 
In his magnificent Shalimar : ^ — 
In whose Saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled. 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled ; 
All the brigh* creatures that, like dreams, 
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams ; ^ 
And all those wandering minstrel maids, 
Who leave — how can they leave ? — the shades 
Of that dear Valley, and are found 

Singing in gardens of the South * 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 

As from a young Cashmerian's mouth. 

There, too, the Harem's inmates smile ; — 

Maids from the West, with sun -bright hair, 
And from the Garden of the Nile, 

Delicate as the roses there ; * — 
Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks. 
With Paphian diamonds in their locks ; * — 
liight Peri forms, such as there are 
On the gold meads of Candahar ; ^ 
And they, before \\hose sleepy ej'es, 

In their own bright Kathaian bowers, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies. 

That they might fancy the rich flowers, 
That round them in the sun lay sighing, 
Had been by magic all set flying.* 



the angles, where the followers of the court attend, and the 
servants prepare sherbets, coflee, and the hookah. The 
frame of the doors of the principal saloon is composed o: 
pieces of a stone of a black color, streaked with yellow 
lines, and of a closer grain and higher polish than porphyry. 
They were taken, it is said, from a Hindoo temple, by one 
of the Mogul princes, and are esteemed of great value." — 
Forster. 

3 " The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned from 
its being supposed that the Cachemirians are indebted for 
their beauty to them." — AH Tezdi. 

* " From him I received the following little Gazzel, o» 
Love Song, the notes of which he committed to paper from 
the voice of one of those singing girls of Cashmere, who 
wander from that delightful valley over the various parts 
of India." — Persian Miscellanies. 

6 " The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile (a- 
tached to the Emperor of Marocco's palace), are uneoualied 
and mattresses are made of their leaves for tiie men of rank 
to recline upon." — Jackson. 

6 " On the side of a mountain near Paphos there is a 
cavern which produces the most beautiful rock crystal. On 
account of its brilliancy it has been called the Paphian dia- 
mond." — Marili. 

' " There is a part of Candahar, called Peria, or Fairy- 
land." — Thevenot. In some of those countries to the north 
of India vegetable gold is supposed to be produced. 

8 " These are the butterflies which are called in the Chi- 
nese language Flying Leaves. Some of them have sucji 



452 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Every thing young, every thing fair 
From East and West is blushing there, 
Except — except — O, Nourmahal ! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
The one, whose smile shone out alone, 
Amidst a world the only one ; 
*Vhose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star on starry nights. 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark forever by ! 
Thou wert not there — so Selim thought. 

And every thing seem'd drear without 
thee ; 
But, ah ! thou wert, thou wert, — and brought 

Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
Mingling unnotic'd with a band 
Of lutanists from many a land. 
And veil'd by such a mask as shades 
The features of young Arab maids,' — 
A mask that leaves but one eye free. 
To do its best in witchery, — 
She rov'd, with beating heart, around. 

And waited, trembling, for the minute. 
When she might try if still the sound 

Of her lov'd lute had magic in it. 

The board was spread with fruits and wine : 
With grapes of gold, lilie those that shine 
On Casbin's hills ; * — pomegranates full 

Of molting sweetness, and the pears. 
And sunniest apples ^ that Caubul 

In all its thousand gardens'" bears ; — 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ; * 
Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts 

From the far groves of Samackand, 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 

Seed of the Sun,* from Iran's land ; — 



Bhining colors, and are so variegated, that they may be 
called flying flowers ; and indeed they are always produced 
in the finest flower gardens." — Dunn. 

1 " The Arabian women wear black masks with little 
clasps prettily ordered." —Carrcri. Niebiihr mentions their 
showing but one eye in conversation. 

•■2 " The golden grapes of Casbin." — Description of Per- 
8ta. 

3 " The fruits exported from Caubul are apples, pears, 
iwmegranates," Slc— Elphinstone. 

4 ii vv'e sat down under a tree, listened to the birds, and 
Jalked with the son of our Mehmaundar about our country 
and Caubul, of which he gave an enchanting account: that 
city and its 100,000 gardens," &c. — /d. 

5 " The mangusteen, the most delicate fruit in the world ; 
Ibe pride of the Malay islands." — Marsden. 

« " A delicious kind of apricot, called by the Persians 
tokm-ek-shems, signifying sun's seed." — Description of 
Parsta. 



With rich conserve of Visna cherries,' 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the j'oung gazelles 
Feed on in Erao's rocky dells.' 
All these in richest vases Smile, 

In baskets of pure santal wood. 
And urns of porcelain from that isle ' 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood. 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines, too, of every clime and hue, 
Around their liquid lustre threw ; 
Amber RosoUi, '" — the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green Sea gushing ; " 
And Shikaz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare, 
The ruby for which Kublai-Khan 
Offer'd a city's wealth,'"-' was blushing, 

Melted within the goblets there I 



And amply Selim quaffs of each. 

And seems resolv'd the flood shall reach 

His inward heart, — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as they run. 
That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, 

For Love to rest his wings upon. 
He little knew how well the boy 

Can float upon a goblet's streams, 
Lighting them with his smile of joy ; — 

As bards have seen him in their dreams, 
Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 

Upon a rosy lotus wreath, '^ 
Catching new lustre from the tide 

That with his image shone beneath. 

But what are cups, without the aid 
Of song to speed them as they flow ? 



T " Sweetmeats, in a crystal cup, consisting of rose leaves 
in conserve, with lemon of Visna cherry, orange flowers," 
&c. — Rassel. 

8 " Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of Erac." — The 
MoaJlakat, Poem of Tarafa. 

9 " Mauri-ga-Sima, an island near Formosa, supposed to 
have been sunk in the sea for the crimes of its inhabitants. 
The vessels which the fishermen and divers bring up from 
it are sold at an immense price in China and Japan. See 
Kmipfer. 

10 Persian Tales. 

n The white wineof Kishma. 

12 " The King of Zeilan is said to have the very finest ruby 
that was ever seen. Kublai-Khan sent and offered the value 
of a city for it, but the King auswered he would not give it 
for the treasure of the world." — Marco Polo. 

13 The Indians feign that Cupid was first seen floating 
down the Ganges on the Nyniphsea Nelumba — See Pen- 



LALLA ROOKH. 



453 



And see — a lovelj' Georgian maid, 
With all the bloom, the freshen'd glow 

Of her own country maidens' looks, 

When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks ; ' 

And with an eye, whose restless ray. 
Full, floating, dark — 0, he, who knows 

His heart is weak, of Heav'n should pray 
To guard him from such eyes as those ! 

With a voluptuous wildness flings 

Her snowy hand across the strings 

Of a syrinda," and thus sings : — 

Come hither, come hither — by night and by day. 

We linger in j^ileasures that never are gone ; 
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, 

Another as sweet and as shining comes on. 
And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth 
To a new one as warm, as unequall'd in 
bliss ; 
And, O, if there be an Elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this.^ 

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their 
sigh 
As the flower of the Amra just op'd by a bee ; * 
And precious their tears as that rain from the 
sky,* 
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 
O, think what the kiss and the smile must be 
worth 
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in 
bliss. 
And own if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow'd by love, 
Could draw down those angels of old from 
their sphere. 
Who for wine of this earth ® left the fountains 
above. 
And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we 
have here. 
And, bless' d with the odor our goblet gives forth, 
W'hat Spirit the sweets of his Eden would 
miss? 
For, O, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 



1 Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm baths. — See 
Ebn Haukal. 

« " The Indian Syrinda, or guitar." — Sijmez- 

3 " Around the exterior of the Dewan Khafs (a building 
of Shah Allum's) in the cornice are the following lines in 
letters of gold upon a ground of white marble — ' //■ t^ere be 
a paradise upon earth, it in Iksi, it is t'lis.' " — Francklin. 

* " Delightful are the flowers of the Amra trees on the 



The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 

When the same measure, sound for sound, 
Was caught up by another lute. 

And so divinely breathed around, 
That all stood hush'd and wondering, 

And turn'd and look'd into the air, 
As if they thought to see the wing 

Of IsRAFiL,' the Angel, there ; — 
So powerfully on every soul 
That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so intwine 

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whethei 
The voice or lute was most divine. 

So wondrously they went together : — 

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has 
told, 
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, 
With heart never changing, and brow never cold, 
Love on through all ills, and love on till they 
die! 
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; 
And, O, if there be an Elysium on earth 
It is this, it is this. 

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such power 
As Music knew not till that hour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
" It is the mask'd Arabian maid ! " 
While Selim, who had felt the strain 
Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance. 

After the fairy sounds were o'er. 
Too inly touch' d for utterance. 

Now motion'd with his hand for more ; 

Fly to the desert, fly with me. 
Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 
But, 0, the choice what heart can doubt. 
Of tents with love, or thrones without ? 
Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
The acacia Avaves her yellow hair. 



mountain tops, while the murmuring bees pursue their » 
luptuous toil." — Song ofjayadeva. 

s " The Nisan or drops of spring rain, which they believe 
to produce pearls if they fall info ii\e\\s." — Richardson. 

6 For an account of the share which wine had in the fall 
of the angels, see Marili. 

1 The Angel of Music See note 1 p. 434, of this edition 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Lon-^ly and sweet, nor lov'd the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 

Our snnds are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gayly springs 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The lov'd and lone acacia tree, 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

O, there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, — 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it thi-ough life had sought ; 

As if the very lips and eyes, 
Predestin'd to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then ! 

So came thy every glance and tone, 
When first on me they brcath'd and shone ; 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 
Yet welcome as if lov'd for years. 

Then fly with me, if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground. 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.' 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipp'd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place ; — 

Then, fare thee well — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine ! 

There was a pathos in this lay. 

That, ev'n without enchantment's art, 

Would instantly have found its way 
Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 



The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed 
povv«r of discovering water under groLnd. 



But, breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown j 
With every chord fresh from the touch 
Of Music's Spirit, — twas too much ! 
Starting, he dash'd away the cup, — 

Which, all the time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, untasted, up. 

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnam'd, 
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, 

" O NoVRMAHAL ! O NoURMAHAL ! 

" Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, 
" I could forget — forgive thee all, 
" And never leave those eyes again." 

The mask is off — the charm is wrought — 
And Selim to his heart has caught, 
In blushes, more than ever bright. 
His NouRMAHAL, his Harem's Light ! 
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance 
The charm of every brighten' d glance ; 
And dearer seems each dawning smUe 
For having lost its light a while ; 
And, happier now for all her sighs, 

As on his arm her head reposes, 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

"Remember, love, the Feast of Roses ! " 



Fadladeen, at the conclusion of this light 
rhapsody, took occasion to sum up his opinion 
of the young Cashmerian's poetry, — of which, 
he trusted, they had that evening heard the 
last. Having recapitulated the epithets, " friv- 
olous " — " inharmonious " — "nonsensical," he 
proceeded to say that, viewing it in the most 
favorable light, it resembled one of those Mal- 
divian boats, to which the Princess had alluded 
in the relation of her dream, '■' — a slight, gilded 
thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, aiul 
with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers 
on board. The profusion, indeed, of flowers 
and birds, which this poet had ready on all oc- 
casions, — not to mention dews, gems, &c. — 
was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his 
hearers ; and had the unlucky effect of giving 
to his style all the glitter of the flower garden 
without its method, and all the flutter of the 
aviary without its song. In addition to this, he 
chose his subjects badly, and was alwaj's most 
inspired by the worst parts of them. Tha 

3 See p. 424 of this edition. 



LALLA ROOKH. 



455 



charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion, — 
these were the themes honored with his partic- 
ular enthusiasm ; and, in the poem just recited, 
one of his most palatable passages was in praise 
of that beverage of the Unfaitkful, wine ; — 
" being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into a smile, 
as conscious of his own character in the Harem 
on this point, " one of those bards, whoso fancy 
owes all its illumination to the grape, like that 
painted porcelain,' so curious and so rare, whose 
images are only visible when liquor is poured 
into it." Upon the whole, it was his opinion, 
from the specimens which they had heard, and 
which, he begged to say, were the most tire- 
some part of the journey, that — whatever other 
merits this well-dressed young gentleman might 
possess — poetry was by no means his proper 
avocation : " and, indeed," concluded the critic, 
" from his fon-dness for flowers and for birds, I 
would venture to suggest that a florist or a bird 
catcher is a much more suitable calling for him 
than a poet." 

They had now begun to ascend those barren 
mountains, which separate Cashmere from the 
rest of India ; and, as the heats were intolera- 
ble, and the time of their encampments limited 
to the few hours necessary for refreshment and 
repose, there was an end to all their delightful 
evenings, and Lalla Rookh saw no more of Fer- 
AMORz. She now felt that her short dream of 
happiness was over, and that she had nothing 
but the recollection of its few blissful hours, 
like the one draught of sweet water that serves 
the camel across the wilderness, to be her heart's 
refreshment during the dreary waste of life that 
was before her. The blight that had fallen up- 
on her spirits soon found its way to her cheek. 



1 " The Chinese had formerly the art of painting on the 
Bides of porcelain vessels flsh and other animals, which 
were only perceptible when the vessel was full of some 
liq lor. They call this species Kia-tsin, that is, aiure is put 
in ^'tss, on account of the manner in which the azure is 
lain jn." — " They are every now and then trying to recov- 
er the art o.' this magical painting, but to no purpose." — 
Dunn. 

2 An eminent carver of idols, said in the Koran to be fa- 
ther to Abraham. " I have such a lovely idol as is not to 
be met with in the house of \7.0r. " — Hafiz. 

3 Kachniirebe Nazeer. — Furster. 

i " The pardonable superstition of the sequestered inhab- 
itants has multiplied the places of worship of Mahadeo, of 
Beschan, and of Brama. All Caslnnere is holy land, and 
miraculous fountains abound." — Mujur Renncl^s Memoirs 
of a Map of Hindostan. 

Jehanguire mentions "a fountain in Cashmere called Tir- 
liagh, which signifies a snake probably because some large 



and her ladies saw with regret — though not 
without some suspicion of the cause — that the 
beauty of their mistress, of which they were 
almost as proud as of their own. was fast van- 
ishing away at the very moment of all when 
she had most need of it. What must the Kin^ 
of Bucharia feel, when, instead of the live 
and beautiful Lalla Rookh, whom the poets 
of Delhi had described as more perfect than the 
divinest images in the house of Azor,* he should 
receive a pale and inanimate victim, upon whose 
cheek neither health nor pleasure bloomed, and 
from whose eyes Love had fled, — to hide him- 
self in her heart ? 

If any thing could have charmed away the 
melancholy of her spirits, it would have been 
the fresh airs and enchanting scenery of that 
Valley, which the Persians so justly called the 
Unequalled.' But neither the coohiess of its 
atmosphere, so luxurious after toiling up those 
bare and burning mountains, — neither the 
splendor of the minarets and pagodas, that 
shone out from the depth of its woods, nor the 
grottoes, liermitages, and miraculous fountains,* 
which make every spot of that region holy 
ground, — neither the countless waterfalls, that 
rush into the Valley from all those high and 
romantic mountains that encircle it, nor the fair 
city on the Lake, whose houses, roofed with 
flowers,* appeared at a distance like one vast 
and variegated parterre ; — not all these won- 
ders and glories of the most lovely country 
under the sun could steal her heart for a min- 
ute from those sad thoughts, which but dark- 
ened, and grew bitterer every step she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her 



snake had formerly been seen there." — "During the life- 
time of my father, I went twice to this fountain, which i* 
about twenty coss from the city of Cashmere. The vestiges uf 
places of worship and sanctity are to be traced witliout num- 
ber amongst the ruins and the caves, which are intersperset' 
in its neighborhood." — Tooiek Jehangeenj. — v. Asiat. Misc 
vol. ii. 

There is another account of Cashmere by Abul-Fazil, ti)e 
author of the Ayin-Acbaree, " who," says Major Reunel, 
" appears to have caught some of the enthusiasm of the val- 
ley, by his description of the holy places in it." 

5 " On a standing roof of wood is laid a covering of fine 
earth, which shelters the building from the great quantity 
of snow that falls in the winter season. This fence com- 
municates an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing cool- 
ness in the summer season, when the tops of the houses, 
which are planted with a variety of flowers, exhibit at a 
distance the spacious view of a beautifully checkered par- 
terre." — Forster. 



4^6 



LALLA ROOKH. 



upon her entrance into the Valley, and the 
magnificence with which the roads all along 
i were decorated, did honor to the taste and gal- 
lantry of the young King, It was night when 
they approached the city, and, for the last two 
miles, they had passed under arches, thrown 
from hedge to hedge, festooned with only those 
rarest roses from which the Attar Gul, more 
precious than gold, is distilled, and illuminated 
in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of the 
triple-colored tortoise shell of Pegu.' Some- 
times, from a dark wood by the side of the road, 
a display of fireworks would break out, so sud- 
den and so brilliant, that a Brahmin might fan- 
cy he beheld that grove, in whose purple shade 
the God of Battles was born, bursting into a 
flame at the moment of his birth ; — while, at 
other times, a quick and playful irradiation con- 
tinued to brighten all the fields and gardens by 
which they passed, forming a line of dancing 
lights along the horizon ; like the meteors of 
the north as they are seen by those hunters,'' 
who pursue the white and blue foxes on the 
confines of the Icy Sea. 

These arches and fireworks delighted the 
Ladies of the Princess exceedingly ; and, with 
their usual good logic, they deduced from his 
taste for illuminations, that the King of Bucha- 
ria would make the most exemplary husband 
imaginable. Nor, indeed, could Lalla Rookh 
herself help feeling the kindness and splendor 
with which the young bridegroom welcomed 
her ; — but she also felt how painful is the grat- 
itude, which kindness from those we cannot 
love excites ; and that their best blandishments 
come over the heart with all that chilling and 
deadly sweetness, which we can fancy in the 
cold, odoriferous wind' that is to blow over 
this earth in the last days. 

The marriage was fixed for the morning after 
her arrival, when she was, for the first time, to 
be presented to the monarch in that Imperial 
Palace beyond the lake, called the Shalimar. 
1 hough never before had a night of more wake- 
ful and anxious thought been passed in the 
Happy Valley, yet, when she rose in the morn- 



1 " Two hundred slaves there are, who have no other 
office than to hunt the woods and marshes for triple-colored 
tortoises lor the King's Vivary. Of the shells of these also 
lanterns are made." — Vincent le Blanc's Travels. 

2 For a description of the Aurora Borealis as it appears to 
these hunters, v. EncxjcUp<Edia. 

» This wind, which is to blow from Syria Damascena, is, 



ing, and her Ladies came around her, to assist 
in the adjustment of the bridal ornaments, they 
thought they had never seen her look half so 
beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom and 
radiancy of her charms was more than made up 
by that intellectual expression, that soul beam- 
ing forth from the eyes, which is worth all the 
rest of loveliness. When they had tinged her 
fingers with the Henna leaf, and placed upon 
her brow a small coronet of jewels, of the shape 
worn by the ancient Queens of Bucharia, they 
flung over her head the rose-colored bridal veil, 
and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey 
her across the lake ; — first kissing, with a mourn- 
ful look, the little amulet of carnelian, which her 
father at parting had hung about her neck. 

The morning was as fresh and fair as the 
maid on whose nuptials it rose, and the shining 
lake, all covered with boats, the minstrels play- 
ing upon the shores of the islands, and the 
crowded summer houses on the green hills 
around, with shawls and banners waving from 
their roofs, presented such a picture of animated 
rejoicing, as only she, who was the object of it 
all, did not feel with transport. To Lalla 
Rookh alone it was a melancholy pageant ; nor 
could she have even borne to look upon the scene, 
were it not for a hope that, among the crowds 
around, she might once more perhaps catch a 
glimpse of Feramorz. So much was her im- 
agination haunted by this thought, that there 
was scarcely an islet or boat she passed on the 
way, at which her heart did not flutter with the 
momentary fancy that he was there. Happy, in 
her eyes, the humblest slave upon whom the 
light of his dear looks fell ! — In the barge im- 
mediately after the Princess sat Fadladeen 
with his silken curtains thrown widely apart, 
that all might have the benefit of his august 
presence, and with his head full of the speech 
he was to deliver to the King, " concerning 
Feramorz, and literature, and the Chabuk, as 
connected therewith." 

They now had entered the canal which leads 
from the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons 
of the Shalimar, and went gliding on through the 



according to the Mahometans, one of the signs of the Last 
Day's approach. 

Another of the signs is, " Great distress in the world, so 
that a man when he passes by another's grave shall say 
Would to God 1 were in his place!" — Sale's Preliminary 
Discourse. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



457 



gardens that ascended from each bank, full of 
flowering shrubs that made the air all perfume ; 
■while from the middle of the canal rose jets of 
water, smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling 
height, that they stood like tall pillars of dia- 
mond in the sunshine. After sailing under the 
arches of various saloons, they at length arrived 
at the last and most magnificent, where the 
monarch awaited the coming of his bride ; and 
such was the agitation of her heart and frame, 
that it was with difficulty she could walk up the 
marble steps, which were covered with cloth of 
gold for her ascent from the barge. At the end 
of the hall stood two thrones, as precious as the 
Cerulean Throne of Coolburga,' on one of which 
set Alikis, the youthful King of Bucharia, and 
on the other was, in a few minutes, to be placed 
the most beautiful Princess in the world. Im- 
mediately upon the entrance of Lalla Rookh 
into the saloon, the monarch descended from his 
throne to meet her ; but scarcely had he time 
to take her hand in his, when she screamed 
with surprise, and fainted at his feet. It was 
Feramorz himself that stood before her ! — 
Feramorz was, himself, the Sovereign of Bu- 
charia, who in this disguise had accompanied 
his young bride from Delhi, and, having won 



1 " On Mahommed Shaw's retum to Koolburga (the cap- 
ital of Dckkan), he made a great festival, and mounted this 
tlirone with much pomp and magnificence, calling it Firo- 
zeh or Cerulean. I have heard same old person?, who saw 
the throne Firozeh in the reign of Sultan Mamood Bha- 
mcnee, describe it. They say that it was in length nine 
feet, and three in breadth ; made of ebony, covered with 
plates of pure gold, and set with precious stones of immense 
vdlue. Every prince of the house of Bhamenee, who pos- 



her love as an humble minstrel, now amply de- 
served to enjoy it as a King. 

The consternation of Fadladeen at this dis« 
covery was, for the moment, almost pitiable. 
But change of opinion is a resource toe conven- 
ient in courts for this experienced co. .rticr not 
to have learned to avail himself of it. His 
criticisms were all, of course, recanted ii.stantly : 
he was seized with an admiration of the King's 
verses, as unbounded as, he begged him to 
believe, it was disinterested ; and the following 
week saw him in possession of an additional 
place, swearing by all the Saints of Islam that 
never had there existed so great a poet as the 
Monarch Aliris, and, moreover, ready to pre- 
scribe his favorite regimen of the Chabuk for 
every man, woman, and child that dared to 
think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and Queen of 
Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be 
but little doubt ; and, among the lesser symp- 
toms, it is recorded of Lalla Rookh, that, to 
the day of her death, in memory of their de- 
lightful journey, she never called the King by 
any other name than Feramorz. 

sessed this throne, made a point of adding to it some rich 
stones ; so that when in the reign of Sultan Mamood it 
was taken to pieces, to remove some of the jewels to be set 
in vases and cups, the jewellers valued it at one corore of 
oons (nearly four millions sterling). I learned also that it 
was called Firozeh from being partly enamelled of a sky- 
blue color, which was in time totally concealed by the num- 
ber of jewels." — FerUhla. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF 3tIR. 
P— RC— V— L. 

In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was 
heard, 
Unimbitter'd and free did the teardrop de- 
scend ; 
We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had 
err'd. 
And wept for the husband, the father, and 
friend. 

68 



O, proud was the meed his integrity won, 
And gen'rous indeed Avere the tears that we 
shed, 
AVhen, in grief, we forgot all the ill he had 
done, 
And, though wrong'd by hhn, living, bewail'd 
him, when dead. 



Even now, if one harsher emotion intrude, 
'Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state. 



45i 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



H ad knowTi what he was — and, content to be 
ffood, 
Had ne'er, for our rviin, aspir'd to be great. 

So, left through their own little orbit to move. 
His years might have roll'd inoffensive away ; 
His children might still have been bless' d with 
his love, 
And England would ne'er have been cursed 
with his sway. 



To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. 
Sir, 
In order to explain the follo'\\ing Fragment, 
it is necessary to refer your readers to a late 
florid description of the Pavilion at Brighton, 
m the apartments of which, we are told, " Fum, 
The Chinese Bird of Royalty," is a principal 
ornament. 

I am, Sir, yours, &c. 

Mum. 

FUIM AND HUM, THE TWO BIRDS OF 
ROYALTY. 

One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, Fum, 
Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty, Hum, 
In that Palace or China shop (Brighton, which 

is it r) 
Wliere Fum had just come to pay Hum a short 

visit. — 
Near akin are these Birds, though they differ in 

nation 
(The breed of the Hums is as old as creation) ; 
Both, full-craw'd Legitimates — both, birds of 

prey. 
Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half way 
'Twixt the goose and the vulture, like Lord 

C — ST GH. 

While Fum deals in Mandarins, Bonzes, Bohea, 
Peers, Bishops, and Punch, Hum, are sacred to 

thee ! 
So congenial their tastes, that, when Fum first 

did light on 
The floor of that grand China warehouse at 

Brighton, 
The lanterns, and dragons, and things round the 

dome 
Were so like what he left, " Gad," says Fum, 

" I'm at home." — 
And when, turning, he saw Bishop L ge, 

" Zooks, it is," 
Qnoth the Bird, " Yes — I know him — a Bonze, 

by his phiz — 



" And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low 
" Can be none but our roundabout godhead, fat 

Fo!" 
It chanced at this moment, th' Episcopal Prig 
Was imploring the P e to dispense with his 

wig,' 
Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his 

head. 
And some ToBiT-like marks of his patronage 

shed, 
Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idolatrous 

eye. 
That, while Fum cried " Fo ! " aU the court 

cried " O fie ! " 

But, a truce to digression ; — these Birds of a 

feather 
Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State matters 

together ; 
(The P E just in bed, or about to depart 

fort, 
His legs fuU of gout, and his arms fuU of 

H — KTF — D,) 

"I say. Hum," says Fum — Fuji, of course, 

spoke Chinese, 
But, bless you, that's nothing — at Brighton one 

sees 
Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with 

ease — 
" I say. Hum, how fares it with Royalty now ? 
"Is it up f is it prime f is it spooney — or how ? " 
(The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree 
Under B — rr — m — re, Y th, and young 

Master L e) 

" As for us in Pekin " here, a dev'l of a din 

From the bed chamber came, where that long 

Mandarin, 
C — stl — gh (whom Fum calls the Confucius of 

Prose), 
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's re- 
pose 
To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol's nose. 

{Nota bene — his Lordship and L — v — rp — l 

come. 
In collateral lines, from the old Mother Hum, 
C — STL GH a HuM-bug — L— V — RP — L a 

HuM-drum.) 
The Speech being finished, out rushed 

C — STL — GH, 

Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away, 



1 111 consequence of an old promise, that he shoiiin bs 
allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he niiglit be e)> 
vated to a Bishopric by his R 1 H ss. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



459 



Throufrh the regions of air, like a Snip on his 

hobby, 
Xe'er paused, tiU he lighted in St. Stephen's 

lobby. 
♦ * * ♦ * * 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF SH— R— D— N. 

Principibus placuisse viris ! — Horat. 

Yes, grief will have way — but the fast falling 
tear 
Shan be mingled with deep execrations on 
those, 
Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career, 
And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its 
close : — 

Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed 
By the odor his fame in its summer time gave ; 

Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead, 
Like the Ghole of the East, comes to feed at 
his grave. 

O, it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow. 
And spirits so mean in the great and high 
born ; 
To think what a long line of titles maj' follow 
The relics of him who died — friendless and 
lorn ! 

How proud they can press to the fun'ral array 
Of one, whom they shunn'd in his sickness 
and sorrow : — 
How bailiffs may seize his last blanket, to-day. 
Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to- 
morrow ! 

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epicure's dream. 
Incoherent and gross, even grosser had pass'd, 

Wore it not lor that cordial and soul-giving beam, 
Which his friendship and wit o'er thy noth- 
ingness cast : — 

No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies 
thee 
With millions to heap upon Foppery's shrine ; 
No, not for the riches of all who despise thee. 
Though this would make Europe's whole 
opulence mine : — 

Would I suffer what — ev'n in the heart that 
thou hast — 
AU mean as it is — must have consciously 
burn'd. 



When the pittance, Avhich shame had wrung 
from thee at last. 
And which found all his wants at an end, was 
return' d ! ' 

" Was this then the fate," — future ages will say 

When so»ie names shall live but in history's 

curse ; 

When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of 

a day 

Be forgotten as fools, or remember'd as worse; 

" Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man, 
♦' The pride of the palace, the bower and the 
haU, 
" The orator, — dramatist, — minstrel, — who 
ran 
" Through each mode of the lyre, and was 
master of all ; — 

'< Whose mind was an essence, compounded 
with art 
" From the finest and best of all other men's 
powers ; — 
" Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the 
heart, 
" And could call up its sunshine, or bring 
down its showers ; — 

" "Wliose humor, as gay as the firefly's light, 
" Play'd round every subject, and shone as it 
play'd ; — 
" Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, 
" Ne'er carried a heartstain away on its 
blade ; — 

" Whose eloquence — bright' ning whatever it 
tried, 
" Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the 
grave, — 
" Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a 
tide, 
" As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave ! " 

Yes — such was the man, and so wretched his 
fate; — 
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to 
grieve, 
Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of tho 
Great, 
And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve 



1 The sura was two hundred pounds — offered wheti 
Sh — r — d — n could no longer take any sustenance, and de 
clined, for him, by his friends. 



POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 



lu the woods of tb e North there are insects that 

prey 

On the brain of the elk till his very last sigh ; ' 

O, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they, 

First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee 

to die ! 



EPISTLE 

FROM 
TOM CRIB TO BIG BEN,2 

CONCERNINO SOME FOUL PLAY IN A LATE TRANSACTION. 3 

"Alii, niio Ben!" — Metastasio.* 

What ! Ben, my old hero, is this your renown ? 

Is this the new go f — kick a man when he's down ! 

When the foe has knock'd under, to tread on 
him then — 

By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben ! 

" Foul ! foul ! " all the lads of the Fancy ex- 
claim — 

Charley Shock is electrified — Belcher spits 
flame — 

And Molyneux — ay, even Blacky * cries 
" shame ! " 

Time was, when John Bull little difference 
spied 

'Twixt the foe at his feet, and the friend at his 
side : 

When he found (such his humor in fighting and 
eating) 

His foe, like his beefsteak, the sweeter for 
beating. 

But this comes. Master Ben, of your curs'd for- 
eign notions. 

Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace and 
lotions ; 

1 Naturalists have observed that, upon dissecting an elk, 
there was fimnd in its head some large flies, with its brain 
almost eaten away by Ihem. — Hist ortj of Poland. 

2 A nickname given, at this time, to the Pr— ce R — g — t. 

3 Written soon after Bonaparte's transportation to St. 
Heloiia. 

* rem, I suppose, was " assisted " to this Motto by Mr. 



Your Noyaus, Cura^oas, and the Devil knows 

what — 
(One swig of Blue Ruin^ is worth the whole 

lot!) 
Your great and small crosses — (my eyes, what 

a brood ! 
A cross-buttock from me would do some of them 

good !) 
Which have spoilt you, till hardly a drop, my 

old porpoise, 
Of pure English claret is left in your corpus ; 
And ( as Jim says) the only one trick, good or 

bad, 
Of the Fancy you're up to, i?, Jibbing, my lad. 
Hence it comes, — Boxlana, disgrace to thy 

page ! — 
Having floor'd, by good luck, the first swell of 

the age. 
Having conquer'd the prime one, that mill'd us 

all round. 
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on the 

ground ! 
Ay — just at the time to show spunk, if you'd 

got any — 
Kick'd him, and jaw'd him, and lagg'd '' him to 

Botany ! 
O, shade of the Cheesemonger,^ you, who, alas, 
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Mounseers in 

brass, 
On that great day of milling, when blood lay in 

lakes. 
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe the 

stakes. 
Look down upon Ben — see him, dunghill all o'er. 
Insult the fall'n foe, that can harm him no more ! 
Out, cowardly spooney! — again and again, 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, Ben. 
To show the white feather is many men's doom. 
But, what of owe feather? — Ben shows a whole 

Plume. 



Jackson, who, it is well known, keeps the most learned 
company going. 

i Names and nicknames of celebrated pugilists at that 
time. 

» Gin. 

T Transported. 

8 A Life Guardsman, one of tAe Fancy, who distinguished 
biniseif, and was killed in the memorable set-to at Waterloo. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



461 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che un; 
«lgrado il suo travestimento. — Castiolione. 



persona mascherata non sia salutata per nome da uno che la coiiosce 



PREFACE. 

In what manner the following Epistles came 
into my hands, it is not necessary for the pubUc 
to know. It Avill be seen by Mr. Fudge's Sec- 
ond Letter, that he is one of those gentlemen 
whose Secret Services in Ireland, under the mild 

ministry of my Lord C gh, have been so 

ampl}' and gratefully remunerated. Like his 
friend and associate, Thomas Reynolds, Esq., 
he had retired upon the reward of his honest 
industry ; but has lately been induced to ap- 
pear again in active life, and superintend the 
training of that Delatorian Cohort, which Lord 
S — DM — TH, in his wisdom and benevolence, has 
organized. 

Whether Mr. Fudge, himself, has yet made 
any discoveries, does not appear from the fol- 
lowing pages. But much may be expected from 
a person of his zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, 
to him. Lord S — dm — th, and the Greenland- 
bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of discoveries 
are now most anxiously directed. 

I regret much that I have been obliged to 
omit Mr. Bob Fudge's Third Letter, concluding 
the adventures of his Day with the Dinner, 
Opera, &c. &c. ; — but, in consequence of some 
remarks upon Marinette's thin drapery, which, 
it was thought, might give offence to certain 
well-meaning persons, the manuscript was sent 
back to Paris for his revision, and had not re- 
turned when the last sheet was put to press. 

It will not, I hope, be thought presumptuous, 
if I take this opportunity of complaining of a 
very serious injustice I have suffered from the 
public. Dr. King wrote a treatise to prove that 
Bentley •' was not the author of his own book," 
and a similar absurdity has been asserted of me, 
in almost all the best-informed literary circles. 
With the name of the real author staring them 
in the face, they have yet persisted in attribut- 
ing my works to other people ; and the fame 
of the Twopenny Post Bag — such as it is — 
having hovered doubtfully over various persons, 
has at last settled upon the head of a certain 
little gentleman, who wears it, I understand, as 
complacently as if it actually belonged to him ; 



without even the honesty of avowing, with his 
own favorite author, (he will excuse the pun) 

Ej-to &' 'O MilPOS apai 
E6riaanr]v hctojttoi, 

I can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, 
curious in such matters, will take the trouble 
of calling at my lodgings, 245, Piccadilly, I shall 
have the honor of assuring them, m propriA 
persona, that I am — his, or her. 
Very obedient 

And very humble Servant, 
THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 
^pril 17, 1818. 



LETTER I. 



FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY , 

OF CLONKILTY, IN IRELAND. 

Amiens. 
Dear Doll, while the tails of our horses are 

plaiting. 

The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the door, 

Into very bad French is, as usual, translating 

His English resolve not to give a son more, 

I sit down to write you a line — only think ! — 

A letter from France, with French pens and 

French ink. 
How delightful ! though, would you believe it, 

my dear ! 
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here ; 
No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come. 
But the cornfields and trees quite as dull as at 

home ; 
And but for the postboy, his boots and his cue, 
I m\^\vt just as well be at Clonkilty with you ! 
In vain, at Dessein's, did I take from my trunk 
That divine fellow, Sterne, and fall reading 

" The Monk ; " 
In vain did I think of his charming Dead Ass, 
And remember the crust and the wallet — alas ! 
No monks can be had now for love or for money, 
(All owing. Pa says, to that infidel Boney ;") 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive 
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive ! 

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch 
Of romance on the pier, which affected me much. 
At the sight of that spot, where our darling 

DiXHUIT 

Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet,* 

(ModcU'd out so exactly, and — God bless the 
mark ! 

'Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a Monarque), 

He exclaim'd, " O, mon Roi ! " and, with tear- 
dropping eye, 

Stood to gaze on the spot — while some Jacobin, 
nigh, 

Mutter'd out with a shrug (what an insolent 
thing !) 

•' Ma foi, he be right — 'tis de Englishman's 
King ; 

And dat gros pied de cochon — begar, me vil say 

Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder 
way." 

There's the pillar, too — Lord ! I had nearly 
forgot — 

What a charming idea ! — rais'd close to the spot ; 

The mode being now, (as you've heard, I sup- 
pose,) 

To build tombs over legs,- and raise pUlars to toes. 

This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as yet ; 
Except, indeed, some little flow'r nymphs we've 

met. 
Who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views, 
Flinging flow'rs in your path, and then — bawl- 
ing for sous ! 
And some picturesque beggars, whose multi- 
tudes seem 
To recall the good days of the ancien rigime, 
All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn. 
And as thin as they were in the time of dear 
Sterne. 

Our party consists (in a neat Calais job) 
Of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and Bob. 
You remember how sheepish Bob look'd at Ivil- 

randy, 
But, Lord ! he's quite alter'd — they've made 

him a Dandy ; 
A thing, you know, whisker'd, great coated, and 

laced. 
Like an hourglass, exceedingly small in the waist ; 



1 To commemorate the landing of Louis le Desire from 
England, the impression of liis foot is marked out on the 



Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to 

scholars. 
With heads so immovably stuck in shirt collars. 
That seats, like our music stools, soon must be 

found them. 
To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look 

round them. 
In short, deir, " a Dandy " describes what I 

mean. 
And Bob's far the best of the genus I've seen : 
An impro^^ng young man, fond of learning, 

ambitious. 
And goes now to Paris to study French dishes. 
Whose names — think, how quick ! he already 

knows pat, 
A la braise, petits pdt6s, and — what d'ye call that 
They inflict; on potatoes ? — O, mattre d'hdtel — 
I assure you, dear Dolly, he knows them as well 
As if nothing else all his life he had eat, 
Though a bit of them Bobby has never touch'd 

yet ; 
But just knows the names of French dishes and 

cooks, 
As dear Papa knows the titles of authors and 

books. 

As to Pa, what d'ye think r — mind, it's all entre 

nous. 
But you know, love, I never keep secrets from 

you — 
"Why, he's writing a book — what ! a tale ? a 

romance ? 
No, ye Gods, would it were ! — but his Travels 

in France ; 
At the special desire (he let out t'other day) 
Of his great friend and patron, my Lord C — s- 

TL — R — GH, 

Who said, " My dear Fudge " 1 forget th' 

exact words. 
And, it's strange, no one ever remembers my 

Lord's ; 
But 'twas something to say that, as all must aflow 
A good orthodox work is much wanting j ust now. 
To expound to the world the new — thingum- 

mie — science, 
Found out by the — what's-its-name — Holy 

Alliance, 
And prove to mankind that their ngi.ts are but 

folly. 
Their freedom a joke (which it is, you know, 

Dolly), 



pier at Calais, and a pillar with an Inscription raised oppe 
site to the spot. 
2 Ci-git la jambe de, &.C. &c. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



463 



'♦ There's none," said his Lordship, " if / may 

be judge, 
Half so lit for this great undertaking as Fudqe ! " 

The matter's soon settled — Pa flies to the Row 
(The first stage your tourists now usually go), 
Settles all for his quarto — advertisements, 

praises — 
Starts post from the door, with his tablets — 

French phrases — 
"Scott's Visit," of course — in short, ev'ry 

thing he has 
An author can want, except words and ideas ; — 
And, lo ! the first thing, in the spring of the year. 
Is Phil. Fudge at the front of a Quarto, my dear ! 

But, bless me, my paper's near out, so I'd better 
Draw fast to a close : — this exceeding long letter 
You owe to a dijeiiner a la fourchette, 
Which Bdkby would have, and is hard at it yet. — 
AVhat's next ? O, the tutor, the last of the party, 
Young Connor : — they say he's so like Bona- 

P.^llIE, 

His nose and his chin — which Papa rather 

dreads, 
As the Bourbons, you know, are suppressing all 

heads 
That resemble old Nap's, and who knows but 

their honors 
May think, in their fright, of suppressing p»or 

Connor's ? 
Au reste (as we say), the young lad's well enough, 
Oiily talks much of Athens, Rome, virtue, and 

stuff; 
A third cousin of ours, by the way — poor as Job 
(Tliough of royal descent by the side of 

Mamma), 
And for charity made private tutor to Bob ; — 
Eiitre nous, too, a Papist — how lib'ral of Pa ! 

This is all, dear, — forgive me for breaking off" 

thus, 
But Bob's dijeitner's done, and Papa's in a fuss. 

B. F. 

P. S. 
How provoking of Pa ! he will not let me stop 
Just to run in and rummage some milliner's shop ; 
And my dibut in Paris, I blush to think on it, 
Must now, Doll, be made in a hideous low 
bonnet. 

1 A celebrated mantua maker in Paris. 

2 This excellent imitation of tlie noble Lord's style shows 
how deeply Mr. Fudge must have studied his great original. 
Iris! oratory, indeed, abounds with such startling peculiar- 



But Paris, dear Paris .' — O, there will be joy, 
And romance, and high bonnets, and Madame 
LeRoi!'- 



LETTER II. 

FRO.i PHIL. FtTDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD VISCOUNT 
C— ST— R— GH. 

Paris 
At length, my Lord, I have the bliss 
To date to you a line from this 
" Demoraliz'd " metropolis ; 
Where, by plebeians low and scurvy, 
The throne was turn'd quite topsy turvy. 
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat, 
" Stood prostrate " at the people's feet ; 
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes) 
The level of obedience slopes 
Upward and downward, as the stream 
Of hydra faction kicks the beam ! * 
Where the poor Palace changes masters 

Quicker than a snake its skin, 
And Louis is roU'd out on castors. 

While Boney's borne on shoulders in : — 
But where, in every change, no doubt. 

One special good your Lordship traces, — 
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out, 

The Ministers still keep their places. 

How oft, dear Yiscount C gh, 

I've thought of thee upon the way. 
As in my Job (what place could be 
More apt to wake a thought of thee ?) 
Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting 
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting 
For him who writes a Tour, that he 
May more of men and manners see,) 
I've thought of thee and of thy glories. 
Thou guest of Kings, and King of Tories ! 
Reflecting how thy fame has grown 

And spread, beyond man's usual share, 
At home, abroad, till thou art known, 

Like Major Semple, every where ! 
And marv'Uing with what pow'rs of breath 
Your Lordship, having speech'd to death 
Some hundreds of your fellow-men, 
Next speech'd to Sovereigns' ears, — and when 
All Sovereigns else were doz'd, at last 
Speech'd down the Sovereign ^ of Belfast. 

ities. Thus the eloquent Counsellor B , in describing 

some hypocritical pretender to charity, said, " He put his 

hand In his breeches pocket, like a crocodile, and," &c. &c. 

3 The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before whom 



464 



THE FUDGE FA3nLY IN PARIS. 



O, 'mid the praises and the trophies 
Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis , 
'Mid all the tributes to thy fame, 

There's o»e thou shouldst be chiefly pleas'd 
at — 
That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, 

And C gh's the thing now sneez'd 



But hold, my pen ! — a truce to praising — 

Though even your Lordship will allow 
The theme's temptations are amazing ; 

But time and ink run short, and now 
(As thou wouldst say, my guide and teacher 

In these gay metaphoric fringes, 
I must embark into the feature 

On which this letter chiefly hinges ; ' —7 
My Book, the Book that is to prove — 
And loill, (so help ye Sprites above, 
That sit on clouds, as grave as judges, 
Watching the labors of the Fudges !) 
Will prove that all the world, at present, 
Is in a state extremely pleasant ; 
That Europe — thanks to royal swords 

And bay'nets, and the Duke command- 
ing— 
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord's, 

Passeth all human understanding : 
That France prefers her go-cart King 

To such a coward scamp as Boney ; 
Though round, with each a leading string, 

There standeth many a Royal crony. 
For fear the chubby, tottering thing 

Should fall, if left there loney-ponei/ ; — 
That England, too, the more her debts, 
The more she spends, the richer gets ; 
And that the Irish, grateful nation ! 

Remember when by thee reign'd over, 
And bless thee for their flagellation. 

As Heloisa did her lover ! ^ — 
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch 

Upon the sideboard, snug reposes : 
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch, 

And Norway " on a bed of roses ! " 



his Lordship (with the " stiidium immane loquendi " attrib- 
uted by Ovid to that chattering and rapacious class of 
birds, the pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory 
orations, on liis return from the Continent. It was at one 
of these Irish dinners that his gallant brother, Lord S., pro- 
posed the health of " The best cavalry officer in Europe — 
the Regent ! " 

1 Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's Speeches — 
"And now, Sir, I must em')arlc into'the feature on which 
this question chiefly hinges ' 

8 See her Letters. 



That, as for some few million souls, 

Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods ! 
If half were strangled — Spaniards, Poles, 

And Frenchmen — 'twouldn't make much 
odds. 
So Europe's goodly Royal ones 
Sit easy on their sacred thrones ; 
So Ferdinand embroiders gayly,* 
And Louis eats his salmi,* daily ; 
So time is left to Emperor Sandy 
To be half Caesar and half Dandy ; 
And G — GE the R — g — t (who'd forget 
That doughtiest chieftain of the set .•') 
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new, 

For dragons, after Chinese models. 
And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo 

Might come and nine times knock their 
noddles ! — 
All this my Quarto '11 prove — much morp 
Than Quarto ever proved before : — 
In reas'ning with the Post I'll vie. 
My facts the Courier shall supply, 
My jokes V — ns — t, P — le my sense, 
And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence ! 

My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts, 

On Biddy's back or Bobby's shoulder, 
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts. 

Who longs to be a small place holder,) 
Is — though / say't, that shouldn't say — 
Extremely good ; and, by the way, 
One extract from it — onli/ one — 
To show its spirit, and I've done. 
"Jul. thirty-frst. — Went, after snack, 

" To the Cathedral of St. Denny ; 
" Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back, 

" And — gave the old Concierge a penny. 
" {Mem. — Must see Rheims, much fam'd, 'tis 

said, 
" For making Kings and gingerbread.) 
" Was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, 
" A little Bourbon, buried lately, 
"Thrice high and puissant, we were told, 
" Though only twenty-four hours old ! * 



8 It would be an edifying thing to write a history of tlio 
private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from 
the fly-sticking of Doniitian, the mole-catching of Artaba- 
nus, the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse-currying 
of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of Ferdinand, and 
the patience-playing of the P e R 1 ! 

4 Oipa T€, ola tSovai Sior/Kcfiees /3aaiXrtti. 

Homer, Odyss. 3. 

5 So described on the coffin : " tr^s-haute et puissante 
Prlncesse, ag6e d'un jout " 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



465 



" Hear this, thought I, ye Jacobins : 

•' Ye Burdetts, tretnble in your skins ! 

" If Royalty, but aged a day, 

" Can boast such high and puissant sway, 

" What impious hand its pow'r would fix, 

" Full fledg'd and wigg'd ' at fifty-six ? " 

The argument's quite new, you see, 
And proves exactly Q. E. D. 
So now, with duty to the R — g — t, 
I am, dear Lord, 

Yoitr most obedient, 



P F. 



Hotel Breteuil, Rue RivoH. 
Neat lodgings — rather dear for me ; 
But Biddy said she thought 'twould look 
Genteeler thus to date my Book ; 
And Biddy's right — besides, it curries 
Some favor with our friends at Murray's, 
Who scorn what any man can say. 
That dates from Rue St. Honore ! * 



LETTER TIL 

FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD 



Dick ! you may talk of your writing and 

reading. 
Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like 

feeding ; 
And this is the place for it, Dicky, you dog, 
Of all places on earth. — the head quarters of 

Prog! 
Talk of England — her famed Magna Charta, I 

swear is, 
A humbug, a flam, to the Carte' at old Very's ; 
And as for your Juries — who would not set 

o'er 'em 
A Jury of Tasters,* with woodcocks before 

'em 



1 There is a fulness and breadth in this portrait of Royal- 
ty, which reminds us of what Pliny says, in speaking ot 
Trajan's great qualities : — "nonne longfe lateque Principem 
ostentant ? " 

2 See the Cluarterly Review for May, 1816, where Mr. 
Ilobhouse is accused of having written his book " in a back 
street of the French capital." 

3 The Bill of Fare. — V6ry, a well-known Restaurateur. 

i Mr. Bub alludes particularly, 1 presume, to the famous 
Jury Degustateur, which used to assemble at the Hotel of 
M. Griniod de la Reyniere, and of which this modern Ar- 
chestratus has given an account in his Almanach des Gour- 
mands, cinquidme annee, p. 78. 
59 



Give Cartwright his Parliaments, fresh every 
year ; 

But those friends of short Commons would never 
do here ; 

And, let Romilly speak as he will on the ques- 
tion, 

No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion ! 

By the by, Dick, I fatten — but n'importa for 

that, 
'Tis th.e. mode — your Legitimates always get fat. 
There's the R — g — t, there's Louis — and Boney 

tried too. 
But, though somewhat imperial in paunch, 

'twouldn't do : — 
He improv'd, indeed, much in this point, when 

he wed. 
But he ne'er grew right royally fat in the head. 

Dick, Dick, what a place is this Paris ! — but 

stay — 
As my raptures may bore you, I'll just sketch a 

Day, 
As we pass it, myself and some comrades I've got. 
All thorough-bred Gnostics, who know what is 

what. 

After dreaming some hours of the land of 
Cocaigne,' 
That Elysium of all that is fria7id and nice, 

Where for hail they have bon-bons, and claret 
for rain. 
And the skaters in winter show off on cream- 
ice ; 

Where so ready all nature its cookery yields, 

Macaroni ate parmesan grows in the fields ; 

Little birds fly about with the true pheasant 
taint. 

And the geese are all born with a liver com 
plaint ! * 

I rise — put on neckcloth — stiff, tight, as c». 
be — 

For a lad who (/oes info the toorld, Dick, like mc, 



6 The fairyland of cookery and gonrmandise: " Pais, ot 
le ciel offre les viandes toutes cuites, et oii, comme on par* 
les alouettes tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coqufere." — 
Ihichat. 

6 The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goosfr 
is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties,, 
the foie gras, of which such renowned piites are made at 
Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus described in the C(»its 
Oastrnnomique : — " On deplume I'estomac des oies ; on at- 
tache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une chemiiiee, et 
on les nourrit devant le feu. La caj)tivite et la chaleur don- 
nent i ces volatiles, une maladie h^patique, qui fait gontier 
leur foie," &c. p. 206. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Should have his neck tied up, you know — 

there's no doubt of it — 
Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it. 
With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots that 

" hold up 
" The miiror to nature " — so bright you could 

sup 
Off the leather like china ; with coat, too, that 

draws 
On the tailor, who suffers, a martj-r's applause ! 
With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader, 
And stays — de\'il's in them — too tight for a 

feeder, 
I strut to the old Caf6 Hardy, which, yet 
Beats the field at a dijeuner a la fourchette. 
There, Dick, what a breakfast ! — O, not like 

your ghost 
Of a breakfast in England, your curs'd tea and 

toast ; ' 
But a sideboard, you dog, where one's eye roves 

about. 
Like a Turk's in the Harem, and thence singles 

out 
One's pAti of larks, just to tune up the throat, 
One's small limbs of chickens, done en papillote. 
One's erudite cutlets, dress'd all ways but plain, 
Or one's kidneys — imagine, Dick. — done with 

champagne ! 
Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dilute — or, 

inayhap, 
Chamhertin^^ which you know's the pet tipple 

of Nap, 
And which Dad, by the by, that legitimate 

stickler, 
Much scruples to taste, but Tm not so par- 

tic'lar. — 
Your coffee comes next, by prescription: and 

then, Dick, 's 
The coffee's ne'er-failing, and glorious appendix. 



1 Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea renders him 
liable to a charge of atheism 1 Such, at least, is the opinion 
cited in Christian, Falster. Amanitat. PAiioZon-. — " Atheum 
interpretabatur hoininetn ad herba The aversum." He 
would not, 1 think, have been so irreverent to this beverage 
ol scholars, if he had read Peter Petit'^) Poem in praise of 
Tea, addressed to the learned Ilaet — or the Epigraphe 
which Peehlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedicate to 
this herb — or the Anacreontics of Piter Francius, in which 
he calls Tea 

&tav, ^CTiv, icaivav. 

The following passage from one of these Anacreontics 
will, I have no doubt, be gratifying to all true Theists. 
&eots, S£a)i» T£ TTarpi, 

AtSot TO vCKraj) 'Hfiij. 

Xt not SiaKOVOtVTO 

XKV<j>oii cv nvpptvoitri. 



(If books had but such, my old Grecian, de- 
pend on't, 
I'd swallow ev'n W — tk — ns', for the sake of 

the end on't,) 
A neat glass of parfait-amour, which one sips 
Just as if bottled velvet* tipp'd over one's 

lips. 
This repast being ended, and paid for — (how 

odd! 
TiU man's used to paying, there's something 

so queer in't !) — 
The sain now well out, and the girls all 

abroad, 
And the world enough air'd for us. Nobs, to 

appear in't, 
\Ye lounge up the Boulevards, where — 0, 

Dick, the phizes. 
The turnouts, we meet — what a nation of 

quizes ! 
Here toddles along some old figure of fun, 
With a coat you might date Anno Domini 1. ; 
A lac'd hat, worsted stockings, and — noble old 

soul ! 
A fine ribbon and cross in his best button 

hole; 
Just such as our Pr ce, who nor reason nor 

fun dreads, 
Inflicts, without ev'n a court martial, on hun- 
dreds.* 
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye, 
(Rather eatable things these grisettes by the 

by); 

And there an old demoiselle, almost as fond, 

111 a silk that has stood since the time of the 

Fronde. 
There goes a French Dandy — ah, Dick ! unlike 

some ones 
We've seen about White's — the Mounsecrs are 

but rum ones ! 



Tw (caX^EV vpeirovaai 
KaXui; xtpiaai Kuvpai. 

UTjich may be thus translated : — 

Yes, let Hebe, ever young, 

High in heav'n her nectar hold. 
And to Jove's immortal throng 

Pour the tide in cups of gold — 
VU not envy heaven's Princes, 

While, with snowy hands, for me, 
Kate the china teacup rinses. 

And pouis out her best Bohea ! 

2 The favorite wine ol Napoleon. 

3 Velours en bouteille. 

< It was said by Wictjuefort, more than a hundred year* 
ago, " Le Roi d'Angleterre fait seul plus de chevaliers que 
tons les autres Rois de la Chretiente ensemble." — What 
would he say now .' 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IX PARIS. 



467 



Such hats ! — fit for monkeys — I'd back Mrs. 

DllAPER 

To cut neater weather boards out of brown 
paper ; 

A.nd coats — how I wish, if it wouldn't dis- 
tress 'em, 

They'd club for old Br — mm — l, from Calais, to 
dress 'em ! 

The collar sticks out from the neck such a space, 
That you'd swear 'twas the plan of this head- 
lopping nation. 

To leave there behind them a snug little place 
For the head to drop into, on decapitation. 

In short, what with mountebanks, counts, and 
friseurs. 

Some mummers by trade, and the rest amateurs — 

What with captains in new jockey boots and 
silk breeches, 
Old dustmen with swinging great opera hats, 

And shoeblacks reclining by statues in niches. 
There never was seen such a race of Jack 
Sprats ! 

From the Boulevards — but hearken ! — yes — 
as I'm a sinner. 

The clock is just striking the half hour to dinner ; 

So no more at present — short time for adorn- 
ing — 

My Day must be finish'd some other fine 
morning. 

Now, hey for old Beauvilliers'' larder, my boy! 

And, once there, if the Goddess of Beauty and 
Joy 

Were to write " Come and kiss me, dear Bob ! " 
I'd not budge — 

Not a step, Dick, as sure as my name is 

R. Fudge. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 

"Return ! " — no, never, while the withering 

hand 
Of bigot power is on that hapless land ; 
While, for the faith my fathers held to God, 
Ev'n in the fields where free those fathers 

trod, 

1 A celebrated restaurateur. 

2 ' They used to leave a yard square of the wall of the 
house unplastered, on which they write, in large letters, 
eitlier the fore-mentioned ver^e of the Psalmist (' If I forget 
tliee, O Jerusalem,' &t.) or the words — 'T>ie'ni^nHi*J' 6f 
the desolation '" — Leo of Madcna "' ' ' ' ' 



I am proscrib'd, and, — like the spot left bare 
In Israel's halls, to tell the proud and fair 
Amidst their mirth, that Slavery had been 

there * — 
On all I love, home, parents, friends, I trace 
The mournful mark of bondage and disgrace ! 
No ! — let them stay, who in their country's 

pangs 
See nought but food for factions and harangues ; 
Who yearly kneel before their masters* doors, 
And hawk their wrongs, as beggars do thei' 

sores : 
» Still let your * • * * « 

Still hope and suffer, aU who can ! — but I, 
Who durst not hope, and cannot bear, must fly 

But whither ? — every where the scourge pur- 
sues — 
Turn where he will, the wretched wanderer 

views. 
In the bright, broken hopes of all his race. 
Countless reflections of th' Oppressor's face. 
Every where gallant hearts, and spirits true, 
Are serv'd up victims to the vile and few ; gg 
While E — gl — d, every where — the general foe 
Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe'er they glow — 
Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the blow. 

O, E — gl — d ! could such poor revenge atone 
For wrongs, that weU might claim the deadliest 

one ; 
Were it a vengeance, sweet enough to sate 
The wretch who flies from thy intolerant hate, 
To hear his curses on such barbarous sway 
Echoed, where'er he bends his cheerless way ; — 
Could this content him, every lip he meets 
Teems for his vengeance with such poisonous 

sweets ; 
Were this his luxury, never is thy name 
Pronounc'd, but he doth banquet on thy shame ; 
Hears maledictions ring from every side 
Upon that grasping power, that selfish pride. 
Which vaunts its own, and scorns all rights 

beside ; 
That low and desperate envy, which to blast 
A neighbor's blessings, risks the few thou hast ; — 
That monster. Self, too gross to be conceal'd. 
Which ever lurks behind thy proffer' d shield ; — 

3 I have thought it prudent to omit some parts of Mr. 
Phelim Connor's letter. He is evidently an intemperats 
young man, and has associated with his cousin?,' tlWl 
Fudges, to very little purpose. M-.ii&\-h 

. :- -.T -iWxr.CA 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



That faithless craft, which, in thy hour of need, 
Can court the slave, can swear he shall be 

freed, 
Yet basely spurns him, when thy point is 

gain'd. 
Back to his masters, ready gagg'd and chain'd ! 
Worthy associate of that band of Kings, 
That royal rav'ning flock, whose vampire wings 
O'er sleeping Europe treacherously brood, 
And fan her into di-eams of promis'd good. 
Of hope, of freedom — but to drain her blood ! 
If thus to hear thee branded be a bliss 
That Vengeance loves, there's yet more sweet 

than this. 
That 'twas an Irish head, an Irish heart, 
Made thee the fall'n and tarnish'd thing thou 

art ; 
That, as the centaur ' gave th' infected vest 
In which he died, to rack his conqueror's breast, 

We sent thee C gh : — as heaps of dead 

Have slain their slayers by the pest they spread, 
So hath our land breath'd out, thy fame to 

dim, 
Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, soul and 

limb. 
Her worst infections all condens'd in him ! 

W^hen will the world shake off such yokes ? O, 

when 
"Will that redeeming day shine out on men, 
That shall behold them rise, erect and free 
As Heav'n and Nature meant mankind should 

be! 
When Reason shall no longer blindly bow 
To the vile pagod things, that o'er her brow, 
Like him of Jaghernaut, drive trampling now ; 
Nor Conquest dare to desolate God's earth ; 
Nor drunken Victory, with a Nero's mirth, 
Strike her lewd harp amidst a people's groans ; — 
But, built on love, the world's exalted thrones 
Shall to the virtuous and the wise be given — 
Those bright, those sole Legitimates of Heaven ! 

\Mien will this be ? — or, O, is it, in truth. 
But one of those sweet daybreak dreams of 
youth, 

I Membra et Herciileos toroa 

Crit lues Nessea. 
lUe, ille victor vincitur. 

Senec. Hereul. (Et. 

" The late Lord C. of Ireland had a curious theory about 
names ; — he held that every man with three names was a 
Jacobin. Ilis instances in Ireland were numerous: — viz. 
Archibald Hamilton Rowan, Theobald Wolfe Tone, James 
Napper Tandy, John Philpot Curran, &c. &.C., and, in Eng- 
land, he produced as examples Charles James Fox, Richard 



In which the Soul, as round her morning springs, 
'Twixt sleep and waking, sees such dazzling 

things ! 
And must the hope, as vain as it is bright. 
Be all resigned ? — and are tfiey only right, 
Who say this world of thinking souls was made 
To be by Kings partition'd, truck'd, and wcigh'd 
In scales that, ever since the world begun. 
Have counted millions but as dust to one ? 
Are they the only wise, who laugh to scorn 
The rights, the freedom to which man was born ? 
Who ***** 

Who, proud to kiss each separate rod of power, 
Bless, while he reigns, the minion of the hour ; 
Worship each would-be God, that o'er them 

moves, 
And take the thundering of his brass for Jove's ! 
If this be wisdom, then farewell, my books, 
Farewell, ye shrines of old, j-e classic brooks, 
Which fed my sonl with currents, pure and 

fair, 
Of living Truth, that now must stagnate there ! — 
Instead of themes that touch the lyre with light. 
Instead of Greece, and her immortal fight 
For Liberty, which once awak'd my strings, 
Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings, 
The High Legitimates, the Holy Band, 
Who, bolder ev'n than He of Sparta's land, 
Against whole millions, panting to be free. 
Would guard the pass of right-line tyranny. 
Instead of him, th' Athenian bard, whose blade 
Had stood the onset which his pen portray' d, 
Welcome ***** 



And, 'stead of Aristides — woe the day 
Such names should mingle ! — welcome C- 



'h! 



Here break we off, at this unhallow'd name * 
Like priests of old, when words ill omen'd came 
My next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell. 
Thoughts that * * * * 

****** 
Thoughts that — could patience hold — 'twere 

wiser far 
To leave still hid and burning where they are. 

Brinsley Sheridan, John Home Tooke, Francis Burdett 
Jones, &c. &c. 
The Romans called a thief "homo trium literarum." 

Tun' trium literarum homo 
Me vituperas.' Fur.* 

Plautus, Aulular. Act ii. Scene 4. 



• IHftaldevs supposes this word to be a glofsema : — that is, he 
thinks •' Fur" has made his escape from the margiu into the text 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



469 



LEITER V. 

•ttOM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

What a time since I -wrote ! — I'm a sad, 

naughty girl — 
For, though, like a tetotum, I'm all in a 

twirl ; — 
Yet ev'n (as you wittily say) a tetotum 
Between all its twirls gives a letter to note 

'em. 
But, Lord, such a place ! and then, Dolly, my 

dresses. 
My gowns, so divine ! — there's no language 

expresses, 
Except just the two words ♦' superbe," " mag- 

nifique," 
The trimmings of that which I had home last 

week ! 
It is call'd — I forget — a la — something which 

sounded 
Like alicampa7ie — but in truth, I'm confounded 
And bother'd, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome 

boy's 
(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame le 

Hoi's : 
What with fillets of roses, and fillets of veal. 
Things ffanii with lace, and things ffarni with 

eel, 
One's hair and one's cutlets both en papillate. 
And a thousand more things I shall ne'er have 

by rote, 
I can scarce tell the difference, at least as to 

phrase. 
Between beef r) la Psyche and curls a la braise. — 
But, in short, dear, I'm trick'd out quite a la 

Fran<;aise, 
With my bonnet — so beautiful ! — high up and 

poking. 
Like things that are put to keep chimneys from 

smoking. 

Where shall I begin with the endless delights 
Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and sights — 
This dear busy place, where there's nothing 

transacting 
But dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting? 
Imprimis, the Opera — mercy, my ears ! 

Brother BoBBy's remark, t'other night, was a 

true one ; — 
" This ?mist be the music," said he, " of the 

spears, 
" For I'm curs'd if each note of it doesn't run 

through one ! " 



Pa says (and you know, love, his Book's to 

make out 
'Twas the Jacobins brought every mischief 

about) 
That this passion for roaring has come in of 

late. 
Since the rabble all tried for a voice in the 

State. — 
Whr.t a frightful idea, one's mind to o'ervvhelm ! 
What a chorus, dear Dolly, would soon be 

let loose of it. 
If, when of age, every man in the realm 

Had a voice like old La(s,' and chose to 

make use of it ! 
No — never was known in this riotous sphere 
Such a breach of the peace as their singing, my 

deal". 
So bad too, you'd swear that the God of both 

arts. 
Of Musit and Physic, had taken a frolic 
For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts. 

And composing a fine rumbling base to a 

colic ! 

But, the dancing — ah parlez-moi, Dolly, de 

ga — 
There, indeed, is a treat that charms all but 

Papa. 
Such beauty — such grace — O ye sylphs of 
romance ! 
Fly, fly to TiTANiA, and ask her if she has 
One light-footed nymph in her train, that can 
dance 
Like divine Bigottini and sweet Fanny Bias ! 
Fanny Bias in Flora — dear creature ! — you'd 
swear. 
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle 
round, 
That her steps are of light, that her home is 
the air. 
And she only par complaisance touches the 
ground. 
And when Bigottini in Psyche dishevels 

Her black flowing hair, and by demons is 
driven, 
O, who does not envy those rude little devils, 
That hold her and hug her, and keep her 
from heaven ? 
Then, the music — so softly its cadences die, 
So divinely — 0, Dolly! between you and I, 
It's as well for my peace that there's nobody 
nigh 



1 The oldest, most celebrated, and most noisy of tlie sing 
ers at the French Opera. 



<70 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



To make love to me then — you've a soul, and 

can judge 
What a crisis 'twould bo for your friend Biddy 

Fudge ! 

The next place (which Bobby has near lost 

his heart in) 
l.'hey call ic the Playhouse — I think— of St. 

Martin ; ' 
Quite charming — and w/-y religious — what folly 
To say that the French are not pious, dear 

Dolly, 
"When here one beholds, so correctly and rightly, 
The Testament turn'd into melo-drames nightly; "^ 
And, doubtless, so fond they're of scriptural 

facts, 
They will soon get the Pentateuch up in five acts. 
Here Daniel, in pantomime,'' bids bold defiance 
To Nebuchadnezzak and aU his stufTd lions. 
While pretty young Iraelites dance round the 

Prophet, 
In very thin clothing, and but little of it ; — 
Here Beguand,'' who shines in this scriptural 

path. 
As the lovely Susanna, without ev'n a relic 
Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath 
In a manner that. Bob says, is quite Eve- 

ayigelic ! 
But in short, dear, 'twould take me a month to 

recite 
All the exquisite places we're at, day and night ; 
And, besides, ere I finish, I think you'll be 

glad 
Just to hear one delightful adventure I've had. 

Last night, at the Beaujon,* a place where — I 

doubt 
If its charms I can paint — there are cars, that 

set out 
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air. 
And rattle you down Doll — you hardly know 

where. 

1 The Theitre de la Porte St. Martin, which was built 
when the Opera Himse in the Palais Royal was burned 
down, in 1781. — A lew days after this dreadful fire, which 
lasted more than a week, and in which several persons per- 
ished, the Parisian etgantes displayed Hanie-colored dresses, 
''couieurde feu d'Opera ! "— TJu/uure, Curiositcs de Paris. 

2 " The Old Testament," says the theatrical Critic in the 
Gazette de France, " is a mine of gold for the managers of 
our small playhouses. A multitude crowd round the Thea- 
tre de la Gaiete every evening to see the Passage of the Ked 
Sea." 

In the plajhill of one of these sacred melo-drames at 
Vienna, we find " The Voice of G— d, by M. Schwartz." 

3 A piece very popular last year, called " Daniel, ou La 
Fosse aux Lions." The following scene will give an idea 



These vehicles, mind me, in which you go 

through 
This delightfully dangerous journey, hold 

two. 
Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether 
You'll venture down with him — you smile — 

'tis a match ; 
In an instant you're seated, and down botli to- 
gether 
Go thund'ring, as if you went post to old 

scratch ! * 
Well, it was but last night, as I stood ana 

remark'd 
On the looks and odd ways of the girls ^^lo 

embark'd. 
The impatience of some for the perilous flight. 
The forc'd giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and 

fright, — 
That there came up — imagine, dear Doll, if 

you can — 
A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-fac'd 

man. 
With mustachios that gave (what we read of so 

oft) 
The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half 

soft. 
As Hyenas in love may be fancied to look, or 
A something between Abelard and old Bluoher! 
Up he came, Doll, to me, and, uncovering his 

head, 
(Rather bald, but so warlike !) in bad English 

said, 
" Ah ! my dear — if Ma'mselle vil be so very 

good — 
Just for von littel course " — though I scarce 

understood 
What he wish'd me to do, I said, thank him, I 

would. 
Off we set — and, though 'faith, dear, I hardly 

knew whether 
My head or my heels were the uppermost 

then, 



of the daring sublimity of these scriptural pantomimes. 
"■^ Scene 20. — La foumaise devient un beiceau de nuages 
azures, au fond duipiel est un groupe de nuages plus lu- 
mineux, et au milieu 'Jehovah' au centre d'un cercle de 
rayons brillans, qui annonce la presence de I'Eternel." 

< Madame Begrand, a finely-formed woman, who arts in 
" Susanna and the Elders," — " L'Amour et la Folic," &.c. 
&c. 

s The Promenades Aeriennes, or French Mountains. — 
See a description of this singular and fantastic place of 
amusement in a pamphlet, truly worthy of it, by " F. F. 
Cotterel, Medecin, Docteur de la Faculty de Paris," &c. 
&c. 

• According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at the rate of for- 
ty-eight miles an hour. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



471 



For 'twas like heav'n and earth, Dolly, coming 
together, — 

Yet, spite of the danger, vre dared it again. 
And O, as I gaz'd on the features and air 

Of the man, who for me all this peril defied, 
I could fancy almost he and I were a pair 

Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by 
side. 
Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a 
Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara ! 

This achiev'd, through the gardens ' we saun- 
ter'd about, 
Saw the fireworks, exclaim'd " magnifique ! " 
at each cracker. 
And, when 'twas all o'er, the dear man saw us 
out 
With the air I will say, of a Prince, to our 
Jiacre. 

Now, hear me — this Stranger — it may be mere 

foUy — 
But who do you think we all think it is, Dolly ? 
Why, bless you, no less than the great King of 

Prussia, 
Who's here now incog." — he, who made such 

a fuss, you 
Kemember, in London, with Blucher and 

Platoff, 
When Sal was near kissing old Blucher's 

cravat ofi"! 
Pa says he's come here to look after his money, 
(Not taking things now as he us'd under Boney,) 
Which suits with our friend, for Bob saw him, 

he swore. 
Looking sharp to the silver receiv'd at the 

door. 
Besides, too, they say that his grief for his Queen 
^Which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to 

be seen) 
Kequires such a stimulant dose as this car is, 
Us'd three times a day with young ladies in Paris. 
Some Doctor, indeed, has declar'd that such 

grief 
Should — unless 'twould to utter despairing 

its folly push — 
Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief 
By rattling, as Bob says, '• like shot through a 

holly bush." 



1 In the CalS attached to these gardens there are to be (a« 
Doctor Cotterel informs lis) " doiize negres, tr6s-alertes, qui 
contrasteroni par I'ebene de leiir peau avec le teint de lis et 
de roses de nos belles. Les glaces et les sorbets, servis par 



I must now bid adieu ; — only think, Dolly, think 
If this should be the King — I have scarce slept 

a wink 
With imagining how it will sound in the papers. 
And how all the Misses my good luck will 

grudge, 
When they read that Count Rl'ppin, to drive 

away vapors. 
Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss Biddy 

Fudge. 

Nota Bene. — Papa's almost certain 'tis he — 
For he knows the Legitimate cut, and could see, 
In the way he went poising and manag'd to tower 
So erect in the car, the true Balance of Power. 



LETTER VI. 

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO HIS BROTHER TIM 
FUDGE, ESQ. BARRISTER AT LAW. 

Yours of the 12th receiv'd just now — 

Thanks for the hint, my trusty brother ! 
'Tis truly pleasing to see how 

We, Fudges, stand by one another. 
But never fear — I know my chap, 
And he knows me too — verbum sap. 
My Lord and I are kindred spirits. 
Like in our ways as two young ferrets ; 
Both fashion'd, as that supple race is. 
To twist into all sorts of places ; — 
Creatures lengthy, lean, and hungering. 
Fond of blood and burrow-raongexing. 

As to my Book in 91, 

Call'd " Down with Kings, or, Who'd havo 
thought it ? " 
Bless yo\i, the Book's long dead and gone, — 

Not ev'n th' Attorney General bought it. 
And, though some few seditious tricks 
I play'd in 95 and 6, 
As you remind me in your letter, 
His Lordship likes me all the better ; — 
We proselytes, that come with news full. 
Are, as he says, so vastly useful ! 

Reynolds and I — (you know Tom Reynolds — 
Drinks his claret, keeps his chaise — 



une main bien noire, Tera davantage rcssortir I'alb^tre des 
bras arroiidis de celles-ci." — P. 22. 

2 His Majesty, who was at Paris under the travelling 
name of Count Ruppin, is known to have gone down the 
Beaujon very frequently. 



472 



THE FUDGE FAJkHLY IN PARIS. 



Lucky the dog that first unkennels 

Traitors and Luddites nowadays ; 
Or Avho can help to bag a few, 

"When S — d th wants a death or two ;) 

Reynolds and I, and some few more, 

All men, like us, of information, 
Friends, whom his Lordship keeps in store, 

As imder-saviors of the nation ' — 
Have form'd a Club this season, where 
His Lordship sometimes takes the chair, 
And gives us many a bright oration 
In praise of our sublime vocation ; 
Tracing it up to great King Midas, 
Who, though in fable typified as 
A royal Ass, by grace divine 
And right of ears, most asinine. 
Was yet no more, in fact historical. 

Than an exceeding well-bred tyrant ; 
And these, his ears, but allegorical, 

Meaning Informers, kept at high rent ' — 
Gem'men, who touch'd the Treasury glisten- 

ers. 
Like us, for being trusty listeners ; 
And picking up each tale and fragment. 
For royal Midas's Green Bag meant. 
'• And wherefore," said this best of Peers, 
" Should not the R — g — t too have ears,^ 
" To reach as far, as long and wide as 
" Those of his model, good King Midas ? " 
This speech was thought extremely good. 
And (rare for him) was understood — 
Instant we drank *' The R — g — t's Ears," 
A\ ith three times three illustrious cheers. 

Which made the room resound like thunder — 
" The R — G — t's Ears, and may he ne'er 
" From foolish shame, like Midas, wear 

" Old paltry wiffs to keep them under ! " * 
This touch at our old friends, the Whigs, 
Jilade us as merry all as grigs. 
In short (I'll thank you not to mention 

These things again), we get on gayly ; 



1 Lnrd C.'s tribute to the character of his friend, Mr. Rey- 
iKilils, will long be reiiieinbered with equal credit to both. 

2 This iiiierpretation of the fable of Midas's ears seems 
ii;e must probable of any, and is thus stated in Hotfuiann : — 
' lllc allegciria sigiiificatum, Midam, iitpote tyrannuni, sub- 

ansciiltatores diniittere solituin, per quos, quaBcuncpie per 
oniiiem regioneni vel fierent, vel dicerentur, coynosceret, 
ninilriiin illis utens auriiini vice." 

3 lirossette, in a note on this line of Boileau, 

" Midas, le Rol Midas, a des oreilles d'Ane," 

tells us, that " M. Perrault le Medecin voulut faire & notre 
auteur un crime d'etat de ce vers, comnie d'line maligne 
allusion au Roi." I trust, however, that no one will sus- 
pect the line in the text of any such indecorous allusion. 



And, thanks to pension and Suspension 
Our little Club increases daily. 

Castles, and Oliver, and such, 
Who don't as yet full salary touch. 
Nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy 
Houses and lands, like Tom and I, 
Of course don't rank with us, salvators,^ 
But merely serve the Club as waiters. 
Like Knights, too, we've our collar days, 
(For us, I own, an awkward phrase,) 
When, in our new costume adorn'd, — 
The R — G — t's buff-and-blue coats tiirn'd — 
We have the honor to give dinners 

To the chief Rats in upper stations ; ^ 
Your W Ys, V Ns, — half-fledg'd sinnera, 

Who shame us by their imitations ; 
Who turn, 'tis true — but what of that? 
Give me the useful peaching Rat ; 
Not things as mute as Punch, when bought, 
Whose wooden heads are all they've brought ; 
Who, false enough to shirk their friends. 

But too faint hearted to betray. 
Are, after all their twists and bends, 

But souls in Limbo, damn'd half way. 
No, no, we nobler vermin are 
A genus useful as we're rare ; 
'Midst all the things miraculous 

Of which your natural histories brag. 
The rarest must be Rats like us, 

Who let the cat out of the bag. 
Yet still these Tyros in the cause 
Deserve, I own, no small applause ; 
And they're by us received and treated 
With all due honors — only seated 
In th' inverse scale of their reward. 
The merely promis'd next my Lord ; 
Small pensions then, and so on, down. 

Rat after rat, they graduate 
Througli job, red ribbon, and silk gown. 

To Chanc'llorship and Marquisate. 



* It was not under wigs, but tiaras, that King Midas en 
deavored to conceal these appendages! • 

Tenipora purpureis tentat velare t.aris. 

Ovid. 

The Noble Giver of the toast, however, had evidently, with 
his usual clearness, confounded King Midas, Mr. Liston, 
and the P— — e R — g — t together. 

5 Mr. Fudge and his friends ought to go by this name — 
as the man who, some years since, saved the late Right 
Hon. George Rose from drowning, was ever after called 
Salvator Rusa. 

« This intimacy between the Rats and Informers is just 
as it should be — " veri dulce sodalitium." 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



This serves to nurse the ratting spirit ; 
The less the bribe the more the merit. 



Our music's good, you may be sure ; 
My Lord, you know, 's an amateur • — 
Takes every part with perfect ease. 

Though to the Base by nature suited ; 
And, form'd for all, as best may please, 
For whips and bolts, or chords and keys, 
Turns from his victims to his glees, 

And has them both well executed.^ 
H T D, who, though no Rat himself. 

Delights in aU such liberal arts, 
Drinks largely to the House of Guelph, 

And superintends the Corni parts. 
While C — N'N — G,' who'd hejirst by choice, 
Consents to take an under voice ; 
And Gr — V — s* who well that signal knows, 
Watches the Volti Subitos.^ 

In short, as I've already hinted, 

"We take, of late, prodigiously ; 
But as our Club is somewhat stinted 

For Gentlemen, like Tom and me. 
We'll take it kind if you'll provide 
A few Squireens ® from 'tother side ; — 
Some of those loyal, cunning elves 

(We often tell the tale with laughter). 
Who us'd to hide the pikes themselves, 

Then hang the fools who found them after. 
I doubt not you could find us, too, 
Some Orange Parsons that might do ; 
Among the rest, we've heard of one, 
The Reverend — something — Hamilton, 
Who stuff d a figure of himself 

(Delicious thought !) and had it shot at. 
To bring some Papists to the shelf. 

That couldn't otherwise be got at — 
If he'W but join the Association, 
We'U vote him in by acclamation. 

And now, my brother, guide, and friend. 
This somewhat tedious scrawl must end. 



1 His Lordship, during one of the busiest periods of his 
Miiii.~terial career, took lessons three times a week from a 
celebrated music master, In glee singing. 

2 H.iw amply these two propensities of the Noble Lord 
would have been gratified among that ancient people of 
Etruria, who, as Aristotle tells us, used to whip their slaves 
once a year to the sound of flutes ! 

3 This Right Hon. Gentleman ought to give up his pres- 
ent alliance with Lord C, if upon no other principle than 
Uiat whi( h is inculcated in the following arrangement be- 
tween two Ladies of Fashion : — 

60 



I've gone into this long detail. 

Because I saw your nerves were shaken 
With anxious fears lest I should fail 

In this new, loyal course I've taken. 
But, bless your heart ! you need not doubt - 
We, Fudges, know what we're about. 
Look round, and say if you can see 
A much more thriving family. 
There's Jack, the Doctor — night and day 

Hundreds of patients so besiege him. 
You'd swear that all the rich and gay 

FcU sick on purpose to oblige him. 
And while they think, the precious ninnies, 

He's counting o'er their pulse so steady. 
The rogue but counts how many guineas 

He's fobb'd, for that day's work, already. 
I'll ne'er forget th' old maid's alarm, 

"SVlien, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he 
Said, as he dropp'd her shrivell'd arm, 

•• Damn'd bad this morning — only thirty I 

Your dowagers, too, every one, 

So generous are, when they call him in, 
That he might now retire upon 

The rheumatisms of three old women. 
Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are. 

He can so learnedly explain ye 'em — 
Your cold, of course, is a catarrh, 

Y'our headache is a hemi-cranium : — 
His skill, too, in young ladies' lungs. 

The grace with which, most mild of men. 
He begs them to put out their tongues, 

Then bids them — put them in again : 
In short, there's nothing now like Jack ! — 

Take all your doctors great and small, 
Of present times and ages back, 

Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all 

So much for physic — then, in law too, 
Counsellor Tim, to thee we bow ; 

Not one of us gives more eclat to 

Th' immortal name of Fudge than thou. 

Not to expatiate on the art 

With which you play'd the patriot's part. 



Says Clarinda, " though tears it may cost. 
It is time we should part, my dear Sue j 

For your character's totally lost, 
And / have not sufficient for tiro.' " 

* The rapidity of this Noble Lord's transformation, at the 
same instant, into a Lord of the Bed (Chamber and an oppo- 
nent of the Catholic Claims, was truly miraculous. 

6 Tarji instantly — a frequent direction in nmsic books 

a The Irish diminutive of Squire, 



m 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Till something good and snug should offer ; — 

Like one, who, by the way he acts 
Th' cnlight'ning part of candle-snuffor, 

Tlie manager's keen eye attracts, 
And is promoted thence by him 
To strut in robes, like thee, my Tim ! — 
Who shall describe thy powers of face, 
Thy well-feed zeal in every case. 
Or wrong or right — but ten times wanner 
{As suits thy calling) in the former — 
Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 
In puzzling all that's clear and right. 
Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 

Improves so with a wig and band on, 
That all thy pride's to waylay Truth, 

And leave her not a leg to stand on. 
Thy patent, prime, morality, — 

Thy cases, cited from the Bible — 
Thy candor, when it falls to thee 

To help in trouncing for a libel ; — 
* God knows, I, from my soul, profess 

" To hate all bigots and benighters ! 
'• God knows, I love, to ev'n excess, 
" The sacred Freedom of the Press, 

" My onlj"^ aim's to — crush the writers." 
These are the virtues, Tim, that draw 

The briefs into thy bag so fast ; 
And these, O Tim — if Law be Law — 

"Will raise thee to the Bench at last. 

1 blush to see this letter's length — 

But 'twas my wish to prove to thee 
How full of hope, and wealth, and strength. 

Are all our precious family. 
And, should affairs go on as pleasant 
As, thank the Fates, they do at present — 
Should we but still enjoy the sway 

Of S— dm— H and of C gh, 

I hope, ere long, to see the day 

When England's wisest statesmen, judges, 

Lawyers, peers, will all be — Fudges ! 

Good by — my paper's out so nearly, 

I've only room for Yours sincerely. 

LETTER VII. 

FKOM PHELIM CONNOR TO . 



Befokh we sketch the present — let us cast 
A few, short, rapid glances to the Past. 



1 "Whilst the Congress was reconstructing Europe — 
not according to rights, natural affiances, language, habits, 
or laws ; but by tables of tinaiice, which divided and sulidi- 
vided her population inio fuu/«', demi-souls, and even frae- 



When he, who had defied all Europe's strength. 
Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length ; 
When, loos'd, as if by magic, from a chain 
That seem'd like Fate's, the world was free again, 
And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight. 
The cause of Kings, /or once, the cause of right; 
Then was, indeed, an hour of joy t ) those 
Who sigh'd for justice — liberty — repose. 
And hop'd the fall of one great vulture's nest 
Would ring its warning round, and scare the 

rest. 
All then was bright with promise; — Kings 

began 
To own a sjmipathy with suffering Man, 
And Man was grateful ; Patriots of the South 
Caught wisdom from a Cossack Emperor's 

mouth. 
And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air, 
Unwonted words of freedom burst forth there ! 

Wlio did not hope, in that triumphant time. 
When monarchs, after years of spoil and crime, 
Met round the shrine of Peace, and Heav'u 

look'd on, — 
WJio did iiot hope the lust of spoil was gone ; 
That that rapacious spirit, which had play'd 
The game of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid ; 
And Europe's Rulers, conscious of the past. 
Would blush, and deviate into right at last ! 
But no — the hearts, that nurs'd a hope so fair. 
Had yet to learn what men on thrones can 

dare ; 
Had yet to know, of all earth's ravening things, 
The only quite untamable are Kings ! 
Scarce had they met when, to its nature true, 
The instinct of their race broke out anew ; 
Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain, 
And " Rapine ! rapine ! " was the cry again. 
How quick they carv'd their victims, and how 

well. 
Let Saxony, let injur'd Genoa tell ; — 
Let all the human stock that, day by day. 
Was, at that Royal slave mart, truck'd away. 
The million souls that, in the face of heaven. 
Were split to fractions,' barter' d, sold, or given 
To swell some despot Power, too huge before. 
And weigh down Europe with one Mammoth 

more. 
How safe the faith of Kings let France decide ; 
Her charter broken, ere its ink had dried ; — 



tions, according to a scale of the direct duties or taxes, 
which could be levied hy the acquiring state," &c. — S itch 
of tlie MU.tarij and Political Power of Russia. The words 
on the protocol are arnes, demi-dmes, &c 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IX PARIS. 



475 



Her Press inthrall'd — her Reason mock'd again 
With all the monkery it had spurn'd in vain; 
Her crown disgrac'd by one, who dar'd to own 
He thank'd not France but England for his 

throne ; 
Her triumphs cast into the shade by those, 
"Who had grown old among her bitterest foes, 
And now return'd beneath her conquerors' 

shields, 
Unblushing slaves ! to claim her heroes' fields ; 
To tread down every trophy of her fame, 
And curse that glory which to them was shame ! 
Let these — let all the damning deeds, that then 
"Were dar'd through Europe, cry aloud to men. 
With voice like that of crashing ice that rings 
Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of Kings ; 
And tell the world, when hawks shall harmless 

bear 
The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to 

spare 
The helpless victim for whose blood they lusted, 
Then, and then only, monarchs may be trusted. 

It could not last — these horrors could not last, 
France would herself have ris'n, in might, to 

cast 
Th' insulters off — and 0, that then, as now, 
Chain'd to some distant islet's rocky brow. 
Napoleon ne'er had come to force, to blight. 
Ere half raatur'd, a cause so proudly bright ; — 
To palsy patriot arts with doubt and shame. 
And write on Freedom's flag a despot's name ; 
To rush into the lists, unask'd, alone. 
And make the stake of all the game of one ! 
Then would the world have seen again what 

power 
A people can put forth in Freedom's hour ; 
Then would the fire of France once more have 

blaz'd ; — 
For every single sword, reluctant rais'd 
In the stale cause of an oppressive throne. 
Millions would then have leap'd forth in her 

own ; 
And never, never had th' unholy stain 
Of Bourbon feet disgrac'd her shores again. 

But fate decreed not so — th' Imperial Bird, 
That, in his neighboring cage, unlear'd, un- 

stirr'd. 
Had seem'd to sleep with head beneath his wing, 
Yet watch' d the moment for a daring spring ; — 

1 " L'aigle volera de clocher en clocher, ju?qu'aux tours 
U« Notre Dame." — Napoleon's Proclainatiun on landing 
from Elba. 



Well might he watch, when deeds were done, 

that made 
His own transgressions Avhitcn in their shade ; 
Well might he hope a world, thus trampled o'er. 
By clumsy tyrants, would be his once more ; — 
Forth from his cage the eagle burst to light. 
From steeple on to steeple' wing'd his flight. 
With calm and easy grandeur, to that tlu-one 
From which a Royal craven just had flown ; 
And resting there, as in his eyry, furl'd 
Those wings, whose very rustlings shook the 

world ! 

W^hat was your fury then, ye crown'd ai'ray. 
Whose feast of spoil, whose plundering holiday 
Was thus broke up, in all its greedy mirth, 
By one bold chieftain's stamp on Gallic earth ! 
Fierce was the cry, and fulminant the ban, — 
'« Assassinate, who wiU — enchain, who can, 
" The vile, the faithless, outlaw'd, low-born 

man ! " 
•' Faithless ! " — and this from you — from you, 

forsooth, 
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of truth. 
Whose honesty all knew, for all had tried ; 
Whose true Swiss zeal had serv'd on every side ; 
Whose fame for breaking faith so long was 

known. 
Well might ye claim the craft as all your own, 
And lash your lordly tails, and fume to see 
Such low-born apes of Royal perfidy ! 
Yes — yes — to you alone did it belong 
To sin forever, and yet ne'er do wrong. 
The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate 
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state ; 
But let some upstart dare to soar so high 
In Kingly craft, and "outlaw " is the cry! 
What, though long years of mutual treachery 
Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves 
With ghosts of treaties, murder'd 'mong your- 
selves ; 
Though each by turns was knave and dupe — 

what then ? 
A Holy League would set all straight again ; 
Like Juno's virtue, which a dip or two 
In some bless'd fountain made as good as new ' ' 
Most faithful Russia — faithful to whoe'er 
Could plunder best, and give him amplest share , 
Who, ev'n when vanquish'd, sure to gain his 

ends. 
For want of foes to rob, made free with friends,^ 

2 Singulis annis in quodam AtticsB fonte lota virginitaieni 
recuperisse firigitur. 

3 At the Peace of Tilsit, where lie abandoned his ally. 
Prussia, to France, and received a portion ol her terjit )ry 



176 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



.\nd, deepening still by amiable gradations, 
When foes were stripp'd of all, then fieec'd re- 
lations ! ' 
Most mild and saintly Prussia — steep'd to th' 

ears 
In persecuted Poland's blood and tears, 
And noAv, with all her harpy wings outspread 
O'er sever'd Saxony's devoted head ! 
Pure Austria too — whose hist'ry nought repeats 
But broken leagues and subsidiz'd defeats ; 
Whose faith, as Prince, extinguish'd Venice 

shows, 
Whose faith, as man,'a widow'd daughter knows ! 
And thou, O England — who, though once as 

shy 
As cloister'd maids, of shame or perfidy. 

Art now broke in, and, thanks to C gh. 

In all that's worst and falsest lead'st the way ! 

Such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits 
Th' escape from Elba frighten'd into fits ; — 
Such were the saints, who doom'd Napoleon's 

life. 
In virtuous frenzy, to th' assassin's knife. 
Disgusting crew ! — who would not gladly fly 
To open, downright, bold-fac'd t)-ranny, 
To honest guilt, that dares do all but lie, 
From the false, juggling craft of men like these. 
Their canting crimes and varnish'd villanies ; — 
Tliese Holy Leaguers, who then loudest boast 
Of faith and honor, when they've stain'd them 

most ; 
From ^vhose affection men should shrink as loath 
As from their hate, for they'll be fleec'd by 

both; 
Who, ev'n while plund'ring, forge Religion's 

name 
To frank their spoil, and, without fear or shame, 
Call down the Holy Trinity ^ to bless 
Partition leagues, and deeds of devilishness ! 
But hold — enough — soon would this swell of 

rage 
O'erriow the boundaries of my scanty page ; — 
So, here I pause — farewell — another day, 
Return we to those Lords of pray'r and prey. 
Whose loatlisome cant, whose frauds by right 

divine 
Deserve a lash — O, weightier far than muie ! 



1 T!ie seizure of Finland from liis relative of Sweden. 

2 The usual preauitile of iliese Hagitious compacts. In 
llie same spirit, Catlieriiie, after the dreadful massacre of 
Warsaw, ordered a solemn "thanksgiving to God in all the 
churches, for the blessings conferred upon the Poles ;" and 
'•ommanded that each of them 'should " swear fi<lelity and 
loyalty to her, and to shed in her defence the last drop of 



LETTER VIII. 

PROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD , ESQ. 

Dear Dick, while old Donaldson's ^ mending 

my stays, — 
Which I knew would go smash with me one ot 

these days, 
And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the 

throttle. 
We lads had begun our dessert with a bottle 
Of neat old Constantia, on m>/ leaning back 
Just to order another, by Jove I went crack ! — 
Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical phrase, 
" D — n my eyes. Bob, in doubling the Cape you've 

miss'd stays." * 
So, of course, as no gentleman's seen out with 

out them. 
They're are now at the Schneider's* — and, 

while he's about them, 
Here goes for a letter, post haste, neck and 

crop. 
Let us see — in my last I was — where did I 

stop? 
O, I know — at the Boulevards, as motley a 

road as 
Man ever would wish a day's lounging 

upon ; 
With its cafes and gardens, hotels and pagodas, 
Its founts, and old Counts sipping beer in the 

sun ; 
With its houses of all architectures you please, 
From the Grecian and Gothic, Dick, down by 

degrees 
To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton Chinese ; 
Where in temples antique you may breakfast or 

dinner it. 
Lunch at a mosque, and see Punch from a min- 
aret. 
Then, Dick, the mixture of bonnets and bowers. 
Of foliage and frippery, /acres and flowers. 
Green grocers, green gardens — one hardly 

knows whether 
'Tis country or town, they're so mess'd up to- 
gether ! 
And there, if one loves the romantic, one sees 
Jew clothesmen, like shepherds, reclin'd under 

trees ; 



their blood, as they should answer for it to God, and his ter- 
rilile judgment, kissing the holy word and cross of their Sa- 
vior ! " 

3 An English tailor at Paris. 

•* A ship is said to miss stays, when she does not obey hei 
lielni in tacking. 

6 The dandy term fur a tailor. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



47? 



Or Quidnuncs, on Sunday, just fresh, from the 

bai-ber's. 
Enjoying their news and groseille ' in those ar- 

boi-s ; 
While gayly their wigs, like the tendrils, are 

curling, 
And founts of red currant juice' round them 

are purling. 

Here, Dick, arm in arm as we chattering stray. 
And receive a few civil ♦' God dems " by the 

way, — 
For, 'tis odd, these mounseers, — though we've 

wasted our wealth 
And our strength, till we've thrown ourselves 

into a phthisic, 
To cram down their throats an old King for 

their health, 
As we whip little children to make them take 

physic ; — 
Yet, spite of our good-natur'd money and 

slaughtei'. 
They hate us, as Beelzebub hates holy water ! 
But who the dense cares, Dick., as long as they 

nourish us 
Neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes — 
Long as, by bay'nets protected, we, Natties, 
May have our full fling at their salmis and p&tis ? 
And, truly, I always declar'd 'twould be pity 
To burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city. 
Had Dad but his way, he'd have long ago blown 
The whole batch to old Nick — and the people, I 

own. 
If for no other cause than their curs' d monkey 

looks. 
Well deserve a blow up — but then, damn it, 

their Cooks ! 
As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all their 

whole Uneage, 
For aught that / care, you may knock them to 

spinach ; 
But think, Dick, their Cooks — what a loss to 

mankind ! 
■^^^lat a void in the world would their art leave 

behind ! 



1 "Lemonade and eau-de-groseille are measured out at 
every corner of every street, from fantastic vessels, jingling 
with bells, to thirsty tradesmen or wearied messengers." — 
See Lady Morgan's lively description of the streets of Paris, 
in her very amusing work upon France, book vi. 

2 These gay, portable fountains, from which the groseille 
h'ater is administered, are among the most characteristic 
ornaments of the streets of Paris. 

3 " Cette merveilleuse Marmite Perpetuelle, sur le feu 
depuis pres d'un sifecle ; qui a donne le jour 4 plus de 300,000 



Their chronometer spits — their intense sala- 
manders — 
Their ovens — their pots, that can soften old 

ganders, 
All vanish'd forever — their miracles o'er, 
And the Marmite Perpituelle ^ bubbling no more \ 
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies ! 

Take whate%'er ye fancy — take statues, take 

money — 
But leave them, O leave them, their Perigueux 

pies, 
Their glorious goose livers, and high-pickled 

tunny ! * 
Though many, I own, are the evils they've 

brought us, 
Though Royalty's here on her very last legs. 
Yet, who can help loving the land that has 

taught us 
Six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress 

eggs ? * 

You see, Dick, in spite of their cries of " God 

dam," 
" Coquin Anglais," et caet'ra — how generous 

I am ! 
And now (to return, once again, to my " Day," 
Which will take us all night to get through in 

this way,) 
From the Boulevards we saunter through many 

a street, 
Crack jokes on the natives — mine, all very 

neat — 
Leave the Signs of the Times to political fops, 
And find twice as much fun in the Signs of the 

Shojjs ; — 
Here, a Louis Dix-huit — there, a Martinmas 

goose, 
(Much in vogue since your eagles are gone out 

of use) — 
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a great 

many. 
But Saints are the most on hard duty of any : — 
St. Tony, who used all temptations to spurn, 
Here hangs o'er a beer shop, and tempts in his 

turn ; 



chapons." — Mman. de Oourmands, Quatrifeme Annee, p. 
152. 

* Le thnn marine, one of the most favorite and indigesti 
ble hors-d'aitvres. This fisli is taken chiefly in the Golfe da 
Lyon. " La tete et le dessous du ventre sont les parties les 
plus recherchees des gourmets." — Cours Oastronomique, p 
252. 

5 The exact number mentioned by M. de laReynifere — 
" On connoit en France 685 mani^res differentes d'accom 
moder les oeufs ; sans compter celles que nos savans imagi- 
neut chaque jour." 



<78 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



While there St. Venejia' sits hemming and 

frilling her 
Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner : — 
Saint Austin's the " outward and visible sign 
" Of an inward " cheap dinner, and pint of 

small wine ; 
While St. Denys hangs out o'er some hatter of 

ton, 
And possessing, good bishop, no head of his 

own,* 
Takes an int'rest in Dandies, who've got — next 

to none ! 
Then we stare into shops — read the evening's 

arches — 
Or, if some, who're Lotharios in feeding, should 

wish 
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish bad 

trick, 
As ittakes off the bloom of one's appetite, Dick,) 
To the Passaffe des — what d'ye call't — des Pa- 
noramas ' 
We quicken our pace, and there heartily cram 

as 
Seducing young pAtis, as ever could cozen 
One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen. 
We varj% of course — petils pdids do one day. 
The next we've our lunch with the Gauffrier 

Hollandais,* 
That popular artist, who brings out, like Sc — tt. 
His delightful productions so quick, hot and 

hot; 
Not the worst for the exquisite comment that 

follows, — 
Divine maresquino, which — Lord, how one swal- 
lows ! 

1 Veronica, the Saint of the Holy Handkerchief, is a\sn, 
under the name of Venisse or Venecia, the tutelary saint 
of milliners. 

2 St. Denys walked three miles after his head was cut ofT. 
The, moi of a woman of wit upon this legend is well known : 
— " Je le crois bien ; en pareil cas, il n'y a que le premier 
pas qui coufe." 

•■! Off the Boulevards Italiens. 

< In tlie Palais Royal ; successor, T believe, to the Fla- 
mand, so long celebrated for the muWeux of his Ganfres. 

5 Doctor Cotterel recommends, for tliis purpose, the Beau- 
jon or French Mountains, and calls them "line medecine 
aerienne, couleur de rose ; " but I own I prefer the author- 
ity of Mr. Bob, who seems, from the following note found 
In his own handwriting, to have studied all these moun- 
tains very carefully : — 

Mi'mnranda — The Swiss little notice deserves, 
While the fall at lluggieri's is death to weak nerves ; 
And (whate'er Doctor Cott'rel may write on the question) 
The turn at the Beaujon's too sharp for digestion. 
I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in accenting the 
second syllable of Ruggieri. 

« A dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, at the end of 



Once more, then, we saunter forth after our 

snack, or 
Subscribe a few francs for the price of a fiacre. 
And drive far away to the old Montagues Russes, 
Where we find a few tAvirls in the car of much 

use 
To regen'rate the hunger and thirst of us sinners, 
Who've laps'd into snacks — the perdition of 

dinners. 
And here, Dick — in answer to one of your 

queries, 
About which we. Gourmands, have had much 

discussion — 
I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, 

and Ruggieri's, 
And think, for digestion,^ there's none like the 

Russian ; 
So equal the motion — so gentle, though fleet — 
It, in short, such a light and salubrious scam- 
per is. 
That take whom you please — take old L — a 

D — XH — T, 

And stuff" him — ay, up to the neck — ^^•ith 
stew'd lampreys,* 

So wholesome these Mounts, such a solvent I've 
found them. 

That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down 
them. 

The fiend. Indigestion, would fly far away. 

And the regicide lampreys ' be foiled of their 
prey ! 

Such, Dick, are the classical sports that content 
us. 

Till five o'clock brings on that hour so mo- 
mentous,* 

his book, could imagine no more summary mode of getting 
rid of all his heroes and heroines than by a hearty supper 
of stewed lampreys 

^ They killed Henry I. of England: — "a food (says 
Hume, gravely,) which always agreed better with his palate 
than his constitution." 

Ijampreys, indeed, seem to have been always a favorite 
dish with kings — whether from some congeniality lietween 
them and that fish, I know not ; but Dio Cassius tells U3 
that Poliio fattened his lampreys with human blood. St. 
Louis of France was particularly fond of them. — See the 
anecdote of Thomas Aquinas eating up his majef»v"s lam- 
prey, in a note upon Rabelais, liv. iii. chap. 2. 

8 Had Mr. Bob's Dinner Epistle been inserted, I was pre- 
pared with an abundance of learned matter to illustrate it, 
for which, as, indeed, for all my " scientia popinas,"* 1 am 
indebted to a friend in the Dublin University, — whose 
reading formerly lay in the mmric line ; but, in consequence 
of the Provost's enlightennd alarm at such studies, he has 
taken to the authors, " de, re cibaria" instead ; and has left 
Bodin, Remigius, Jljrippa and his little dog Filiolus, lol 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



479 



That epoch — — but woa ! my lad — here comes 

the Schneider, 
And, curse him, has made the stays three inches 

■wider — 
Too wide by an inch and a half — what a Guy ! 
But, no matter — 'twill all be set right by 

and by. 
As we've Massinot's ' eloquent carte to eat still 

up. 
An inch and a half s but a trifle to fill up. 
So — not to lose time, Dick - - here goes for the 

task; 
Au revoir, my old boy — of the Gods I but ask, 
That my life, like " the I-epp of the German," * 

may be, 
" Du lit k la table, de l^ table au lit ! ' 

R. F. 



LFTiTR IX. 

FROM nilL. F'/P'lE, iifft. TO THE LORD VISCOUNT 
C—6C GH. 

JIy Ijord, *h' lr.struc<;ior.s, brought to-day, 
" I shall 'ji a'\ my best obey." 
Your Lordsh'p talks and writes so sensibly . 
And — whatsoe'er some Avags may say — 
O, not at all incomprehensibly. 

I feel th inquiries in your letter 

About my health and French most flattering ; 
Thank ye, my French, though somewhat better. 

Is, on the whole, but weak and smattering: — 
Nothing, of course, that can compare 
AVith his who made the Congress stare 
(A certain Lord we need not name), 

"Who ev'n in French, would have his trope, 
And talk of " bdtir un systeme 

" Sur riqidlibre de I'Europe ! " 
Sweet metaphor ! — and then th' Epistle, 
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle, — 
That tender letter to " Mon Prince," ' 
Which show'd alike thy French and sense ; — 
O no, my Lord — there's none can do 
Or say un-English things like you ; 
And, if the schemes that fill thy breast 

Could but a vent congenial seek, 



^pxcuui, JVomus, and that most learned and savory Jesuit, 
Bulmgcriis. 

1 A ('anions Restaurateur — now Uupont. 

2 An old French saying ; — " Faire le saut de I'Allemand, 
du lit i la tahle et de la table au lit." 

3 Tlie celel.rated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, 
however, I believe, originally in English,) in which hia 
Lordship, professing to see "no moral or political objec- 



And use the tongue that suits them best, 

What charming Turkish wouldst thou speak ! 
But as for me, a Frenchless grub. 

At Congress never born to stammer. 
Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub 

Fall'n Monarchs out of Chambaud's gram- 
mar — 
Bless you, you do not, cannot know 
How far a little French will go ; 
For all one's stock, one need but draw 

On some half dozen words like these — 
Comme fa — par-la — la.-bas — ah ha ! 

They'll take youaU through France with ease. 

Your Lordship's praises of the scraps 

I sent j'ou from my Journal lately, 
(Enveloping a few lac'd caps 

For Lady C), delight me greatly. 
Her flattering speech — " What pretty things 

*' One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages ! " 
Is praise which (as some poet sings) 

Would pay one for the toils of ages. 

Thus flatter' d, I presume to send 
A few more extracts by a friend ; 
And I should hope they'll be no less 
Approv'd of than my last MS. — 
The former ones, I fear, were creas'd. 

As Biddy round the caps icould pin them ; 
But these will come to hand, at least 

Unrumpled, for there's — nothing in them. 



Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed u. 
Lord C. 

Aug. 10. 

Went to the Madhouse — saw the man,* 

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the 
Fiend 
Of Discord here full riot ran. 

He, like the rest, was guillotin'd ; — 
But that when, under Boney's reign, 

(A more discreet, though quite as strong one,) 
The heads were all restor'd again. 

He, in the scramble, got a wroiig one. 
Accordingly, he still cries out 

This strange head fits him most unpleasantly ; 

tion " to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the un- 
fortimate King as "not only the most devoted, but the most 
favored of Bonaparte's vassals." 

< This e.xtranrdinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicefre. 
He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that, when the 
heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, h« 
by mistake got some other person's instead of his own. 



180 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IX PARIS. 



Aiid always runs, poor dev'l, about, 

Inquiring for his own incessantly ! 
While to his case a tear I dropp'd. 

And saunter'd home, thought I — ye Gods 
IIow many heads might thus be swopp'd, 

And, after all, not make much odds ! 
For instance, there's V — s — tt — t's head — 
(" 'I'ara carum " ' it may well be said) 
If by some curious chance it came 

To settle on Bill Soames's * shoulders, 
Th' effect would turn out much the same 

On aU respectable cash holders : 
Except that while, in its new socket. 

The head was planning schemes to van — 
A zigzag way into one's pocket. 

The hands would plunge directhj in. 

Good Viscount S — dm — h, too, instead 
Of his own grave, respected head. 
Might wear (for aught I see that bars) 

Old Lady Wilhelmina Frump's — 
So while the hand sign'd Circulars^ 

The head might lisp out " What is trumps ? 
The R — G — t's brains could we transfer 
To some robust man-milliner, 
The shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon 
Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on ; 
And, vice versA, take the pains 
To give the P — ce the shopman's brains, 
One only change from thence would flow, 
Ribbons would not be wasted so. 

"Twas thus I ponder'd on, my Lord ;^ 

And, ev'n at night, when laid in bed, 
I found myself, before I snor'd, 

Thus chopping, swopping head for head. 
At length I thought, fantastic elf ! 
How such a change would suit myself. 
'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one, 

With various pericraniums saddled. 
At last I tried your Lordship's on, 

And then I grew completely addled — 
Forgot all other heads, od rot 'em ! 
And slept, and dreamt that I was — Bottom. 



1 Tam cari capitis. — Hobat. 

s A celebrated picl<pocket. 

s The only cliange, if I recollect right, is the substitution 
of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, uni- 
versal ; " exitium niisere apibus," like the angry nyinphs in 
Virgil : — but may not new swarms arise out of the victims 
of Legitimacy yet .' 

* I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awk- 
ward accident, which is well known to have happened to 
poor L — s le D — s — e, some years since, at one of the 
R — g — t's Fetes. He was sitting next our gracious (iiieen 
«t the time. 



Aug. 21. 
Walk'd out with daughter Bid — was shown 
The House of Commons, and the Throne, 
Whose velvet cushion's jutt the same^ 
Napoleon sat on — what a shame ! 
O, can we wonder, best of speechers, 

When Louis seated thus we see. 
That France's "fundamental featutes " 

Are much the same they us'd to be ? 
However, — God preserve the Throne, 

And cushion too — and keep them free 
From accidents, which have been known 

To happen ev'n to Royalty ! * 

Aug. 28, 
Read, at a stall (for oft one pops 
On something at these stalls and shops. 
That does to quote, and gives one's Book 
A classical and knowing look. — 
Indeed I've found, in Latin, lately, 
A course of stalls improves me greatly) — 
'Twas thus I read, that, in the East, 

A monarch's/a^'s a serious matter ; 
And once in every year, at least, 

He's weigh'd — to see if he gets fatter : * 
Then, if a pound or two he be 
Incrcas'd, there's quite a jubilee ! ' 
Suppose, my Lord — and far from me 
To treat such things with levity — 
But just suppose the R — g — t's weight 
Were made thus an affair of state ; 
And, ev'ry sessions, at the close, — 

'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is 
Heavy and dull enough, God knows — 

We were to try how heavy he is. 
Much would it glad all hearts to hear 

That, while the Nation's Revenue 
Loses so many pounds a year. 

The P E, God bless him ! gains a few. 

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, 
I see the Easterns weigh their Kings ; — 

But, for the R — g — t, my advice is. 

We should throw in much heavier things : 



6 " The third day of the Feast the King causeth himseb 
to be weighed with great care." — F. Bemier's Voyage to 
Sural, &c. 

6 " I remember," sajs Bernier, " that all the Omrahs ex- 
pressed great joy that the King weighed two pounds more 
now than the year preceding." — Another autlior tells us 
thai "Fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, 
throughout India, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven. 
An enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy 
owner is looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince a 
joulter head is invaluable." — Oriental Field Sports 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



481 



For instance 



's quarto volumes, 



Which, though not spices, serve to -wrap 
them ; 
Dominie St — dd — x's Daily columns, 

"Prodigious!" — in, of course, we'd clap 
them — 
Letters, that C — rtw — t's ' pen indites. 

In which, with logical confusion, 
The Major like a Minor writes. 

And never comes to a Conclusion : — 
Lord S— M — Rs' pamphlet — or his head — 
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead !) 
Along with which we in may whip, sly. 
The Speeches of Sir John C — x H — pp — sly ; 
That Baronet of many words, 
"Who loves so, in the House of Lords, 
To whisper Bishops — and so nigh 

Unto their wigs in whisp'ring goes. 
That you may always know him by 

A patch of powder on his nose ! — 
if this won't do, we in must cram 
The " Reasons " of Lord B — ck — gh — m ; 
(A Book his Lordship means to write. 

Entitled " Reasons for my Ratting : ") 
Or, should these prove too small and light. 

His r p's a host — we'll bundle that in ! 

And, still should all these masses fail 
To stir the R — o — t's ponderous scale. 
Why then, my Lord, in heaven's name. 

Pitch in, without reserve or stint. 
The whole of R — gl — y's beauteous Dame — 

If that won't raise him, devil's in it ! 

Aug. 31. 
Consulted Murphy's Tacitus 

About those famous spies at Rome,* 
"NVhom certain Whigs — to make a fuss — 
Describe as much resembling us,* 

Informing gentlemen, at home. 
But, bless the fools, they can't be serious, 
To say Lord S — dm — th's like Tiberius ! 
What ! he, the Peer, that injures no man, 
Like that severe, bloodthirsty Roman ! — 



1 Majur Cartwright. 

2 Tlie name of the first worthy who set up the trade of 
informer at Rome (to whom our Olivers and Castleses ought 
to erect a statue) was Romanus Hispo; — "qui forniam vitse 
iniit, quam postea celebrem miserice temporum et audacis 
hominum fecerunt." — Tacit. Jinnal. i. 74. 

3 They certainly possessed the same art of instigating 
their victims, which the Report of the Secret Committee at- 
tributes to Lord Sidmouth's agents : — " socius (says Tacitus 
of one of them) libidinum et necessitatum, quo pluribus in- 
diciis intigaret." 

* " Neque tamen id Serene noxse fuit, quern odium publi- 
cum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut quis districtior accusator ve- 
61 



Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to 
All sorts of spies — so doth the Peer, too., 
'Tis ti-ue my Lord's Elect tell fibs, 
And deal in perj'ry — ditto Tib's. 
'Tis true the Tyrant screen'd and hid 
His rogues from justice ^ — ditto Sid. 
'Tis true the Peer is grave and glib 
At mortal speeches — ditto Tib.* 
'Tis true, the feats the Tyrant did 
Were in his dotage — ditto Sid. 

So far, I own, the parallel 

'Twixt Tib and Sid goes vastly well ; 

But there are points in Tib that strike 

My humble mind as much more like 

Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him. 

Of th' India Board — that soul of whim ! 

Like him, Tiberius lov'd his joke,* 

On matters, too, where few can bear one ; 
E. g. a man, cut up, or broke 

Upon the wheel — a devilish fair one ! 
Your common fractures, wounds, and fits. 
Are nothing to such wholesale wits ; 
But, let the sufTrer gasp for life. 

The joke is then worth any money ; 
And, if he writhe beneath a knife, — 

O dear, that's something quite too funny. 
In this respect, my Lord, you see. 
The Roman wag and ours agree : 
Now as to your resemblance — mum — 

This parallel we need not foUow ; ' 
Though 'tis, in Ireland, said by some 

Your Lordship beats Tiberius hollow ; 
Whips, chains — but these are things too serious 

For me to mention or discuss ; 
Whene'er your Lordship acts Tiberius, 

Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitus ! 

Septa 
Was thinking, had Lord S — dm — th got 
Any good decent sort of Plot 
Against the winter time — if not, 
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated ; 
All done up, and spijlicated ! 



lut sacrosanctus erat." — Annal. lib. iv. 3G. — Or, as it N 
translated by Mr. Pudge's friend, Murphy : — " This daring 
accuser had the curses of the people, and the protection, of the 
Emperor. Informers, in proportion as they rose ill guilt, he 
came sacred cluiiacters." 

5 Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches the epi- 
thet " constitutional." Mr. Fudge might have added to his 
parallel, that Tiberius was a good private character : — 
" egregium vita famSlque quoad privatus." 

6 " Ludibria seriis permisceie solitus." 

' There is one point of resemblance between Tiberius 
and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge miglit have mentiunod— 
" sv^pcnsa semper et obscura verba." 



(82 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



^linisters and all their vassals, 

Down from C — tl gh to Castles, — 

Unless we can kick up a riot. 

Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet ! 

What's to be done ? — Spa-Fields was clever ; 

But even that brought gibes and mockings 
Upon our heads — so, mem. — must never 

Keep ammunition in old stockings ; 
For fear some wag should in his curs'd head 
Take it to say our force was worsted. 
Mem. too — when Sid an army raises, 
It must not be " incog." like Bayes's : 
Nor must the General be a hobbling 
Professor of the art of cobbling; 
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns, 

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, 
He felt, from soling Wellmgtons,'^ 

A Wellington s great soul within ! 
Nor must an old Apothecary 

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence. 
With (what these wags would call, so merry,) 

Physical force and phial-cnce ! 
No — no — our Plot, my Lord, must be 
Next time contriv'd more skilfully. 
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing 
So troublesomely sharp and knowing. 
So wise — in short, so Jacobin — 
'Tis monstrous hard to take him in. 

Sept. 6. 
Heard of the fate of our Ambassador 

In China, and was sorely nettled ; 
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it 
o'er 

Till all this matter's fairly settled ; 
And here's the mode occurs to me : — 
As none of our Nobility, 
Though for their own most gracious King 
(They would kiss hands, or — any thing), 
Can be persuaded to go through 
Tliis farce-like trick of the Ko-fou ; 
And as these Mandarins imn't bend, 

Without some mumming exhibition. 
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send 

Grimaldi to them on a mission : 
As Legate, Jok could play his part, 
And if, in diplomatic art. 
The " volto sciolto " * 's meritorious, 
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious ! 



1 Short boots, so called. 

2 The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chester- 
field. 

s Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was not Gri- 
maldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this 
part of " Lord Morley " in the pantomime, — so much to 



A title for him's easily made ; 

And, by the by, one Christmas time, 
If I remember right, he play'd 

Lord Morley in some pantomime ; '- - 
As Earl of M — rl — y then gazette him, 
If t'other Earl of M— rl— Y '11 let him, 
(And why should not the world be blest 
With two such stars, for East and West?) 
Then, when before the Yellow Screen 

He's brought — and sure, the very essence 
Of etiquette w-ould be that scene 

Of Joe in the Celestial Presence ! 
He thus should say : — " Duke Ho and Soo, 
" I'll play what tricks you please for you, 
" K you'll, in turn, but do for me 
" A few small tricks you now shall see. 
" If I consult your Emperor's liking, 
" At least you'll do the same for mu King." 
He then should give them nine such grins, 
As would astound ev'n Mandarins ; 
And throw such somersets before 

The picture of King George (God bless him!) 
As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er. 

Would, by Confucius, much distress him ! 

I start this merely as a hint, 
But think you'll find some wisdom in't ; 
And, should you follow up the job. 
My son, my Lord (you know poor Bob), 
Would in the suite be glad to go 
And help his Excellency, Joe ; — 
At least, like noble Amh — kst's son, 
The lad will do to practise on.* 



LETTER X. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOEOTHY . 

Well, it is7i't the King', after all, my dear crea- 
ture ! 
But don't you go laugh, now — there's n-ihing 
to quiz in't — 
For grandeur of air and for grimness of rer^xure, 
He might be a King, Doll, though, hang him, 
he isn't. 
At first, I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own, 
If for no other cause but to vex Miss Malone, — 



the horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The ex- 
postulatory letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H — rr — s, upon 
this vulgar profanation of his spick-and-span new title, wil] 
I trust, some time or other, be given to the world. 
4 See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy. 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



483 



(The great heiross, you know, of Shandangan, 

who's here, 
Showing off with such airs, and a real Cashmere,' 
While mine's but a paltry, old rabbit skin, dear !) 
Put Pa says, on deeply consid'ring the thing, 
«' I am just as well pleas'd it should iwt be the 

King; 
•' As I think for my Biddt, so gentille and jolie, 
" Whose charms may their price in an honest 

way fetch, 
*' That a Brandenburgh " — (what is a Branden- 

burgh, Dolly ?) — 

" W^ould be, after all, no such very great catch. 

" If the R— Q — T indeed," added he, looking sly — 

(You remember that comical squint of his eye) 

But I stopp'd him with "La, Pa, how caw you 

say so, 
'< When the R — g — t loves none but old women, 

you know ! " 
WHiich is fact, my dear Dolly — we, girls of 

eighteen, 
And so slim — Lord, he'd think us not fit to be 

seen ; 
And would like us much better as old — ay, 

as old 
As that Countess of Desmond, of whom I've 

been told 
That she liv'd to much more than a hundred 

and ten, 
And was kill'd by a faU from a cherry tree then ! 
What a frisky old girl ! but — to come to my 

lover, 
Who, though not a King, is a hero I'll swear, — 
Y'ou shall hear all that's happen' d, just briefly 

run over. 
Since that happj' night, when we whisk'd 

through the air ! 

Let me see — 'twas on Saturday — yes, Dolly, 
yes — 
From that evening I date the first dawn of my 
bliss ; 

1 See Lady Morgan's "France" for the anecdote, told 
her by Madame de Genlis, of the young gentleman whose 
iove was cured by finding that his mistress wore a shawl 
■* peau de lapin." 

2 Tlie cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly by a 
chain. 

s Mr. Bob need not be ashamed of his cookery jokes, 
when be is kept in countenance by such men as Cicero, St. 
.ixiirastinc, and that jovial bishop, Venanlius Furtvnatus, 
Tlid pun of the great orator upon the "jus Verrinum," 
which he calls bad hog broth, from a play upon both the 
words, is well known ; and the Saint's puns upon the con- 
version of Lot's wife into salt are equally ingenious: — " In 
salem cnnversa noniinibus fidelibus quoddam prcestilit con- 
dimcntiim, quo sapiant aliquid, unde illud caveatur exem- 



When we both rattled off in that dear little 

carriage. 
Whose journey. Bob says, is so like Love and 

Marriage, 
" Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly 
" And ending as dull as a six -inside Dilly ! " * 
Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the night 

through ; 
And, next day, having scribbled my letter to 

3'ou, 
With a heart fuE of hope this sweet fellow to 

meet, 
I set out with Papa, to see Louis Dix-huit 
Make his bow to some half dozen women and 

boys, 
Who get up a small concert of shrill Vive le 

Rots — 
And how vastly genteeler, my dear, even this 

is. 
Than vulgar Pall Mall's oratorio of hisses ! 
The gardens seem'd full — so, of course, we 

walli'd o'er 'era, 
'Mong orange trees, clipp'd into town-bred de- 
corum. 
And daphnes, and vases, and many a statue 
There staring, with not ev'n a stitch on them, 

at you ! 
The ponds, too, we view'd — stood a while on 

the brink 
To contemplate the play of those pretty gold 

fishes — 
"Live bullion," says merciless Bob, " which, I 

think, 
" Would, if coiti'd, with a little mint sauce, be 

delicious ! " •* 

But what, Dolly, what, is the gay orange 

grove. 
Or gold fishes, to her that's in search of her love ? 
In vain did I wildly explore every chair 
Where a thing like a man was — no lover sate 

there ! 

plum."— De Civitat. Dei, lib. xvi. cap. 30. — The jokes of 
the pious favorite of Queen Radagunda, the convivial Bish- 
op Venantius, may be found among his poems, in some lines 
against a cook who had robbed him. The following '.s sim- 
ilar to Cicero's pun : — 

Phis juscella Coci quam men jura valent. 

See his poems, Corpus Puctar. Latin, tom. ii. p. 1732. — 
Of the same kind was Montmaur's joke, when a dish was 
split over him — " sununum jus, summa injuria ; " and the 
same celebrated parasite, in ordering a sole to be placed be- 
fore him, said, — 

Eligi cni dicas, tu mihi sola places. 

The reader may likewise see, among a good deal of kit- 
chen erudition, the learned Lipsiits's jokes on cutting uj> t 
capon in his Saturnal. Sermon, lib. ii. cap. 2. 



484 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast 

At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs that went 

past, 
To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that curl, — 
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl, 
As the lock that, Pa says,' is to Musselmen giv'n. 
For the angel to hold by that "lugs them to 

heaven ! " 
Alas, there went by me full many a quiz, 
And mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his ! 
Disappointed, I found myself sighing out " weU- 

aday," — 
Thought of the words of T — m M — re's Irish 

Melody, 
6omething about the "green spot of delight" ' 
Which, you know. Captain Mackintosh sung 
to us one day) : 
Ah Dolly, my " spot " was that Saturday night. 
And its verdure, how fleeting, had wither'd 
by Sunday ! 
We din'd at a tavern — La, what do I say ? 

If Bob was to know ! — a Restaurateur's, dear ; 
Where your propei-est ladies go dine every day. 
And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, 
like beer. 
Fine Bob (for he's really grown super^ne) 
Condescended, for once, to make one of the 
party ; 
Of course, though but three, we had dinner for 
nine. 
And in spite of my grief, love, I own I eat 
hearty. 
Indeed, Doll, I know not how 'tis, but, in grief, 
I have always found eating a w^ondrous relief ; 
And Bob, who's in love, said he felt the same, 
quite — 
" My sighs," said he, " ceas'd with the first 
glass I drank you ; 
•The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs made 
me light, 
"And — now that all's o'er — why, I'm — 
pretty well, thank you ! " 

1 For this scrap of knowledge " Pa " was, I suspect, in- 
debted to a note upon Volney's Ruins ; a book which usual- 
ly forms part of a Jacobin's library, and with wliich Mr. 
Fudge must have been well acquainted at the lime when 
he wrote his "Down with Kings," &c. Tlie note in Vol- 
ney is as follows : — " It is by this tuft of hair (on the crown 
of the head), worn by the majority of INlussulmans, that tne 
Angel of the Tomb is to take the elect and carry them to 
Paradise." 

2 The young lady, whose memory is not very correct, 
must allude, I think, to the following lines : — 

O that fairy form is ne'or forgot. 

Which First Love traced ; 
Still it ling'ring haunts the greenest spot 

On Memory's waste ! 



To 7ny great annoyance, we sat rather late ; 
For Bobby and Pa had a furious debate 
About singing and cookery — Bobby, of course, 
Standing up for the latter Fine Art in fml force ; ' 
And Pa saying, " God only knows which is 

worst, 
" The French Singers or Cooks, but I wish us 

well over it — 
" What with old LaKs and ViSry, I'm curs'd 
" If my head or my stomach will ever recover 

it!" 

'Twas dark, when we got to the Boulevards to 
stroll. 
And in vain did I look 'mong the street Mac- 
aronis, 
When, sudden it struck me — last hope of my 
soul — 
That some angel might take the dear man to 

TORTONI'S ! * 

W^e enter' d, — and, scarcely had Bob, with an 
air, 
For a grappe d la jardiniere call'd to the wait- 
ers, 

When, O Doll ! I saw him — my hero was there 
(For I knew his white small clothes and brown 
leather gaiters), 

A group of fair statues from Greece smiling o'er 
him,* 

And lots of red currant juice sparkling before 
him ! 

O Dolly, these heroes — what creatures they 
are ; 
In the boudoir the same as in fields full of 
slaughter ! 

As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car. 

As when safe at Tortoni's, o'er ic'd currant 
water ! 

He join'd us — imagine, dear creature, my ec- 
stasy — 

Join'd by the man I'd have broken ten necks to 



3 Cookery has been dignified by the researches of a Bacon; 
(see his JVatural History, Receipts, &c.) and takes its station 
as one of tlie Fine Arts in the following passage of Mr. Dur- 
gald Stewart: — "Agreeably to this view of the subject, 
sweet may be said to be intrinsically pleasing, and bitter to 
be relatively pleasing ; wliich both are, in many cases, 
equally essential to those effects, which, in the art of cook- 
ery, correspond to that composite beauty, which it is the ob- 
ject of the painter and of the poet to create." — Philosophicd 
Essays. 

* A fashionable cafe glacier on the Italian Boulevards. 

6 " You eat your ice at Tortoni's," says Ml. Scott, " an 
der a Grecian group." 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN TARIS. 



KoB wishi'd to treat him with Punch d la glace, 
But the sweet fellow swore that my beautd, my 

grace, 
And my je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whiskers he 

twirl'd) 
Were, to him, " on de top of all Ponch in de 

vorld." — 
How pretty ! — though oft (as, of course, it must 

be) 
Both his French and his English are Greek, 

Doll, to mo. 
But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond heart 

did; 
And happier still, when 'twas fix'd, ere we parted, 
That, if the next day should be pastoral weather. 
We all would set off, in French buggies, together, 
To see Montmorencij — that place which, you 

know, 
Is so famous for cherries and Jean Jacques 

Rousseau. 
His card then he gave us — the name, rather 

creas'd — 
But 'twas Calicot — something — a Colonel, at 

least ! 
After which — sure there never was hero so 

civil — he 
Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli, 
Where his last words, as, at parting, he threw 
A soft look o'er his shoulders, were — ♦' How 

do you do ! " ' 

But, lord, — there's Papa for the post — I'm so 

vex'd — 
Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next. 
That dear Sunday night ! — I was charmingly 

dress'd. 
And — so providential ! — was looking my best ; 
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce — 

and my frills, 
You've no notion how rich — (though Pa has 

by the bills) 
And you'd smile had you seen, when we sat 

rather near. 
Colonel Calicot eying the cambric, my dear. 
Then the flow'rs ia my bonnet — but, la, it's in 

vain — 
So, good by, my sweet Doll — I shall soon 

write again. B. F. 

Nota be^ie — our love to all neighbors about — 
Your Papa in particular — how is his gout ? 



Not an unusual mistake with foreigners. 
See ^lian, lib. v. cap. 29 — who tells us that these 
se, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always 



P. S. — I've just open'd my letter to say, 

In your next you must tell me, (now do, Dolly, 

pray, 
For I hate to ask Bob, he's so ready to quiz,) 
What sort of a thing, dear, a Brandmburgli. is 

LETTER XI. 

FROM PHELIM CONNOK TO . 

Yes, 'twas a cause, as noble and as great 

As ever hero died to vindicate — 

A Nation's right to speak a Nation's voice. 

And own no power but of the Nation's choice \ 

Such was the grand, the glorious cause that now 

Hung trembling on Napoleon's single brow ; 

Such the sublime arbitrament, that pour'd, 

In patriot eyes, a light around his sword, 

A hallowing light, which never, since the day 

Of his young victories, had illum'd its way ! 

O 'twas not then the time for tame debates, 
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your 

gates ; 
When he, who late had fled your Chieftain's ej-e, 
As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus fly,* 
Denounc'd against the land, that spurn'd his 

chain, 
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again — 
Myriads of fierce invading swords, to track 
Through your best blood his path of A'engeance 

back ; 
When Europe's Kings, that never yet combin'd 
But (like those upper Stars, that, when conjoin'd. 
Shed war and pestilence,) to scourge mankind. 
Gather' d around, with hosts from every shore, 
Hating Napoleon much, but Freedom more, 
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see 
The world yet left one chance for liberty ! — 
No, 'twas not then the time to weave a net 
Of bondage round your Chief; to curb and fret 
Your veteran war horse, pawing for the fight. 
When every hope was in his speed and might — 
To waste the hour of action in dispute, 
And coolly plan how freedom's boughs should 

shoot, 
When your Invader's axe was at the root ! 
No, sacred Liberty I that God, who throws. 
Thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows 
How well I love thee, and how deeply hate 
All tyrants, upstart and Legitimate — 



cross Mount Taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent 
any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles — 
(JiurrCToiTui o-icoTrcoi/Ttj. 



4i>6 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



Yet, in that hour, were France my native land, 
I -svoulcl have follow'd, with quick heart and 

hand, 
Napolfon. Nero — ay, no matter whom — 
To snatch my country from that damning doom, 
That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd 

waits — 
A Conqueror's satrap, thron'd within her gates ! 



True, he was false — despotic — all you please — 
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties — 
Had, by a genius, form'd for nobler things 
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar Kings, 
But rais'd the hopes of men — as eaglets fly 
With tortoises aloft into the sky — 
To dash them down again more shatteringly ! 
All this I own — but still ' * * * 



LETTER XII. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY . 

At last, Dolly, — thanks to a potent emetic, 
"Which Bobby and Pa, with grimace sympa- 
thetic. 
Have swallow'd this morning, to balance the 

bliss, 
Of an eel niatehte and bisque d' icrevisses — 
I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down 
To describe you our heavenly trip out of town. 
How agog you must be for this letter, my dear ! 
Lady Jane, in the novel, less languish'd to hear 
If that elegant cornet she met at Lord Nev- 
ille's 
"Was actually dying with love or — blue devils. 
But Love, Dolly, Love is the theme /pursue; 
With Blue Devils, thank heav'n, I have noth- 
ing to do — 
Except, indeed, dear Colonel Calicot spies 
Any imps of that color in certain blue eyes, 
vVhich he stares at till /, Doll, at his do the 

same ; 
Then he simpers — I blush — and would often 

exclaim. 
If I knew but the French for it, " Lord, Sir, for 
shame ! " 

Well, the morning was lovely — the trees in 
full dress 
Fol the happy occasion — the sunshine express, 

1 Somebody (Fonfenelle, I believe,) has said, that if he 
had his hand full of truths, he would open but one finger at 
a time ; and the same sort of reserve I find to be necessary 
with respec/ to Mi Connor's very plain-spoken letters. The 



Had we ordered it, dear, of the best poet going, 
It scarce could be furnish' d more golden and 

glowing. 
Though late when we started, the scent of the 

air 
Was like GATfiE's rose water, — and, bright, 

here and there, 
On the grass an odd dewdrop was glittering 

yet. 
Like my aunt's diamond pin on Iter green tab- 

binct ! 
While the birds seera'd to warble as blest on 

the boughs, 
As if each a pluin'd Calicot had for her spouse ; 
And the grapes were all blushing and kissing 

in rows. 
And — in short, need I tell you, wherever one 

goes 
With the creature one loves, 'tis all couleur de 

rose ; 
And, ah, I shall ne'er, liv'd I ever so long, see 
A day such as that at divine Montmorency ! 

There was but one drawback — at first when we 

started. 
The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted ; 
How cruel — young hearts of such moments to 

rob! 
He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with Bob ; 
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know 
That Papa and his comrade agreed but so so. 
For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of Bo- 

ney's — 
Served with him of course — nay, I'm sure they 

were cronies. 
So martial his features! dear Doll, you can 

trace 
Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face 
As you do on that pillar of glory and brass,' 
Which the poor Due de B — ui must hate so to 

pass ! 
It appears, too, he made — as most foreigners 

do- 
About English aflFairs an odd blunder or too. 
For example — misled by the names, I dare say. 
He confounded Jack Castles with Lord C — 

— GH ; 
And — sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever 

on — 
Fancied the present Lord C — md — n the clever 

one ! 

remainder of this Epistle is so full of unsafe mattcrof-fact, 
that it must, for the present at least, be withheld frum the 
public. 
2 The column in the Place Vendomft. 



THE FUDGE f AMILY IN PAHIS. 



487 



But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's 

trade ; 
'Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was 

made. 
And, O, had you heard, as together we walk'd 
Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he 

talk'd ; 
And how perfectly well he appear'd, Doll, to 

know 
AU the life and adventures of Jean jAcauES 

Rousseau ! — 
"'Twas there," said he — not that his words I 

can state — 
'Twas a gibb'rish that Cupid alone could trans- 
late ; — 
But " there," said he, (pointing where, small 

and remote, 
The dear Hermitage rose,) *' there his Julie he 

wrote, — 
" Upon paper gilt edg'd,' without blot or era- 
sure ; 
" Then sanded it over with silver and azure, 
" And — O, what will genius and fancy not 

do? 
" Tied the leaves up together with nompareille 

blue ! " 
What a trait of Rousseau ! what a crowd of 

emotions 
From sand and blue ribbons are conjur'd up 

here ! 
Alas, that a man of such exquisite "^ notions 
Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, 

my dear ! 

" 'Twas here, too, perhaps," Colonel Calicot 
said — 
As down the small garden he pensively led — 
(Though once I could see his sublime forehead 

wrinkle 
With rage not to find there the lov'd peri- 
winkle) ' 



1 " Employant pour cela le plus beau papier doie, sechaiit 
I'ecriture avec Ue la poiidre d'aziir et d'argent, et cousant 
nies cahiers avec de la nompareille bleue." — Les Confes- 
sions, part ii. liv. 9. 

2 This word, " exquisite," is evidently a favorite of Miss 
Fudiie's ; and I understand she was not a little angry when 
lier brother Bob committed a pun on the last two syllables 
of it in the following couplet: — 

" I'd fain praise your Poem — b U tell me, how is it 
When / cry out " Exquisite," Echo cries quh it ? " 

3 The flower which Rousseau brought into such fashion 
among the Parisians, by exclaiming one day, " Ah, voili de 
la pervenche I " 

* " J\fi>n o«r^-, voili votre asyle — et vous, mon ours, ne 
.■icridrez vov s pas <t\issi ? " — &.c. &,c. 



" 'Twas here he receiv'd from the fair D'Eitnay 
" Who call'd him so sweetly her Bear,* every 

day,) 
" That dear flannel petticoat, pull'd off to 

form 
" A waistcoat, to keep the enthusiast warm ! " * 

Such, Doll, were the sweet recollections we 

pondcr'd, 
As, full of romance, through that valley we 

wander'd. 
The flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is !) 
Led us to talk about other commodities. 
Cambric, and silk, and — I ne'er shall forget, 
For the sun was then hast'ning in pomp to its 

set. 
And full on the Colonel's dark whiskers shone 

down. 
When he ask'd me, with eagerness, — who 

made my gown ? 
The question confus'd me — for, Doll, you must 

know, 
And I ouffht to have told my best friend long 

ago, 
That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer em- 
ploy « 
That enchanting couturiire, Madame le Roi ; 
But am forc'd now to have Victokine, who — 

deuse take her ! — 
It seems is, at present, the King's mantua maker, 
I mean of his party — and, though much the 

smartest, 
Le Roi is condemn'd as a rank BonapartistJ 
Think, Doll, how confounded I look'd — so 

well knowing 
The Colonel's opinions — my cheeks were quite 

glowing ; 
I stammer'd out something — nay, even half 

nam'd 
The legitimate seamstress, when, loud, he ex- 
claim' d, 



6 " Un jour, qu'il geloit trfes fort, en ouvrant un paqiiet 
qu'elle m'envoyoit, je trouvai un petit jupon de flaneile 
d'Angleterre, qu'elle me marquoit avoir porte, et dont elle 
vouloit que je me fisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'anii 
cal, me parut si tendre, comme si elle se fit depouillee [icnr 
me vetir, que, dans mon emotion, je baisai vingt fois en 
pleurant le billet et le jupon." 

« Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciation may bo 
perceived in the rhymes which she always selects for " Le 
Roi." 

1 Le Roi, who was the Couturiire of the Empress Maria 
Louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is suc- 
ceeded in her station by the Royalist mantua maker. Vic 

TORIM£. 



488 



THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 



" Yes, yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to be seen 

" It was made by that Bourbonite b h, Vic- 

TORINE ! " 
V\liat a word for a hero ! — but heroes will err. 
And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things just as 

they were. 
Besides, though the word on good manners in- 
trench, 
I assure you 'tis not half so shocking in French. 

But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon 

pass'd away, 
And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that 

day. 
The thoughts that arise, when such dear fellows 

woo us, — 
The nothings that then, love, are every thing to 

us — 
That quick correspondence of glances and sighs. 
And what Bob calls the " Twopenny post of 

the Eyes " — 
Ah, Doll ! though I hioio you've a heart, 'tis 

in vain 
To a heart so unpractis'd these things to explain. 
They can only be felt, in their fulness divine. 
By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline. 
Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like 

mine! 

But here I must finish — for Bob, my dear 
Dolly, 
Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy, 
Is seiz'd with a fancy for churchyard reflections ; 
And, full of all yesterday's rich recollections. 
Is just setting off for Montmartre — " for there is," 
Said he, looking solemn, " the tomb of the Ve- 

KYS ! ' 
" Long, long have I wish'd, as a votary true, 
" O'er the grave of such talents to utter my 
moans ; 
" And, to-day — as my stomach is not in good 
cue 
" For the flesh of the Verts — I'll visit their 
hones ! " 
He insists upon mg going with him — how 
teasing ! 
This letter, however, dear Dolly, shall lie 
Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleas- 
ing 
Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you — good 
by. B. F. 



1 It is the brother of the present excellent Restaurateur 
who lies intombed so magnificently in tlie Cimetiere Mont- 
martre. The inscription on the column at the head of the 



Four o'clock. 
O, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruin'd forever — 
I ne'er shall be happy again, Dolly, never ! 
To think of the wretch — what a victim was I ! 
'Tis too much to endure — I shall die, I shall 

die — 
My brain's in a fever — my pulses beat quick — 
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick ! 
O, what do you think ? after all my romancing. 
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, 
This Colonel — I scarce can commit it to paper. 
This Colonel's no more than a vile liner 

draper ! 
'Tis true as I live — I had coax'd brother Bob so, 
(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I 

sob so,) 
For some little gift on my birthday — Septem- 
ber 
The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remem- 
ber — 
That Bob to a shop kindly order'd the coach, 
(Ah, little I thought who the shopman would 

prove,) 
To bespeak me a few of those ^nouchoirs depoche. 
Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, 

my love — 
(The most beautiful things — two Napoleons 

the price — 
And one's name in the corner embroider'd so 

nice !) 
Well, with heart fuU of pleasure, I enter' d the 

shop. 
But — ye Gods, what a phantom ! — I thought 

I should drop — 
There he stood, my dear Dolly — no room for 

a doubt — 
There, behind the vile counter, these eyes 

saw him stand. 
With a piece of French cambric, before him 

roll'd out. 
And that horrid yard measure uprais'd in his 

hand ! 
O — Papa, all along, knew the secret, 'tis clear, 
'Twas a shopman he meant by a " Brandenburg,' 

dear ! 
The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King, 
And, when that too delightful illusion was 

past. 
As a hero had worshipp'd — vile, treacherous 

thing — 
To turn out but a low linen draper at last ! 



tomb concludes with the following words : — " 'loute sa vie 
fut consacree aux arts utiles." 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



489 



My head swam around — the wretch srail'd, I 

believe, 
But his smiling, alas, could no longer deceive — 
I fell back on Bob — my whole heart seem'd to 

wither — 
And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither ! 
I only remember that Bob, as I caught him. 
With cruel facetiousness said, " Curse the 

Kiddy ! 
" A stanch Revolutionist always I've thought 

him, 
" But now I find out he's a Counter one, 

Biddy ! " 

Only think, my dear creature, if this should 
be known 
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss Malone ! 
What a story 'twill be at Shandangan forever ! 
What laughs and what quizzing she'll have 
with the men ! 



It will spread through the country — and never, 

O, never 
Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again ! 
Farewell — I shall do something desp'rate, I 

fear — 
And, ah ! if my fate ever reaches your ear. 
One tear of compassion my Doll will not 

grudge 
To her poor — broken-hearted — young friend, 
Biddy Fudge. 



Nota bene — I am sure you will hear, with de- 
light, 

That we're going, all three, to see Brunei to- 
night. 

A laugh will revive me — and kind Mr. 
Cox 

(Do you know him ?) has got us the Governor's 
box. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE 



Eripe. 



Tu Regibus alas 

Virgil, Oeorg. lib. iv. 

Clip the wings 

Of these high-flying, arbitrary Kings. 

Dryden's Translation. 



DEDICATION 



TO LORD BYRON, 



Dear Lord Byron, 

Though this Volume should possess no 
ether merit in your eyes, than that of remind- 
ii g you of the short time we passed together at 
Venice, when some of the trifles which it con- 
tains were written, you will, I am sure, receive 
the dedication of it with pleasure, and believe 
that I am, 

My dear Lord, 

Ever faithfully yours, 
T. B. 



PREFACE. 

Though it was the wish of the Members of 
the Poco-curante Society (who have lately done 
me the honor of electing me their Secretary) 



that I should prefix my name to the following 
Miscellany, it is but fair to them and to myself 
to state, that, except in the " painful preemi- 
nence " of being employed to transcribe their 
lucubrations, my claim to such a distinction in 
the title page is not greater than that of any 
other gentleman, who has contributed his share 
to the contents of the volume. 

I had originally intended to take this oppor- 
tunity of giving some account of the origin and 
objects of our Institution, the names and char- 
acters of the different members, &c. &c. — but, 
as I am at present preparing for the press the 
First Volume of the " Transactions of the Poco- 
curante Society," I shall reserve for that occa- 
sion all further details upon the subject ; and 
content myself here with referring, for a gen- 
eral insight into our tenets, to a Song which 
will be found at the end of this work, and 



490 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



which is sung to us on the first day of every 
month, by one of our oldest members, to the 
tune of (as far as I can recollect, being no 
musician,) either " Nancy Dawson " or " He 
stole away the Bacon." 

It may be as well also to state, for the in- 
formation of those critics, who attack with the 
hope of being answered, and of being, thereby, 
brought into notice, that it is the rule of this 
Society to return no other answer to such as- 
sailants, than is contained in the three words 
" Non curat Hippoclides," (meaning, in Eng- 
lish, " Hippoclides does not care a fig,") which 
were spoken two thousand years ago by the 
first founder of Poco-curantism, and have ever 
since been adopted as the leading dictum of 
the sect. 

THOMAS BROWN. 



FABLE I. 



THE UISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 
A DREAM. 

I've had a dream that bodes no good 
Unto the Holy Brotherhood. 
I may be wrong, but I confess — 

As far as it is right or lawful 
For one, no conjurer, to guess — 

It seems to me extremely awful. 

Methought, upon the Neva's flood 

A beautiful Ice Palace stood, 

A dome of frostwork, on the plan 

Of that once built by Empress Anne," 

Which shone by moonlight — as the tale is - 

Like an Aurora Borealis. 

In this said Palace, furnish' d all 

And lighted as the best on land are, 
I dreamt there was a splendid Ball, 

Giv'n by the Emperor Alexander, 
To entertain with all due zeal. 

Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a 
Regard so kind for Europe's weal. 

At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona. 



1 " It is well known that the Empress Anne built a pal- 
ace of ice on the Neva, in 1740, which was fifty-two feet in 



The thought was happy — and design'd 
To hint how thus the human Mind 
May, like the stream imprison'd there, 
Be check'd and chill'd, till it can bear 
The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet 
E'er yet beprais'd to dance upon it. 

And all were pleas'd, and cold, and stately, 

Shivering in grand illumination — 
Admir'd the superstructure greatly, 

Nor gave one thought to the foundation. 
Much too the Czar himself exulted, 

To all plebeian fears a stranger. 
For, Madame Krudener, when consulted, 

Had pledg'd her word there was no danger. 
So, on he caper 'd, fearless quite. 

Thinking himself extremely clever, 
And waltz'd away with all his might. 

As if the Frost would last forever. 

Just fancy how a bard like me. 

Who reverence monarchs, must have trem- 
bled 
To see that goodly company, 

At such a tickUsh sport assembled. 

Nor were the fears, that thus astounded 
My loyal soul, at all unfounded — 
For, lo ! ere long, those walls so massy 

Were seiz'd with an ill-omen'd dripping. 
And o'er the floors, now growing glassy. 

Their Holinesses took to slipping. 
The Czar, half through a Polonaise, 

Could scarce get on for downright stumbling ; 
And Prussia, though to slippery ways 

Well us'd, was cursedly near tumbling. 

Yet still 'twas, ivfio could stamp the floor most, 
Russia and Austria 'mong the foremost, — 
And now, to an Italian air, 

This precious brace would, hand in hand, go ; 
Now — while old Louis, from his chair. 
Entreated them his toes to spare — 

Call'd loudly out for a Fandango. 

And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, 
At which they all set to, like mad ! 
Never were Kings (though small th' expense ii 
Of wit among their Excellencies) 
So out of all their princely senses. 
But, ah, that dance — that Spanish dance — 
Scarce was the luckless strain begun. 



length, and when illuminated had a surprising effect,"- 

PlNKERTON. 



FABLES FOR THE 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 491 


When, glaring red, as 'twere a glance 


Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, aU were gone — 


Shot from an angry Southern sun, 


And nothing now was seen or heard 


A. light through all the chambers flam'd, 


But the bright river, rushing on. 


Astonishing old Father Frost, 


Happy as an enfranchis'd bird. 


Who, bursting into tears, exclaim' d. 


And prouder of that natural ray. 


"A thaw, by Jove — we're lost, we're lost ! 


Shining along its chainless way — 


•' Run, France — a second ]Vaterloo 


More proudly happy thus to glide 


" Is come to drown jou—sauve qui peut ! " 


In simple grandeur to the sea, 




Than when, in sparkling fetters tied. 


Why, why will monarchs caper so 


'Twas deck'd with aU that kingly pride 


In palaces without foundations ? — 


Could bring to light its slavery ! 


Instantly all was in a flow. 




Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations — 


Such is my dream — and, I confess. 


Those Royal Arms, that look'd so nice, 


I tremble at its awfulness. 


Cut out in the resplendent ice — 


That Spanish Dance — that southern beam — 


Those Eagles, handsomely provided 


But I say nothing — there's my dream — 


With double heads for double dealings — 


And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet, 


How fast the globes and sceptres glided 


May make just what she pleases of it. 


Out of their claws on all the ceilings ! 




Proud Prussia's double bird of prey 




Tame as a spatch cock, slunk away ; 


FABLE II. 


While — just like France herself, when she 




Proclaims how great her naval skill is — 


THE LOOKING GLASSES. 


Poor Louis' drowning fleurs-de-lis 




Imagin'd themselves water lilies. 


PROEM. 




Where Kings have been by mob elections 


And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, 


Rais'd to the throne, 'tis strange to see 


But — still more fatal execution — 


What diff"erent and what odd perfections 


Che Great Legitimates themselves 


Men have requir'd in Royalty. 


Seem'd in a state of dissolution. 


Some, liking monarchs large and plumpy, 


Th' indignant Czar — when just about 


Have chos'n their Sovereigns by the weight ; — 


To issue a sublime Ukase, 


Some wish'd them tall, some thought youi 


'< Whereas all light must be kept out " — 


dumpy. 


Dissolv'd to nothing in its blaze. 


Dutch-built, the true Legitimate.' 


Next Prussia took his turn to melt, 


The Easterns in a Prince, 'tis said. 


And, while his lips illustrious felt 


Prefer what's call'd a jolter head : "■' 


The influence of this southern air, 


Th' Egyptians wer'n't at all partic'lar. 


Some word, like " Constitution " — long 


So that their Kings had not red hair — 


Congeal' d in frosty silence there — 


This fault not ev'n the greatest stickler 


Came slowly thawing from his tongue. 


For the blood royal well could bear. 


While Louis, lapsing by degrees, 


A thousand more such illustrations 


And sighing out a faint adieu 


Might be adduc'd from various nations. 


To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese 


But, 'mong the many tales they tell us. 


And smoking fondus, quickly grew, 


Touching th' acquir'd or natural right 


Himself, into a/o7idu too ; — 


Which some men have to rule their fellows. 


Or like that goodly King they make 


There's one, which I shall here recite : — 


Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake. 




When, in some urchin's mouth, alas. 


FABLE. 


It melts into a shapeless mass ! 


There was a land — to name the place 




Is neither now my wish nor duty — 


In short, I scarce could count a minute, 


Where reign'd a certain Royal race, 


Ere the bright dome, and all within it, 


By right of their superior beauty. 


1 The Goths had a law to choose always a short, thick 


» " In a Prince a jolter head is invaluable." — OrietUa. 


man for their King — Munster, Cusmog. lib. iii. p. 164. 


Field Sports. 



iy2 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLMNCE. 



What WES the cut legitimate 

Of these great persons' chins and noses, 
By right of which they rul'd the state, 

No history I have seen discloses. 

But so it was — a settled case — 

Some Act of Parliament, pass'd snugly, 

Had voted them a beauteous race, 
And all th.eir faithful subjects ugly. 

As rank, indeed, stood high or low, 
Some change it made in visual organs ; 

Your Peers were decent — Knights, so so — 
But all your com»w)i people, gorgons ! 

Of course, if any knave but hinted 
That the King's nose was turn'd awry. 

Or that the Queen (God bless her ! ) squinted — 
The judges doom'd that knave to die. 

But rarely things like this occurr'd. 
The people to their King were duteous. 

And took it, on his Royal word, 

That they were frights, and He was beau- 
teous. 

The cause whereof, among all classes. 
Was simply this — these island elves 

Had never yet seen looking glasses. 

And, therefore, did not knoio themselves. 

Sometimes, indeed, their neighbors' faces 
Might strike them as more full of reason. 

More fresh than those in certain places — 
But, Lord, the very thought was treason ! 

Besides, howe'er we love our neighbor. 
And take his face's part, 'tis known 

We ne'er so much in earnest labor. 
As when the face attack'd's our own. 

So, on they went — the crowd believing — 
;As crowds well govern'd always do) 

Iheit rulers, too, themselves deceiving — 
So old the joke, they thought 'twas true. 

But jokes, we know, if they too far go. 
Must have an end — and so, one day. 

Upon that coast thci-e was a cargo 
Of looking glasses cast away. 

Twas said, some Radicals, somewhere. 
Had laid their wicked heads together. 

And forc'd that ship to founder there, — 
While some believe it was the weather. 



However this might be, the freight 
Was landed without fees or duties , 

And from that hour historians date 
The downfall of the Race of Beauties. 

The looking glasses got about. 

And grew so common through the land, 
That scarce a tinker could walk out, 

Without a mirror in his hand. 

Coraparing faces, morning, noon. 
And night, their constant occupation — 

By dint of looking glasses, soon. 
They grew a most reflecting nation. 

In vain the Court, aware of errors 
In all the old, establish'd mazards. 

Prohibited the use of mirrors. 

And tried to break tbem at all hazards : — 

In vain — their laws might just as well 
Have been waste paper on the shelves ; 

That fatal freight had broke the spell ; 

People had look'd — and knew themselves. 

If chance a Duke, of birth sublime, 
Presum'd upon his ancient face, 

(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,) 
They popp'd a mirror to his Grace : — 

Just hinting, by that gentle sign, 
How little Nature holds it true. 

That what is call'd an ancient line, 
Must be the line of Beauty too. 

From Dukes' they pass'd to regal phizes, 
Compar'd them proudly with their own. 

And cried, " How could such monstrous 
quizes 
" In Beauty's name usurp the throne ! " — 

They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books, 

Upon Cosmetical Economy, 
Which made the King try various looks. 

But none improv'd his physiognomy. 

And satires at the Court were levell'd. 
And small lampoons, so fuU of slynesses, 

That soon, in short, they quite be-devill'd 
Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses. 

At length — but here I drop the veil. 
To spare some loyal folks' sensations ; — 

Besides, what follow'd is the tale 

Of all such late-cnlighten'd nations ; 



FABLES FOR THE 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 493 


Of all to whom old Time discloses 


Yet, no — not quench'd — a treasure, worth 


A truth they should have sooner known — 


So much to mortals, rarely dies : 


That Kings have neither rights nor noses 


Again her living light look'd forth, 


A whit diviner than their own. 


And shone, a beacon, in all eyes. 




Who next receiv'd the flame ? alas. 




Unworthy Naples — shame of shames. 


FABLE III. 


That ever through such hands should pass 
That brightest of aU earthly flames ! 


THE TORCH OF LIBEKTT. 


Scarce had her fingers touch' d the torch. 


I SAW it all in Fancy's glass — 


When, frighted by the sparks it shed. 


Herself, the fair, the wild magician, 
Who bid this splendid daydream pass, 


Nor waiting ev'n to feel the scorch. 
She dropp'd it to the earth — and fled. 


And nam'd each gliding apparition. 


And fall'n it might have long remain'd ; 


'Twas like a torch race — such as they 


But Greece, who saw her moment now. 


Of Greece perform'd, in ages gone. 


Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, 


When the fleet youths, in long array. 


And wav'd it round her beauteous brow. 


Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on. 


And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er 


I saw th' expectant nations stand. 


Her altar, as its flame ascended. 


To catch the coming flame in turn ; — 


Fair, laureU'd spirits seein'd to soar, 


I saw, from ready hand to hand. 


Who thus in song their voices blended : — 


The clear, though struggling glory, bum. 


" Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 


And, 0, their joy, as it came near, 


'« Divinest gift of Gods to men ! 


'Twas, in itself, a joy to see ; — 


" From Greece thy earliest splendor came, 


While Fancy whisper'd in my ear. 


" To Greece thy ray returns again. 


" That torch they pass is Liberty ! " 


" Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round. 


And each, as she receiv'd the flame, 


" When dimm'd, revive, when lost, return. 


Lighted her altar with its ray ; 
Then, smiling to the next who came, 


" Till not a shrine tfirough earth be found, 
" On which thy glories shall not burn ! " 


Speeded it on its sparkling way. 




From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 




Was furnish'd with the fire already, 
Columbia caught the boon divine. 


FABLE rV. 


And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 


THE FLY AND THE BULLOCK.. 


The splendid gift then Gallia took. 


PROEM. 


And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 


Of all that, to the sage's survey. 


The brand aloft, its sparkles shook. 


This world presents of topsy turvy. 


As she would set the world a-blazing ! 


There's nought so much disturbs one's patience 




As little minds in lofty stations. 


Thus kindling wild, so fierce and high 


'Tis like that sort of painful wonder, 


Her altar blaz'd into the air, 


Which slender columns, laboring under 


That Albion, to that fire too nigh. 


Enormous arches, give beholders ; — 


Shrunk back, and shudder' d at its glare ! 


Or those poor Caryatides, 




Condemn'd to smile and stand at ease. 


Kext, Spain, so new was light to her. 


With a whole house upon their shoulders, 


Leap'd at the torch — but, ere the spark 




That fell upon her shrine could stir. 


If, as in some few royal cases, 


'Twas quench'd — and all again was dark. 


Small minds are born into such places — 



494 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



If they are there, by Right Divine, 

Or any such sufficient reason. 
Why — Ileav'n forbid we should repine ! — 

To wish it otherwise were treason ; 
Nay, ev'n to see it in a vision, 
Would be what lawyers call misprision. 

Sir Robert Filmer saith — and he, 

Of course, knew all about the matter — 
" Both men and beasts love Monarchy ;" 

Which proves how rational — the latter. 
Sidney, we know, or wrong or right, 
Entirely differ'd from the Knight : 
Nay, hints a King may lose his head, 

By slipping awkwardly his bridle : — 
But this is treasonous, ill bred. 
And (nowadays, when Kings are led 

lu patent snaffles) downright idle. 

No, no — it isn't right-line Kings, 
(Those sovereign lords in leading strings 
Who, from their birth, are Faith Defenders,) 
That move my wrath — 'tis your pretenders, 
Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth, ■ 
Who — not like t'others, bores by birth, 
Establish' d gratid Dei blockheads. 
Born with three kingdoms in their pockets — 
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops. 

Push up into the loftiest stations. 
And, though too dull to manage shops. 

Presume, the dolts, to manage nations ! 

This class it is, that moves my gall, 
And stirs up bile, and spleen, and all. 
While other senseless things appear 
To know the limits of their sphere — 
While not a cow on earth romances 
So much as to conceit she dances — 
While the most jumping frog we know of. 
Would scarce at Astley's hope to show off — 
Your * * *s, your * * *s dare, 

Untrain'd as are their minds, to set them 
To any business, any where, 

At a7iy time that fools will let them. 

But leave we here these upstart things — 
My business is, just now, wirti Kings ; 
To whom, and to their right-line glory, 
I dedicate the following story. 

FABLE. 

The wise men of Egj'pt were secret as dummies ; 
And, ev'n when they most condescended to 
teach, 



They pack'd up their meaning, as they did theil 
mummies. 
In so many wrappers, 'twas out of one's reach- 

They were also, good people, much given to 
Kings — 
Fond of craft and of crocodiles, monkeys and 
mystery ; 
But blue-bottle flies were their best-belov'd 
things — 
As Avill partly appear in this very short history. 

A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they say, 
To that other great traveller, young Ana.char- 
sis,) 

Stepp'd into a temple at Memphis one day. 
To have a short peep at their mystical farces. 

He saw * a brisk blue-bottle Fly on an altar. 
Made much of, and worshipp'd, as something 
divine ; 
While a large, handsome Bullock, led there in 
a halter, 
Before it lay stabb'd at the foot of the shrine. 

Surpris'd at such doings, he whisper'd his teach- 
er — 
" If 'tisn't impertinent, may I ask why 
" Should a Bullock, that useful and powerful 
creature, 
«' Be thus offer'd up to a blue-bottle Fly ? " 

" No wonder " — said t'other — " you stare at 
the sight, 
" But we as a Symbol of Monarchy view it — 
" That Fly on the Shrine is Legitimate Right, 
«' And that BuUock, the People, that's sacri- 
fic'd to it." 



FABLE V. 

CHURCH AND STATE. 

PROEM. 

" The moment any religion becomes national, or estab- 
lished, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then 
impossible to keep it unconnected with men's interests ■ 
and, if connected, it must inevitably be perverted by 
them."— SoAME Jenyns. 

Thus did Soame Jenyns — though a Tory, 
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations ; 



1 According to jElian, it was in the island of Leucadia 
they practised this ceremony — ^vuv fiovv rais ixvtaif. — 
De .Animal, lib. ii. cap. 8. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



49" 



Ftel how Religion's simple glory- 
Is stain'd by State associations. 

When Catherine, ere she crush'd the Poles, 

Appeal'd to the benign Divinity ; 
Then cut them up in protocols, 
Made fractions of their very souls ' — 

All in the name of the bless'd Trinity: 
Or when her grandson, Alexander, 
That mighty Northern salamander,* 
"Wliose icy touch, felt all about, 
Pats every fire of Freedom out — 
^\'hen he, too, winds up his Ukases 
With God and the Panagia's praises — 
When he, of royal Saints the type. 

In holy water dips the sponge, 
\Vith which, at one imperial wipe, 

He would all human rights expunge ; 
When Louis (whom as King, and eater, 
Some name Dix-huit, and some Des-huitres,) 
Calls down " St. Louis' God " to -witness 
The right, humanity, and fitness 
Of sending eighty thousand Solons, 

Sages, -\vith muskets and lac'd coats, 
To cram instruction, nolens volens, 

Down the poor struggling Spaniards' throats — 
I ciin't help thinking, (though to Kings 

I must, of course, like other men, bow,) 
That when a Christian monarch brings 
llcligion's name to gloss these things — 

Such blasphemy out-Benbows Benbow ! * 

Or — not so far for facts to roam. 
Having a few much nearer home — 
AVhasi we see Churchmen, who, if ask'd, 
" Must Ireland's slaves be tith'd, and task'd, 
" And driv'n, like Negroes or Croats, 

" That you may roll in wealth and bliss ?" 
Look from beneath their shovel hats 

With all due pomp, and answer " Yes ! " 
±5ut then, if question'd, " Shall the brand 
«' Intolerance flings throughout that land, — 
" Shall the fierce strife now taught to gro-w- 
" Betwixt her palaces and hovels, 
" Be ever quench'd ? " — from the same shovels 
Look grandly forth, and answer " No." — 
Alas, alas ! have these a claim 
To merciful Religion's name ? 
If more you seek, go see a bevy 
Of bowing parsons at a levee — 



1 Ames, demi-ames, kc. 

2 The salamander is supposed to have the power of extin- 
guishing fire hy its natural coldness and moisture. 

* A well-known publisher of irreligious books. 



(Choosing your time, when straw s before 
Some apoplectic bishop's door,) 
Then, if thou canst, with life, escape 
That rush of la-wn, that press of crape, 
Just watch their rev'rences and graces, 

As on each smirking suitor frisks. 
And say, if those round shining faces 

To heav'n or earth most turn their disks ? 

This, this it is — Religion, made, 

'Twixt Church and State, a truck, a trade — 

This most ill-match'd, unholy Co., 

From whence the ills we witness flow ; 

The war of many creeds with one — 

Th' extremes of too much faith, and none — 

Till, betwixt ancient trash and new, 

'Twixt Cant and Blasphemy — the two 

Rank ills with which this age is curs'd — 

We can no more tell which is worst, 

Than erst could Egypt, when so rich 

In various plagues, determine which 

She thought most pestilent and vile. 

Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlisle. 

Croaking their native mud notes loud, 

Or her fat locusts, like a cloud 

Of pluralists, obesely lowering. 

At once benighting and devouring ! — 

This — this it is — and here I pray 

Those sapient wits of the Reviews, 
Who make us poor, dull authors say. 

Not what we mean, but what they choose; 
Who to our most abundant shares 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 

As caterpillars find those flies,* 
Which, not content to sting like devils, 

Lay eggs upon their backs likewise — 
To guard against such foul deposits 

Of other's meaning in my rhymes, 
(A thing more needful here, because it's 

A subject, ticklish in these times) — 
I, here, to all such wits make known, 

Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory, 
'Tis this Religion — this alone — 

I aim at in the following story : — 

FABLE. 
When royalty was young and bold. 

Ere, touch'd by Time, he had become — 



* " The greatest niimner of the ichneumon tribe are seen 
settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and darting at dif- 
ferent intervals their stings into its body — at everj' <Jarl 
they depose an egg." — Goldsmith. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



Religion to St. Luke's was sent, 

And Royalty pack'd off to Bridewell. 

With this proviso — should they be 
Restor'd, in due time, to their senses, 

They both must give security, 
In future, against such offences — 

Religion ne'er to lend his cloak. 

Seeing what dreadful work it leads to ; 

And Royalty to crack his joke, — 
But not to crack poor people's heads too. 



If 'tisn't civil to say old. 

At least, a ci-deva7it jeune komme ; 

One evening, on some wild pursuit, 

Driving along, he chanc'd to see 
Religion, passing by on foot, 

And took him in his vis-a-vis. 

This said Religion was a Friar, 

The humblest and the best of men, 
Who ne'er had notion or desire 

Of riding in a coach till then. 

*' I say " — quoth Royalty, who rather 

Enjoy'd a masquerading joke — 
"I say, suppose, my good old father, 

"You lend me, for a while, your cloak." 

The Friar consented — little knew 

What tricks the youth had in his head ; 
Besides, was rather tempted too 

By a lac'd coat he got instead. 

Away ran Royalty, slap dash. 

Scampering like mad about the town ; 
Broke windows, shiver'd lamps to smash. 

And knock' d whole scores of watchmen down. 

While nought could they, whose heads were 
broke. 

Learn of the "why" or the "wherefore," 
Except that 'twas Religion's cloak 

The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore. 

Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd 

By the lac'd coat, grew frisky too ; 
Look'd big — his former habits spurn'd — 

And storm' d about, as great men do : 

Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses — 

Said " d — mn you" often, or as bad — 
Laid claim to other people's purses — 

In short, grew either knave, or mad. 

As work like this was unbefitting. 

And flesh and blood no longer bore it. 
The Court of Common Sense, then sitting, 

Summon'd the culprits both before it. 

Where, after hours in wrangling spent 
(As Courts must wrangle to decide well), 

1 Andreas. 

2 (iuand il etoit occup6 d'aucune essoine, il envoyoit No- 
velle, sa fille, en son lieu lire au.x escholes en charge, et, 
afin que la biaut6 d'elle n'enipechit la pens6e de3 oyants, I interview with the Lama. — " Teshoo I^ama (he says) was 



FABLE VI. 

THE LITTLE. GRAND LAMA.. 
PROEM. 

Novella, a young Bolognese, 

The daughter of a learn'd Law Doctor,' 
Who had with all the subtleties 

Of old and modern jurists stock'd her. 
Was so exceeding fair, 'tis said. 

And over hearts held such dominion. 
That when her father, sick in bed, 
Or busy, sent her, in his stead. 

To lecture on the Code Justinian, 
She had a curtain drawn before her, 

Lest, if her charms were seen, the students 
Should let their young eyes wander o'er her. 

And quite forget their jurisprudence.' 
Just so it is with Truth, when seen. 

Too dazzling far, — 'tis from behind 
A light, thin allegoric screen. 

She thus can safest teach mankind. 



In Thibet once there reign' d, we're told, 
A little Lama, one year old — 
Rais'd to the throne, that reahn to bless, 
Just when his little Holiness 
Had cut — as near as can be reckon'd — 
Some say his first tooth, some his second. 
Chronologers and Nurses vary. 
Which proves historians should be wary. 
We only know th' important truth, 
His Majesty had cut a tooth.^ 
And much his subjects were enchanted, — 
As well all Lamas' subjects may be, 

elle avoit Tine petite courtine devant e!le. — Christ.de Pisx 
Cite des Dames, p. 11, cap. S6. 
3 See Turner's Embassy to Thibet for an account ot his 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



497 



And would have giv'n their heads, if wanted, 

To make tetotums for the baby. 
Thron'd as he was by Right Divine — 

(What Lawyers call Jure Divino, 
Meaning a right to yours, and mine, 

And every body's goods and rhino,) 
Of course, his faithful subjects' purses 

"Were ready with their aids and succors ; 
Nothing was seen but pension'd Nurses, 

And the land groan'd with bibs and tuckers. 

O, had there been a Hume or Bennet, 

Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, 

Ye Gods, what room for long debates 

Upon the Nursery Estimates ! 

What cutting down of swaddling clothes 

And pinafores, in nightly battles ! 
What calls for papers to expose 

The waste of sugar plums and rattles ! 
But no — if Thibet had M. P.'s, 
They were far better bred than these ; 
Nor gave the slightest opposition. 
During the Monarch's whole dentition. 

But short this calm ; — for, just when he 
Had reach'd th' alarming age of three, 
When Royal natures, and, no doubt, 
Those of all noble beasts break out — 
The Lama, who till then was quiet, 
Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot ; 
And, ripe for mischief, early, late, 
"Without regard for Church or State, 
Made free with whosoe'er came nigh ; 

Tweak' d the Lord Chancellor by the nose, 
Turn'd all the Judges' wigs awry, 

And trod on the old Generals' toes ; 
Pelted the Bishops with hot buns, 

Rode cockhorse on the City maces, 
And shot from little devilish guns, 

Hard peas into his subjects' faces. 
Li short, such wicked pranks he play'd. 

And grew so mischievous, God bless him ! 
That his Chief Nurse — with ev'n the aid 
Of an Archbishop — was afraid, 

When in these moods, to comb or dress him. 
Nay, ev'n the persons most inclin'd 

Through thick and thin, for Kings to stickle, 
Thought him (if they'd but speak their mind, 

Which they did not) an odious pickle. 

At length some patriot lords — a breed 
Of animals they've got in Thibet, 

at this time eighteen months old. Though he was unable 

to speak a word, he made the most expressive signs, and 

conducted himself with astonishing digi.ity and decorum." 

63 



Extremely rare, and fit, indeed, 

For folks like Pidcock, to exhibit — 
Some patriot lords, who saw the length 
To which things went, combin'd their strength, 
And penn'd a manly, plain and free 
Remonstrance to the Nursery ; 
Protesting warmly that they yielded 

To none, that ever went before 'em, 
In loj'alty to him who wielded 

Th' hereditary pap spoon o'er 'em ; 
That, as for treason, 'twas a thing 

That made them almost sick to think of — 
That they and theirs stood by the King, 

Throughout his measles and his chin cough. 
When others, thinking him 'consumptive. 
Had ratted to the Heir Presumptive ! — 
But, still, though much admiring Kings 
(And chiefly those in leading strings). 
They saw, with shame and grief of soul, 

There was no longer now the wise 
And constitutional control 

Of birch before their ruler's eyes ; 
But that, of late, such pranks, and tricks, 

And freaks occur'd the whole day long, 
As all, but men with bishoprics, 

Allow'd, in ev'n a King, were wrong. 
Wherefore it was they humbly pray'd 

That Honorable Nursery, 
That such reforms be henceforth made. 

As all good men desir'd to see ; — 
In other words (lest they might seem 
Too tedious), as the gentlest scheme 
For putting all such pranks to rest. 

And in its bud the mischief nipping — 
They ventur'd humbly to suggest 

His Majesty should have a whipping ! 



When this was read, no Congreve rocket, 

Discharg'd into the Gallic trenches. 
E'er equall'd the tremendous shock it 

Produc'd upon the Nursery benches. 
The Bishops, who of course had votes. 
By right of age and petticoats. 
Were first and foremost in the fuss — 

" "S\Tiat, whip a Lama ! suff^^er birch 

" To touch his sacred infamous ! 

" Deistical ! — assailing thus 

" The fundamentals of the Church ! — 
" No — no — such patriot plans as these, 
" (So help them Heaven — and their Sees ! . 
" They held to be rank blasphemies." 

Th' alarm thus given, by these and other 
Grave ladies of the Nursery side, 



498 FABLES FOR THE 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 


Spread through the land, till, such a pother, 


But Lords of Persia can, no doubt. 


Such party squabbles, far and wide, 


Do what they will — so, one tine morning. 


Never in history's page had been 


He turn'd the rascal Ghebers out, 


Recorded, as were then between 


First giving a few kicks for warning. 


The Whippers and Non-whippers seen. 


Then, thanking heaven most piously. 


Till, things arriving at a state. 


He knock'd their Temple to the ground. 


Which gave some fears of revolution, 


Blessing himself for joy to see 


The patriot lords' advice, though late. 


Such Pagan ruins strew'd around. 


Was put at last in execution. 


But much it vex'd my Lord to find. 


The Parliament of Thibet met — 


That, while all else obey'd his will. 


The little Lama, call'd before it. 


The Fire these Ghebers left behind, 


Did, then and there, his whipping get. 


Do what he would, kept burning still. 


And (as the Nursery Gazette 


Fiercely he storm'd, as if his frown 


Assures us) like a hero bore it. 


Could scare the bright insurgent down ; 




But, no — such fires are headstrong things, 


And though, 'mong Thibet Tories, some 


And care not much for Lords or Kings. 


Lament that Royal Martyrdom 


Scarce could his Lordship well contrive 


(Please to observe, the letter D 


The flashes in 07ie place to smother, 


In this last word's pronounc'd like B), 


Before — hey presto ! — aU alive. 


Yet to th' example of that Prince 


They sprung up freshly in another. 


So much is Thibet's land a debtor, 




That her long line of Lamas, since, 


At length when, spite of prayers and damns, 


Have all behav'd themselves mtich better. 


'Twas found the sturdy flame defied him. 




His stewards came, with low sala>ns, 




Offering, by contract, to provide him 




Some large Extinguishers, (a plan, 


FABLE VII. 


Much us'd, they said, at Ispahan, 




Vienna, Petersburg — in short. 


THE EXTINGUISHERS. 


Wherever Light's forbid at court,) 




Machines no Lord should be without. 


PROEM. 


Which would, at once, put promptly out 


Though soldiers are the true supports, 


All kinds of fires, — from staring, stark 


The natural allies of Courts, 


Volcanoes to the tiniest spark ; 


Woe to the Monarch, who depends 


Till all things slept as dull and dark. 


Too 7nitch on his red-coated friends ; 


As, in a great Lord's neighborhood, 


For even soldiers sometimes think — 


'Twas right and fitting all things should. 


Nay, Colonels have been known to reason, — 




And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 


Accordingly, some large supplies 


Or red, or blue, are on the brink 


Of these Extinguishers were furnish'd 


(Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 


(All of the true Imperial size). 




And there, in rows, stood black and bur- 


Not many soldiers, I believe, are 


nish'd, 


As fond of liberty as Mina ; 


Ready, where'er a gleam but shone 


Else — woe to Kings, when Freedom's fever 


Of light or fire, to be clapp'd on. 


Once turns into a Scarletina ! 




For then — but hold — 'tis best to veil 


But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs. 


My meaning in the following tale : — 


In trusting to extinguishers ! 




One day, when he had left all sure. 


FABLE. 


(At least, so thought he) dark, secure — 


A Lord of Persia, rich and great, 


The flame, at all its exits, entries. 


Just come into a large estate. 


Obstructed to his heart's content. 


Was shock'd to find he had, for neighbors, 


And black extinguishers, like sentries. 


Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers, 


Plac'd over every dangerous vent — 


Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 


Ye Gods, imagine his amaze, 


In heretic combustion rose. 


His wrath, his rage, when, on returning. 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



499 



He found not only the old blaze, 

Brisk as before, crackling and burning, — 
Not only new, young conflagrations, 
Popping up round in various stations — 
But, still more awful, strange, and dire, 
Th' Extinguishers themselves on fire ! ' 
They, they — those trusty, blind machines 
His Lordship had so long been praising. 
As, under Providence, the means 

Of keeping down all lawless blazing, 
Were now, themselves — alas, too true 
The shameful fact — turn'd blazers too, 
And, by a change as odd as cruel, 
Instead of dampers, served for fuel ! 

Thus, of his only hope bereft, 

"What," said the great man, "must be 
done ? " — 
All that, in scrapes like this, is left 

To great men is — to cut and run. 
So run he did ; while to their grounds, 

The banish'd Ghebers blest return'd ; 
And, though their Fire had broke its bounds. 

And all abroad now wildly burn'd. 
Yet well could they, who lov'd the flame. 
Its wand'ring, its excess reclaim; 
And soon another, fairer Dome 
Arose to be its sacred home. 
Where, cherish'd, guarded, not confin'd. 
The living glory dwelt enshrin'd. 
And, shedding lustre strong, but even, 
Though born of earth, grew worthy heav'n. 



The moral hence my Muse infers 
Is, that such Lords are simple elves, 

In trusting to Extinguishers, 

That are combustible themselves. 



FABLE VIII. 

LOUIS fourteenth's wia. 

The money rais'd — the army ready — 
Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy 
Valiantly braying in the van. 
To the old tune " Eh, eh, Sire Ane / " * — 

1 The idea of this Fable was caught from one of those 
brilliant mots, which abound in the conversation of my 
friend, the author of the " Letters to Julia," — a production 
which contains some of the happiesC specimens of playful 
poetry that have appeared in this or any age. 

2 They celebrated in the dark aces, at many churches, 
particularly at Rouen, what was called the Feast of the Ass. 
On this occasion the ass, finely dressed, was brought before 
tlie altar, and they sung before him this elegant anthem. 



Nought wanting, but some coup dramatic, 

To make French sentiment explode. 
Bring in, at once, the goUt fanatic. 

And make the war " la dernitre mode" — 
Instantlj', at the Pav'llon Maisan, 

Is held an Ultra consultation — 
Wliat's to be done, to help the farce on ? 

What stage eff'ect, what decoration. 
To make this beauteous France forget, 
In one, grand, glorious pirouette. 
All she had sworn to but last week. 
And, with a cry of " Magnijlque ! " 
Rush forth to this, or any war, 
Without inquiring once — " "What for ? " 

After some plans propos'd by each, 
Lord Chateaubriand made a speech, 
(Quoting, to show what men's rights are, 

Or rather what men's rights should be. 
From Hobbes, Lord Castlereagh, the Czar, 

And other friends to Liberty,) 
Wherein he — having first protested 
'Gainst humoring the mob — suggested 
(As the most high-bred plan he saw 
For giving the new War iclat) 
A grand, Baptismal Melo-drame, 
To be got up at Notre Dame 
In which the Duke (who, bless his Highness I 

Had by his hilt acquir'd such fame, 
'Twas hop'd that he as little shyness 

Would show, when to the point he came,) 
Should, for his deeds so lion-hearted. 
Be christen'd He7-o, ere he started : 
With power, by Royal Ordonnance, 
To bear that name — at least in France. 
Himself — the Viscount Chateaubriand — 
(To help th' aff'air with more esprit on) 
Offering, for this baptismal rite. 

Some of his own fam'd Jordan water' — 
(Marie Louise not having quite 

Used all that, for young Nap, he brought her. 
The baptism, in this case, to be 
Applied to that extremity, 
Which Bourbon heroes most expose ; 
And which (as well all Europe knows) 
Happens to be, in this Defender 
Of the true Faith, extremely tender.* 

" Eh, eh, eh, Sire Ane, eh, eh, eh, Sire Ane."— Wartok'« 
Essay on Pope. 

3 Brought from the river Jordan by M. Chateaubriand, 
and presented to the French Empress for the christening of 
young Napoleon. 

* See the Duke's celebrated letter to madame, written 
during his campaign in 1815, in which ho says, "J'ai la 
posterieur Wgferement endommag^." 



600 



FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 



Or if (the Viscount said) this scheme 
Too rash and premature should seem — 
If thus discounting heroes, on tick — 

This glory, by anticipation, 
Was too much in the genre romantique 

For such a highly classic nation, 
He begg'd to say, the Abyssinians 
A practice had in their dominions, 
Which, if at Paris got up well, 
In fuU costume, was sure to tell. 
At all great epochs, good or ill. 

They have, says Bkuce (and Bruce ne'er 
budges 
From the strict truth), a Grand Quadrille 

In public danc'd by the Twelve Judges ' — 
And, he assures us, the grimaces. 
The entre-chats, the airs and graces 
Of dancers, so profound and stately, 
Divert the Abyssinians greatly. 

" Now (said the Viscount), there's but few 
" Great Empires, where this plan would do : 
" For instance, England ; — let them take 

*' What pains they would — 'twere vain to 
strive — 
" The twelve stiff Judges there would make 

" The worst Quadrille set now alive. 
'• One must have seen them, ere one could 
" Imagine properly Judge Wood, 
" Performing, in his wig, so gayly, 
" A queue-de-chat with Justice Ballet ! 
" French Judges, though, are, by no means, 
«' This sort of stiff, be-wigg'd machines ; 
♦' And we, who've seen them at Saumur, 
" And Poitiers lately, may be sure 
" They'd dance quadrilles, or any thing, 
" That would be pleasing to the King — 
" Nay, stand upon their heads, and more do, 
" To please the little Duke de Bourdeaux ! " 

After these several schemes there came 
Some others — needless now to name. 
Since that, which Monsieur plann'd, himself. 
Soon doom'd all others to the shelf, 
And was receiv'd par acclamatioti, 
As truly worthy the Grande Nation. 



1 " On certain great occasions, the twelve Judges (who 
are generally between sixty and seventy years of age) sing 
the song and dance the figure dance," &c. — Book v. 

2 " Louis XIV. fit present i la Vierge de son cordon bleu, 
que I'on conserve snignenseinent, et lui envoya ensuite, son 
Contrat de Mariage et le Traiti des Pyrenees, magnifique- 
ment reWc." ^ Memoires, Anecdotes pour servir. See. 

3 The learned author of Recherche^ Historiques sur les Per- 
ruques says that the Board consisted but of Forty — the same 



It seems (as Monsieur told the story) 

That Louis the Fourteenth, — that glory, 

That Cori/ph6e of all crown'd pates, — 

That pink of the Legitimates — 

Had, when, with many a pious pray'er, he 

Bequeath'd unto the Virgin Mary 

His marriage deeds, and cordan blcu,^ 

Bequeath'd to her his State Wig too — 

(An offering which, at Court, 'tis thought, 

The Virgin values as she ought) — 

That Wig, the wonder of all eyes, 

The Cynosure of Gallia's skies. 

To watch and tend whose curls ador'd, 

Rebuild its towering roof, when flat. 
And round its rumpled base, a Board 

Of sixty Barbers daily sat,' 
With Subs, on State Days, to assist, 
Well pension'd from the Civil List : — 
That wondrous Wig, array' d in which, 
And form'd alike to awe or witch, 
He beat all other heirs of crowns, 
In taking mistresses and towns, 
Requiring but a shot at one, 
A smile at t'other, and 'twas done ! — 

<' That Wig (said Monsieur, while his brow 
Rose proudly,) " is existing now ; — 
»' That Grand Perruque, amid the fall 

" Of every other Royal glory, 
" With curls erect survives them all, 

" And tells in every hair their story. 
" Think, think, how welcome at this time 
" A relic, so belov'd, sublime ! 
" What worthier standard of the Cause 

" Of Kingly Right can France demand > 
" Or who among our ranks can pause 

" To guard it, while a curl shall stand ? 
" Behold, my friends " — (while thus he cried, 
A curtain, which conceal' d this pride 
Of Princely Wigs was drawn aside) 
•' Behold that grand Perruque — how big 

" With recollections for the world — 
" For France — for us — Great Louis' Wig, 

" By HippoLYTE^ new frizz'd and curl'd- 
" New frizz'd ! alas, 'tis but too true, 
" Well may you start at that word new — 



number as the Academy. " Le plus beau terns des perru- 
ques fut celui oii Louis XIV. commen^a i porter, lui-meme, 

perruque ; On ignore I'^poque oii se fit cette 

revolution ; inais on sait qu'elle engagea Louis le Grand k y 
donner ses soins paternels, en creant, en l(i5G, quarante 
charges de perruqiiiers, suivant la cour; et en 1673, il furmn 
un corps de deux cents perruquiers pour la Ville de Paris 
— P. 111. 

i celebrated Coiffeur of the present day. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



501 



• But such the sacrifice, my friends, 

' T h' Imperial Cossack recommends ; 
' Thinking such small concessions sage, 
' To meet the spirit of the age, 

• And do what best that spirit flatters, 

' In "Wigs — if not in weightier matters. 
' AVherefore, to please the Czar, and show 
' That we too, much-wrong'd Bourbons, know 
' What liberalism in Moiiarchs is, 
' We have conceded the New Friz ! 
' Thus arm'd, ye gallant Ultras, say, 
' Can men, can Frenchmen, fear the fray ? 
' With this proud relic in our van, 
" And D'Angouleme our worthy leader, 



«' Let rebel Spain do all she can, 

" Let recreant England arm and feed her, — 
" Urg'd by that pupil of Hunt's school, 
" That Radical, Lord Liverpool — 
"France can have nought to fear — far from 
it — 

" When once astounded Europe sees 
♦' The Wig of Louis, like a Comet, 

" Streaming above the Pyrenees, 
" AU's o'er with Spain — then on, my sons, 

«' On, my incomparable Duke, 
" And, shouting for the Holy Ones, 

" Cry Vive la Guerre — et la Perrugue ! " 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD, 

EXTRACTED FROM THE JOURNAL OF A TRAVELLING MEMBER OP 

THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY, 1819. 



The greater part of the following Rhymes 
were written or composed in an old caliche, for 
the purpose of beguiling the ennui of solitary 
travelling ; and as verses, made by a gentleman 
in his sleep, have been lately called " a psycho- 
logical curiosity," it is to be hoped that verses, 
composed by a gentleman to keep himself awake, 
may be honored with some appellation equally 
Greek. 



INTRODUCTORY RHYMES. 

Different Attitudes in which Authors compose. — Bayes, Hen- 
ry Stephens, Herodotus, ^'c. — Writing in Bed — in the 
Fields. — Plato and Sir Richard Blickmoie. — Fiddling 

tnith Oluves and Twigs. Madame de Sta'dt. — Rhyming 

on the Road, in an old Caliche. 

What various attitudes, and ways. 

And tricks, we authors have in writing ! 
W'hile some write sitting, some, like Bayes, 

Usually stand, while they're inditing. 
Poets there are, who wear the floor out. 

Measuring a line at every stride ; 
While some, like Henry Stephens, pour out 

Rhymes by the dozen, while they ride.' 



1 Pleraque sua carmina equitans coraposuit. — Paravicin 
Singular 



Herodotus wrote most in bed ; 

And Richerand, a French physician, 
Declares the clockwork of the head 

Goes best in that reclin'd position. 
If you consult Montaigne * and Pliny on 
The subject, 'tis their joint opinion 
That Thought its lichest harvest yields 
Abroad, among the woods and fields ; 
That bards, who deal ia small retail. 

At home may, at their counters, stop ; 
But tliat the grove, the hill, the vale, 

Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. 
And, verily, I think they're right — 

For, many a time, on summer eves. 
Just at that closing hour of light. 

When, like an Eastern Prince, who leaves 
For distant war his Harem bowers. 
The Sun bids farewell to the flowers, 
Whose heads are sunk, whose tears are flow 

ing 
'Mid all the glory of his going ! — 
Ev'n / have felt, beneath those beams, 

When wand'ring through the fields alone. 
Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, 

Which, far too bright to be my own, 
Seem'd lent me by the Sunny Power, 
That was abroad at that still hour. 



2 " Mes pensees dornient, si je les assis." — Montaignb 
Animus eorum qui in aperto aere ambulant, attollitur. 
Pliny. 



502 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



If thus I've felt, how must tJiey foel, 

The few, whom genuine Genius warms ; 
Upon whose souls lie stamps his seal, 

Graven with Beauty's countless forms ; — 
The few upon this earth, who seem 
Born to give truth to Plato's dream, 
Since in theii- thoughts, as in a glass. 

Shadows of heavenly things appear, 
Reflections of bright shapes that pass 

Through other worlds, above our sphere ! 

But this reminds me I digress ; — 

For Plato, too, produc'd, 'tis said, 
(As one, indeed, might almost guess,) 

His glorious visions all in bed.' 
'Twas in his carriage the sublime 
Sir RicHAKD Blackmoke used to rhyme ; 

And (if the wits don't do him wrong) 
'Twixt death * and epics pass'd his time. 

Scribbling and killing all day long — 
Like Phoebus in his car, at ease, 

Is'ow warbling forth a lofty song, 
Now niui dcring the young Niobes. 

There was a hero 'mong the Danes, 
Who wrote, we're told, 'mid all the pains 

And horrors of exenteration, 
Nine charming odes, which, if you'll look, 

You'll find preserv'd with a translation, 
By Barthohnus in his book.^ 
In short, 'twere endless to recite 
The various modes in which men write. 
Some wits are oiJy in the mind, 

When beaux and belles are round them prating; 
Some, when they dress for dinner, find 

Their muse and valet both in waiting ; 
And manage, at the selfsame time, 
T' adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. 

Some bards there are who cannot scribble 
Without a glove, to tear or nibble ; 
Or a small twig to whisk about — 

As if the hidden founts of Fancy, 
Like wells of old, were thus found out 

By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. 
Such was the little feathery wand,* 
That, held forever in the hand 



1 The only authority I know for imputing this practice to 
riato and Hemdutiis, is a Latin poem by JVI. de Valois on 
his Bed, in which he says : — 

Lucifer Herodotuni vidit Vesperque cubantem, 
Desedit totos heic Plato sepe dies. 

5 Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, as well as a 
bad poet. 



Of her,* who won and wore the crown 

Of female genius in this age, 
Seem'd the conductor, that drew down 

Those words of lightning to her page. 
As for myself — to come, at last. 

To the odd way in which / write — 
Having employ'd these few months past 

Chiefly in travelling, day and night, 
I've got into the easy mode. 
Of rhyming thus along the road — 
Making a way bill of my pages. 
Counting my stanzas by my stages — 
'Twixt lays and re-lays no time lost — 
In short, in two words, writing post. 



EXTRACT I. 

Geneva, 

View 9/ the Lake of Oencva from the Jurafi — Anxioiis to 
reach it before the Sun went duwn. — Obliged to proceed on 
Foot. — Alps. — Mont Blanc. — Effect of the Scene. 

'TwAS late — the sun had almost shone 
His last and best, when I ran on. 
Anxious to reach that splendid view. 
Before the daybeams quite withdrew; 
And feeling as all feel, on first 

Approaching scenes, where, they are told. 
Such glories on their eyes will burst. 

As youthful bards in dreams behold. 

'Twas distant yet, and, as I ran. 

Full often was my wistful gaze 
'Turn'd to the sun, who now began 

To call in all his outpost rays. 
And form a denser march of light, 
Such as beseems a hero's flight. 
O, how I wish'd for Joshua's power. 
To stay the brightness of that hour ! 
But no — the sun still less became, 

Diminish'd to a speck, as splendid 
And small as were those tongues of flame, 

That on th' Apostles' heads descended ! 

'Twas at this instant — while there glow'd 
This last, intensest gleam of light — 

Suddenly, through the opening road, 
The valley burst upon my sight ! 



3 E3idem curi nee minores inter criiciatus animam infe- 
licem agenti fuit Asbiorno Prudse Danico heroi, cum Biuso 
ipsum, intestina extrahens, immaniter torqueret, tunc eiiim 

novem carmiiia cecinit, &c Bartholin, de Causis Con. 

tempt. Murt. 

* Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather 

6 Madame de Stael. 

6 Between Vattay and Gei. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



503 



That glorious valley, with its Lake, 
And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, 

Mighty, and pure, and fit to make 

The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling. 

I stood entranc'd — as Rabbins say 
This whole assembled, gazing world 

Will stand, upon that awl'ul day. 

When the Ark's Light, aloft unfurl'd, 

Among the opening clouds shall shine, 

Divinity's own radiant sign ! 

Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me, 

That minute, with thy brow in heaven, 
As sure a sign of Deity 

As e'er to mortal gaze was given. 
Nor ever, were I destined yet 

To live my life twice o'er again, 
Can I the deepfelt awe forget. 

The dream, the trance that rapt me then ! 

'Twas all that consciousness of power 

And life, beyond this mortal hour ; — 

Those mountings of the soul within 

At thoughts of Hcav'n — as bu-ds begin 

By instinct in the cage to rise. 

When near their time for change of skies ; ■ 

That proud assurance of our claim 

To rank among the Sons of Light, 
Mingled with shame — O bitter shame ! — 

At having risk'd that splendid right. 
For aught that earth through all its range 
Of glories, offers in exchange ! 
'Twas all this, at that instant brought, 
Like breaking sunshine, o'er my thought — 
'Twas all this, kindled to a glow 

Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 
Thus purely ever, man might grow, 

Ev'n upon earth a thing divine. 
And be, once more, the creature made 
To walk unstain'd th' Elysian shade ! 

No, never shall I lose the trace 

Of what I've felt in this bright place. 

And, should my spirit's hope grow weak, 

Should I, O God, e'er doubt thy power, 
This mighty scene again I'll seek, 

At the same calm and glowing hour, 
And here, at the sublimcst shrine 

That Nature ever rear'd to Thee, 



1 In the year 1782, when Uie forces of Berne, Sardinia, 
and France laid siege to Geneva, and wlien, after a demon- 
stration of heroism ;u»d self-devotion, which promised to ri- 
val the feats of their ancestors in 160S against Savoy, the 



Rekindle all that hope divine, 
And feel my immortality ! 



EXTRACT II. 

Geneva. 

FATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 17S2. 
A FRAGMENT. 

Yes — if there yet live some of those, 
Who, when this small Republic rose, 
Quick as a startled hive of bees. 
Against her leaguering enemies ' — 
When, as the Royal Satrap shook 

His well-known fetters at her gates, 
Ev'n wives and mothers arm'd, and took 

Their stations by their sons and mates ; 
And on these walls there stood — yet, no, 

Shame to the traitors — would have stood 
As firm a band as e'er let flow 

At Freedom's base their sacred blood ; 
If those yet live, who, on that night. 
When all were watching, girt for fight. 
Stole, Uke the creeping of a pest. 
From rank to rank, from breast to breast, 
Filling the weak, the old with fears. 
Turning the heroine's zeal to tears, — 
Betraying Honor to that brink. 
Where, one step more, and he must sink — 
And quenching hopes, which, though the last, 
Like meteors on a drowning mast, 
Would yet have led to death more bright, 
Than life e'er look'd, in all its light ! 
Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms 

Throughout th' embattled thousands ran. 
And the high spirit, late in arms. 
The zeal, that might have work'd such charms, 

Fell, like a broken tahsman — 
Their gates, that they had sworn should be 

The gates of Death, that very dawn, 
Gave passage widely, bloodlessly, 

To the proud foe — nor sword was drawn. 
Nor ev'n one martyr'd bodj' cast 
To stain their footsteps, as they pass'd ; 
But, of the many sworn at night 
To do or die, some fled the sight. 
Some stood to look, with sullen frown. 

While some, in impotent despair. 
Broke their bright armor and lay down, 

Weeping, upon the fragments there t - 



Genevans, eitlier panic-struck or betrayed, to the surprise 
of all Europe, opened their gates to the besiegers, and sub 
mitted without a struggle to tlie extinction of their libertiea, 
— See an account of this Revolution in Coxe's Switzerland 



504 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD 



If those, I say, who brought that shame, 

That blast upon Geneva's name, 

Be living still — though crime so dark 

Shall hang up, fix'd and unforgiven, 
In History's page, th' eternal mark 

For Scorn to pierce — so help me, Heaven, 
I wish the traitorous slaves no worse, 

No deeper, deadlier disaster. 
From all earth's ills no fouler curse 

Than to have *********** their 



EXTRACT III. 

Geneva. 

Fancy and Truth. — Hippomenes and Alalanta. — Mont Blanc. 
— Clouds. 

Even here, in this region of wonders, I find 
That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind ; 
Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray 
By the golden illusions he flings in her way.' 

What a glory it seem'd the first evening I gaz'd ! 
Mont Blanc, like a vision, then suddenly rais'd 
On the wreck of the sunset — and all his array 
Of high-towering Alps, touch'd still with a 
light 
Far holier, purer than that of the Day, 

As if nearness to Heaven had made them so 
bright ! 
Then the dying, at last, of these splendors away 
From peak after peak, till they left but a ray. 
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly. 

O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly 

hung. 

Like the last sunny step of AsxRiEA, when high 

From the summit of earth to Elysium she 

sprung ! 

And those infinite Alps, stretching out from the 

sight 
TiU they mingled with Heaven, now shorn of 

their light. 
Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the sky. 
Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by ! 

That scene — I have view'd it this evening again. 
By the same brilliant light that hung over it 
then — 



nitidique ciipidine pomi 



Decliiiat cursus, auruiiique vulubile toUit. 



Ovid. 



2 It is often very difficult to distinguish between clouds 
tind Alps ; and on the evening when 1 first saw this magnifi- 
cent scene, the clouds were so disposed along the whole ho- 
rizon, as to deceive me into an idea of the stupendous ex- 
lent of these mountains, which my subsequent observation 
was very far, of course, from confirming. 



The valley, the lake in their tenderest charms — 
MoNT Blanc in his awfuUest pomp — and the 

whole 
A bright picture of Beauty, reclin'd in the arms 
Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul ! 
But where are the mountains, that round me at 

first. 
One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst ? 
Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling 

on 
Like the waves of eternity — where are they 

gone ? 
Clouds — clouds — they were nothing but clouds, 

after all ! - 
That chain of Mont Blancs, which my fancy 

flew o'er, 
With a wonder that nought on this earth can 

recall, 
Were but clouds of the evening, and now are 

no more. 

What a picture of Life's young illusions ! O, 

Night, 
Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all from my 

sight. 



EXTRACT IV. 

Milan. 

The Pictitre Oallery. — .^'bano's Rape of Proserpine, — Re- 
flections. — Universal Salvation. — Mraliam sending away 
Jigar, by Ouercino. — Oenius. 

Went to the Brera — saw a Dance of Loves 
By smooth Albano ^ ; him, whose pencil teems 

With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves 
The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams. 

'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower * from earth, 
These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth 
Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath — 

Those, that are nearest, link'd in order bright, 
Check after cheek, Uke rosebuds in a wreath ; 
And those, more distant, showing from beneath 

The others' wings their little eyes of light. 
While see, among the clouds, their eldest brother, 

But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss 
This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother. 

Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss ! 

3 This picture, the Agar of Guercino, and the Apostles ol 
Guido (the two latter of which are now the cliief ornaments 
of the Brera), were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri at Bo- 
logna. 

* that fair field 

Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was gather'd. 



liHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



603 



Well might the Loves rejoice — and well did 
they, 
Who wove these fables, picture, in their weav- 
ing. 
That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day, 

OiUGEX lost his saintship for believing,') — 
That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray 
Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast, 
Ev'n to the depths of hell will find his way. 
And soothe, and heal and triumph there at 
last! 

GuERciNo's Agar — where the bondmaid hears 

From Abram's lips that he and she must 
part ; 
And looks at him with eyes all full of tears. 

That seem the very last drops from her heart. 
Exquisite picture ! — let me not be told 
Of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold — 
If thus to conjure up a face so fair,* 
So full of sorrow ; with the story there 
Of all that woman suffers, when the stay 
Her trusting heart hath loan'd on falls away — 
If thus to touch the bosom's tenderest spring, 
15y calling into life such eyes, as bring 
iiack to our sad remembrance some of those 
We've smil'd and wept with, in their joys and 

woes. 
Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've 

known. 
Till all the pictur'd grief becomes our own — 
If this be deem'd the victory of Art — 

If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare 
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart 

Before all eyes, be Genius — it is there ! 



EXTRACT V. 

Padua. 

Fancy and Reality. — Raindrrps and Lakes. — Plan of a Sto- 
ry. — h'here to place the Scene of it. — In some unknown Re- 
gion. — Psalmanaiar's Imposture with respect to the Island 
of Formosa. 

The more I've vieAv'd this world, the more I've 
found, 
That, fiU'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures 
rare. 
Fancy commands, within her own bright round, 
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. 
Nor is it that her power can call up there 

A single charm, that's not from Nature won, 



1 The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even to 
tile regions of the damned. 
« It is probable that this fine head is a portrait, as we find 
64 



No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear 
A single hue unborrow'd from the sun — 

But 'tis the mental medium it shines through, 

That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue ; 

As the same light, that o'er the level lalie 
One dull monotony of lustre flings, 

Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make 
Colors as gay as those on Peris' wings ! 

And such, I deem, the difTrence between real, 
Existing Beauty and that form ideal. 
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' eyes. 
Like sunshine in the drop — with all those 

dyes, 
Wliich Fancy's variegating prism supplies. 

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd 

With all the pure romance, the blissful sad- 
ness. 
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd 

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet 
madness. 
But where to choose the region of my vision 

In this wide, vulgar world — what real spot 
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian 

For two such perfect lovers, I know not. 
O for some fair Formosa, such as he. 
The young Jew fabled of, in th' Indian Sea, 
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known. 
And which Queen Fancy might make all her 

own, 
Her fairy kingdom — take its people, lands, 
And tenements into her own bright hands, 
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit 
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite ! 



EXTRACT VL 

Venice. 
The Fall of Venice not to be lamentrd. — Former Olory. — Ex- 
pedition against Constantinople. — OiastinianLi. — Republic. 
— Characteristics of the old Oovemment. — Oolden Book. — 
Brazen Mouths. — Spies. — Dungeons. — Present Desola- 
tion. 

MouKN not for Venice — let her rest 
In ruin, 'mong those States unblest. 
Beneath whose gUded hoofs of pride, 
Where'er they trampled, Freedom died. 
No — let us keep our tears for them, 

Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been 



it repeated in a picture by Guercino, which is in the posses- 
sion of Signor Cainucciiii, the brother of the ceUora:e4 
painter at Rome. 



606 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



Not from a bloodstain'd diadem, 

Like that which deck'd this ocean queen, 

But from high daring in the cause 
Of human Rights — the only good 

And blessed strife, in which man draws 
His mighty sword on land or flood. 

iMourn not for Venice ; though her fall 

Be awful, as if Ocean's wave 
Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, 

And Justice triumphs o'er her grave. 
Thus perish ev'ry King and State, 

That run the guilty race she ran, 
Strong but in ill, and only great 

By outrage against God and man ! 

True, her high spirit is at rest. 
And all those days of glory gone, 

When the world's waters, east and. west, 

Beneath her white-wing'd commerce shone : 

When, with her countless barks she went 

To meet the Orient Empire's might,' 

And her Giustinianis sent 

Their hundred heroes to that fight.' 

Vanish'd are all her pomps, 'tis true, 
But mourn them not — for vanish'd, too, 



1 Under the Doge Micliaeli, in 1171. 

2 " La faniille entiere des Justiiiiani, I'une des plus illus- 
tres de Veiiise, voulut marcher toiite entiere dans cette ex- 
pedition ; elle fournit cent conjbattans ; c'etait renouveler 
I'exeniple d'une illustre famille de Rome ; le meme malheur 
les attendait." — .Hiitoire de Feiihe, par Daru. 

3 Tlie celebrated Fra Paolo. The collection of Maxims 
which this bold monk drew up at the request of the Vene- 
tian Government, for the guidance of the Secret Inquisition 
of State, are so atrocious as to seem rather an over-charged 
satire upon despotism, than* system of policy, seriously in- 
culcated, and but too readily and constajitly pursued. 

The spirit, in which these maxims of Father Paul are con- 
ceived, may be judged from tlie Instructions which he gives 
for the management of the Venetian colonies and provinces. 
Of the former he says : — " U faut les trailer comme des 
ajiimaux feroces, les rogner les dents, et les griffes, les hu- 
milier souvent, surtout leur otcr les occasions de s'aguerrir. 
Du pain et le baton, voili ce qu'il leur faut; gardens I'hu- 
manite pour une meilleure occasion." 

For the treatment of the provinces he advises thus: — 
" Tendre i depouiller les villes de leurs privileges, faire que 
les habitans s'appauvrissent, et que leurs biens soient achetes 
par les Venitiens. Ceux qui, dans les ronseils municipaux, 
se montreront ou plus audacieux ou plus devoues aux in- 
tertts de la population, il faut les perdre ou les gagiier i 
^uelque prix que ce soit : eiijin, sHl se trvuve dans les pro- 
vinces quelques chefs de parti, ilfaut les exlemiiner sous un pre- 
texle ijuelcongue, mais en ivitant de recourir d la justice ordi- 
naire. Que le poison fa se Voffice de bourreau, cela est mains 
tdieuz et beaucoup plus profitable." 

< Conduct of Venice towards her allies and dependencies. 



(Thanks to that power, who, soon or 

late. 
Hurls to the dust the guilty Great,) 
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud, 

The chains, the rapine, and the blood. 
That fill'd each spot, at home, abroad. 

Where the Republic's standard stood. 
Desolate Venice ! when I track 
Thy haughty course through centuries back ; 
Thy ruthless power, obey'd but curs'd — 

The stern machinery of thy State, 
Which hatred would, like steam, have burst, 

Had stronger fear not chill'd ev'n hate ; — 
Thy perfidy, still worse than aught 
Thy own unblushing Sarpi^ taught; — 
Thy friendship, which, o'er all beneath 
Its shadow, rain'd down dews of death ;* — 
Thy Oligarchy's Book of Gold, 

Clos'd against humble Virtue's name,* 
But open'd wide for slaves who sold 

Their native land to thee and shame ;^ — 
Thy all-pervading host of spies. 

Watching o'er every glance and breath, 
Till men look'd in each other's eyes, 

To read their chance of life or death ; — 
Thy laws, that made a mart of blood, 

And legaliz'd the assassin's knife : ' — 



particularly to unfortunate Padua. — Fate of Francesco Car. 
rara, for which see Daru, vol. ii. p. 141. 

5 "A I'exception des trente citadins admis au grand cun- 
seil pendant la guerre de Chiozzi, il n'eat pas arrive une 
seule fois que les talens ou les services aient paru i cette 
noblesse orgueilleuse des litres sufiisaits pour s'asseoir avec 
elle." — Daru. 

6 Among those admitted to the honor of being inscribed 
in the Libra d'are were some families of Brescia, Treviso, 
and other places, whose only claim to that distinction was 
the zeal with which they prostrated themselves and their 
country at tlie feet of the republic. 

' By the infamous statutes of the State Inquisition,* not 
only was assassination recognized as a regular mode of pun- 
ishment, but this secret power over life was delegated to 
their minions at a distance, with nearly as much facility as 
a license is given under the game laws of England. Tlie 
only restriction seems to have been the necessity of applying 
for a new certificate, after every individual exercise ol ihn 
power. 

* M. Daru has given an abstract of these Statutes, from a 
manuscript in the Bibliotheque du Roi,aud il is hardly cred- 
ible that such a system of treachery and cruelty should ever 
have been established by any government, or submiiied to, 
for an instant, by any people. Among various precautions 
against the intrigues of their own Nobles, we tind the fol- 
lowing:— " Pour persuader aux etrangers qu'il etait diffi 
cile el dangereux d'enlretenir quelqu'intrigue secrete avec 
les nobles Venitiens, on imagina de faire avertir mysieri- 
eusement le Nonce du Pape (afin que les autres mini.^tre* 
en fussent informes) que I'Inquisition avail autorise les pa- 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



507 



Thy sunless cells beneath the flood, 
And racks, and Leads,' that burnt out life ; 

When I review all this, and see 

The doom that now hath fall'n on thee ; 

Thy nobles, towering once so proud, 

Themselves beneath the yoke now bow'd, — 

A yoke, by no one grace redeem'd. 

Such as, of old, around thee beam'd, 

But mean and base as e'er yet gall'd 

Earth's tyrants, when, themselves, inthrall'd, • 

I feel the moral vengeance sweet, 

A-^d, smiling o'er the wreck, repeat, 

•' Thus perish every King and State, 

" That tread the steps which Venice trod, 
" Strong but in ill, and only great, 

" By outrage against man God ! 



EXTRACT VII. 

Venice. 

Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself. — Refiections, 
when about to read them. 

Let me, a moment, — ere with fear and hope 
Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves lope — 
As one, in fairy tale, to whom the key 

Of some enchanter's secret halls is given. 
Doubts, while he enters, slowly, tremblingly. 

If he shall meet with shapes from hell or 
heaven — 
Let me, a moment, think what thousands live 
O'er the wide earth this instant, who would give. 
Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend the brow 
Over these precious leaves, as I do now. 

1 " Les prisons des plombs ; c'est-i-dire ces fournaises ar- 
dentes qu'on avait distribuees en petites cellules sous les ter- 
rasses qui couvrent le palais." 

2 Psaplion, in order to attract the attention of the world, 
taiiglit multitudes of birds to speak his name, and then let 



triciens 4 poignarder quiconque essaierait de tenter leur fide- 
lite. Mais craignant que les ambassadeurs ne pretassent foi 
difficilement 4 line deliberation, qui en effet n'existait pas, 
I'Inquisition voulait prouver qu'elle en etait capable. Elle 
ordonna des recherches pour decouvrir s'il n'y avait pas 
dans Venise quelque exile au-dessus du conimun, qui eiit 
roinpu son ban ; ensuite un des patriciens qui etaient aux 
gages du tribunal, re^ut la mission d'assassiner ce malheu- 
reux, et I'ordre de s'en vanter, en disant qu'il s'etait porte i 
tet acte, parce que ce banni etait I'agent d'un ministre 
dti anger, et avait cherche i. le corrompre." — " Remar- 
quons," adds M. Daru, " que ceci n'est pas una simple 
anecdote ; c'est une mission projetee, deliberee, ecrite 
d'avance ; une regie de conduite tracee par des homnies 
graves 4 leurs successeurs, et consignee dans des statuts." 

The cases, in which assassination is ordered b) these Stat- 
utes, are as follow : - 



How all who know — and where is he unknown ' 
To what far region have his songs not flown, 
Like Psafhon's birds, ■■" speaking their master's 

name. 
In ev'ry language, syllabled by Fame ? — 
How all, who've felt the various spells combin'd 
Within the circle of that master mind, — 
Like spells, deriv'd from many a star, and met 
Together in some wond'rous amulet, — 
Would burn to know when flrst the Light awoko 
In his yo"ung soul, — and if the gleams that broke 
From that Aurora of his genius, rais'd 
Most pain or bliss in those on whom they blaz'd ; 
Would love to trace th' unfolding of that power, 
Which hath grown ampler, grander, every hour ; 
And feel, in watching o'er his first advance. 

As did th' Egyptian traveller,^ when he stood 
By the young Nile, and fathom'd with his lanee 

The first small fountains of that mighty flood 

They, too, who, 'mid the scornful thoughts that 
dwell 
In his rich fancy, tinging all its streams. 
As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell 

On earth of old,"* had touch'd them with its 
beams, — 
Can track a spirit, which, though driven to hate, 
From Nature's hands came kind, affectionate ; 
And which, ev'n now, struck as it is with blight, 
Comes out, at times, in loves own native light ; 
How gladly all, who've watch'd these strug- 
gling rays 
Of a bright, ruin'd spirit through his laj's, 
Would here inquire, as from his own frank lips, 
What desolating grief, wliat wrongs had 
di-iven 

them fly away in various directions: whence the proverb. 
" Psaphonis aves." 

3 Bruce. 

* " And the name of the star is called Wormwood, and 
the third part of the waters became wormwood." — Rev. vii i. 



" Un ouvrier de I'arsenal, un chef de ce qu'on appelle 
parmi les marins le menstrance, passait-il au service d'une 
puissance etrangere : il fallait le faire assassiner, surtout si 
c'etait un hoirime reput6 brave et habile dans sa profes- 
sion." (Art. 3, des Statute.) 

" Avait-il commis quelque action qu'on ne jugeait pas k 
propos de punir juridiquement, on devait le faire empoison 
ner." (jJW. 14.) 

" Un artisan passait-il 4 I'^tranger en y exportant quelquo 
procede de I'industrie nationale: c'etait encore un crime 
capital, que la loi inconnue ordonnait de punir par un assas. 
sinat." (./Jrt. 26.) 

The facility with which they got rid of their Duke of Bed 
fords, Lord Fitzwilliams, &c. was admirable : it was thus : - 

" Le patricien qui se permetfait le nioindre propos contra 
le gouvernemcnt, etait admonete deux fois, et A la troislem, 
noye comme incorrigible." {Art. 39.) 



RHYMES ON THE ROAU. 



That noble nature into cold eclipse ; 

Like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven, 
And born, not only to surprise, but cheer 
With warmth and lustre all within its sphere, 
Is now so quench'd, that of its grandeur lasts 
Nought, but the wide, cold shadow which it 
casts ! 

Eventful volume ! whatsoe'er the change 

Of scene and clime — th' adventures, bold and 

strange — 
The griefs — the frailties, but too frankly told — 
The loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold, 
If Truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks 

His virtues as his failings, we shall find 
The record there of friendships, held like rocks, 
And enmities, like sun-touch'd snow, re- 
sign' d ; 
Of fealty, cherish'd without change or chill. 
In those who serv'd him, young, and serve him 

still ; 
Of generoiis aid, giv'n Avith that noiseless art 
Which wakes not pride, to many a wounded 

heart ; 
Of acts — but, no — not from himself must aught 
Of the bright features of his life be sought. 
While they, who court the world, like Milton's 

cloud,' 
*' Turn forth their silver lining " on the crowd, 
This gifted Being wraps himself in night ; 

And, keeping all that softens, and adorns, 
And gilds his social nature hid from sight. 
Turns but its darkness on a world he scorns. 



EXTRACT VIII. 



Venice. 



Female Beauty at Venice. — JVo longer what it was in the 
Time of Titian. — Ili.s Mistress. — Various Forms in which 
he has painted her. — Venus. — Divine and profane Love. — 
La Fragilitd d^Anwre.— Paul Veronese — His Women. — 
Marriage of Cana. — Character of Italian Beauty. — Ra- 
phael Fornanna. Modesty. 

TuY brave, thy learn' d, have pass'd away : 
I'hy beautiful ! — ah, where are they ? 

1 " Did a sable cloud 

Turn forth her s Iver lining on the night? " 
Comus. 

2 In the Tribune at Florence. 

3 In the Palazzo Pitti. 

* Alludes particularly to the portrait of her in the Sciarra 
rollertion at Rome, where the look of mournful reproach in 
those full, shadowy eyes, as if she had been unjustly accused 
of something wrong, is exquisite. 

5 Tito fine picture in the Palazzo Borghese, called (it is 



The forms, the faces, that once shone. 

Models of grace, in Titian's eye, 
"N^lierc are they now ? while flowers live on 

In ruin'd places, why, O why 

Must Beauty thus with Glory die ? 
That maid, whose lips would still have mov'd. 

Could art have breath' d a spirit through 
them; 
Whose varj-ing charms her artist lov'd 

More fondly every time he drew them, 
(So oft beneath his touch they pass'd. 
Each semblance fairer than the last) ; 
Wearing each shape that Fancy's range 

Offers to Love — yet still the one 
Fair idol, seen through every change, 

Like facets of some orient stone, — 

In each the same bright image shown. 
Sometimes a Venus, unarray'd 

But in her beauty * — sometimes deck'd 
In costlj' raiment, as a maid 

That kings might for a throne select.' 
Now high and proud, like one who thought 
The world should at her feet be brought ; 
Now, with a look reproachful, sad,^ — 
Unwonted look from brow so glad ; — 
And telling of a pain too deep 
For tongue to speak or ej-es to weep. 
Sometimes, through allegory's veil, 

In double semblance seen to shine, 
Telling a strange and mystic tale 

Of Love Profane and Love Divine * — 
Akin in features, but in heart 
As far as earth and heav'n apart. 
Or else, (by quaint device to prove 
The frailty of all worldly love) 
Holding a globe of glass, as thin 

As air-blown bubbles, in her hand. 
With a young Love confin'd therein. 

Whose wings seem waiting to expand — 
And telling, by her anxious eyes. 
That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies ! • 

Thou, too, with touch magnificent, 
Paul of Verona ! — where are they, 

The oriental forms,' that lent 
Tliy canvas such a bright array ? 

not easy to say why) " Sacred and Profane Love," in which 
the two figures, sitting on the edge of the fountain, are evi- 
dently portraits of the same person. 

« This fanciful allegory is ihe subject of a picture by Tit- 
ian in the possession of the Marquis Canibinn at Turin, 
whose collection, though small, contains some beautiful 
specimens of all tlie great masters. 

' As Paul Veronese gave but little into the beau ideal, hig 
women may be regarded as pretty close imitations of th« 
living models which Venice affurded in his time. 



RHYMES ON 


THE ROAD. 500 


Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress 
Seems part of their own loveliness ; 


EXTRACT IX. 

Venice. 


Like the sun's drapery, which, at eve, 


The English to be met with every where. — Alps and Thread- 


The floating clouds around him weave 


nerdle Street. — The Simplon and tJte Stocks. — Rage for trav- 


Of light they from himself receive I 


elling.— Blue Stockings among the fVahabees. — Parasoh 


Where is there now the living face 


and Pyramids. —Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China. 


Like those that, in thy nuptial throng,* 


And is there then no earthly place. 


By their superb, voluptuous grace, 


Where we can rest, in dream Elysian, 


Make us forget the time, the place, 


Without some curs' d, round English face. 


The holy guests they smile among, — 


Popping up near, to break the vision ? 


Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine, 


'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines. 


We see no miracles but thine. 


Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet ; 




Nor highest Alps nor Apennines 


If e'er, except in Painting's dream. 


Ai-e sacred from Threadneedle Street ! 


There bloom'd such beauty here, 'tis gone, — 




Gone, like the face that in the stream 


If up the Simplon's path we wind, 


Of Ocean for an instant shone, 


Fancying we leave this world behind, 


When Venus at that mirror gave 


Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear 


A last look, ere she left the wave. 


As — " Baddish news from 'Change, my dear — 


And though, among the crowded ways, 


" The Funds — (phew, curse this ugly hill) -- 


We oft are startled by the blaze 


«' Are lowering fast — (what, higher still ? — 


Of eyes that pass, with fitful light. 


"And— zooks, we're mounting up to hear' 


Like fireflies on the wing at night,' 


en!) — 
" Will soon be down to sixty-seven." 


'Tis not that nobler beautj% given 


To show how angels look in heaven. 




Ev'n in its shape most pure and fair, 


Go were we may — rest where we will, 


'Tis Beauty, with but half her zone, — 


Eternal London haunts us still. 


All that can warm the Sense is there, 


The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch — 


But the Soul's deeper charm is flown : — 


And scarce a pin's head difference tchick — 


'Tis Raphael's Fornarina, —warm, , 


Mixes, though even to Greece we run, 


Luxuriant, arch, but unrefin'd ; 


With every rill from HeHcon ! 


A flower, round which the noontide swarm 


And, if this rage for travelling lasts. 


Of young Desires may buzz and wind, 


If Cockneys, of all sects and castes, 


But where true Love no treasure meets, 


Old maidens, aldermen, and squires. 


Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. 


Will leave their puddings and coal fires, 




To gape at things in foreign lands, 


Ah no, — for this, and for the hue 


No soul among them understands ; 


Upon the rounded cheek, which tells 


If Blues desert their coteries, 


How fresh, within the heart, this dew 


To show off" 'mong the Wahabees ; 


Of Love's unrifled sweetne£s dwells, 


If neither sex nor age controls. 


We must go back to our own Isles, 


Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids 


Where Modesty, which here but gives 


Young ladies, with pink parasols, 


A rare and transient grace to smiles, 


To glide among the Pyramids ' • 


In the heart's holy centre lives ; 


Why, then, farewell all hope to find 


And thence, as from her throne diffuses 


A spot, that's free from London-kind ! 


O'er thoughts and looks so bland a reign. 


Who knows, if to the West we roam. 


That not a thought or feeling loses 


But we may find some Blue " at home " 


Its freshness in that gentle train. 


Among the Blacks of Carolina — 




Or, flying to the Eastward, see 




Some Mrs. Hopkins, taking tea 




And toast upon the Wall of China ! 


1 The Marriage of Cana. 


3 It was pink spenders, I believe, that the imaginaticu 


" Certain it is (ag Arthur Young truly and feelingly 


of the French traveller conjured up. 


nays) one novi and then meets with terrible eyes in Italy." 





510 RHYMES ON 


THE ROAD. 


EXTRACT X. 


EXTRACT XI. 


Mantua. 


Florence. 


Verses of Hippohjta to her Husband. 


No — 'tis not the region where Love's to be 


They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest • 


found — 


Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 


They have bosoms that sigh, they hava glances 


No wif , like thine, to wake the jest, 


that rove. 


No voice like thine, to breathe the song. 


They have language a Sappho's cwn lip might 


And none could guess, so gay thou art, 


resound, 


That thou and I are far apart. 


When she wai-bled her best — but they've 


Alas, alas, how diifcrent flows, 


nothing like Love. 


With thee and me the time away. 




Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows — 


Nor is't that pure sentiment only they want. 


Still, if thou canst, bo light and gay ; 


Which Heav'n for the mild and the tranqUL 


I only know that without thee 


hath made — 


The sun himself is dark for me. 


Calm, wedded affection, that home-rooted plant, 




Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles in the 


Do I put on the jewels rare 


shade ; 


Thou'st always lov'd to see me wear ? 




Do I perfume the locks that thou 


That feeling, which, after long years have gone 


So oft hast braided o'er my brow. 


by, 


Thus deck'd, through festive crowds to run. 


Remains, like a portrait we've sat for in youth. 


And all th' assembled world to see, — 


Where, ev'n though the flush of the colors 


All but the one, the absent one, 


may fly. 


Worth more than present worlds to me ! 


The features still live, in their first smiling 


No, nothing cheers this widow' d heart — 


truth ; 


My only joy, from thee apart, 




From thee thj'self, is sitting hours 


That union, where all that in Woman is kind. 


And days, before thy pictur'd form — 


With all that in Man most ennoblingly towers, 


That dream of thee, which Raphael's powers 


Grow wreath'd into one — like the column 


Have made with all but lifebreath warm ! 


cdVbin'd 


And as I smile to it, and say 


Of the strcjigth of the shaft and the capital's 


The words I speak to thee in play, 


JhiPers. 


I fancy from their silent frame, 




Those eyes and lips give back the same ; 


Of this — bear ye witness, ye wives every where. 


And still I gaze, and still they keep 


By the Arno, the Po, by all Italy's streams — 


Smiling thus on me — till I weep ! 


Of this heart-wedded love, so delicious to share. 


Our little boy, too, knows it well, 


Not a husband hath even one glimpse in his 


For there I lead him every day, 


dreams. 


And teach his lisping lips to tell 




The name of one that's far away. 


But it is not this, only ; — born full of the light 


Forgive me, love, but thus alone 


Of a sun, from whose fount the luxuriant 


My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone. 


festoons 




Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre so bright. 




That, beside him, our suns of the north are 




but moons, — 


1 Utqiie fenint Isetiis convivia lata 




Et celebras lentis otia mista jocis; 


Sola tuos vultus referens Rapliaelis imago 


Aut cithara jestiviiin atteniias canlnqiie calorem 


Picta inanu, curas allevat usque nieas. 


Hei mihi, qiiarn dispar nunc mea vita tuiE ! 


Huic ego delicias facio, arrideoque jocorque, 


Nee mihi displiceant qus sunt tibi grata ; sed ipsa est 


Alloquor et tanquam reddere verba queat. 


Te sine, lux oculis pene inimica meis. 


Assensu nutuque mihi sspe ilia videtur 


Non auro aut gemmSl caput exornare nitenti 


Dicere velle aliquid et tua verba loqui. 


Mo juvat, aut Arabo spargere odore coinaa: 


Agnoscit balbcque patrem puer ore salutat 


Non cele'ires ludos fastis spectare diebus. 


Hoc solor longas decipioque dies. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



We miuht fancj-, at least, like their climate they 
burn'd ; 
And that Love, though unus'd in this region 
of spring, 
To be thus to a tame Household Deity turn'd, 
Would yet be all soul, when abroad on the 
vnng. 

And there maij be, there are those explosions 
of heart. 
Which burst, when the senses have first 
caught the flame ; 
Sui^h fits of the blood as those climates impart, 
Whene I.ove is a sunstroke, that maddens the 
frame. 

V>at that Passion, which springs in the depth of 
the soul ; 
Whose beginnings are virginly pure as the 
source 
Of some small mountain rivulet, destin'd to roll 
A.S a torrent, ere long, losing peace in its 
course — 

A course, to which Modesty's struggle but lends 
A. more headlong descent, without chance of 
recall ; 
But which Modesty ev'n to the last edge attends, 
And, then, throws a halo of tears round its 
fall ! 
Tiiis exquisite Passion — ay, exquisite, even 

'^Mid the ruin its madness too often hath made, 
As it keeps, even then, a bright trace of the 
heaven, 
That heaven of Virtue from which it has 
stray' d — 

Til is entironess of love, which can only be found. 
Where Woman, like something that's holy, 
watch'd over. 
And fenc'd, from her childhood, with purity 
round, 
Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, to a 
lover ! 

Where not an eye answers, where not a hand 
presses. 
Till spirit with spirit in sympathy move ; 
And the Senses, asleep in their sacred recesses. 
Can only be reach'd through the temple of 
Love ! — 

This perfection of Passion — how can it be found, 
WTiere the mystery nature hath hung round 
the tie 



By which souls are together attracted and bound 
Is laid open, forever, to heart, ear, and eye ; — 

Where nought of that innocent doubt can exist, 
That ignorance, even than knowledge more 
bright, 
Which circles the young, like the mom's sunny 
mist. 
And curtains them round in their own native 
light ; — 

Where Experience leaves nothing for Love to 
reveal. 
Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o'er the 
thought ; 
But the truths which, alone, we would die to 
conceal 
From the maiden's young heart, are the on?y 
ones taught. 

No, no, 'tis not here, howsoever we sigh, 

Whether purely to Hymen's one planet we 
pray, 

Or adore, like Sabseans, each light of Love's sky, 
Here is not the region, to fix or to stray. 

For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross. 
Without honor to guard, or reserve to restrain, 

W/iat have they, a husband can mourn as a loss ? 
^Vhat have they, a lover can prize as a gain ? 



EXTRACT Xn. 

Florence. 

JViixic in Itahj. — Disappointed by it. — Recollections of othct 
Times and Friends. — Dalton. — Sir John Stevenson. — Hii 
Daughter. — Musical Evenings together. 



If it he true that Music reigns. 

Supreme, in Italy's soft 
'Tis like that Harmony, so famous. 
Among the spheres, which, He of Samos 
Declar'd, had such transcendent merit, 
That not a soul on earth could hear it ; 
For, far as I have come — from Lakes, 
Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks, 
Through Milak, and that land, which gave 

The Hero of the rainbow vest ' — 
By MiNcio's banks, and by that wave,* 

Which made Yeroxa's bard so blest — 
Places, that (like the Attic shore. 

Which rung back music, when the sea 

1 Bergamo — the birthplace, it is said, of Harlequin. 
■i The Lago di Garda. 



512 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



Struck on its marge) should be, all o'er, 

Thrilling alive with melody — 
I've heard no music — not a note 
Of such sweet native airs as float, 
In my own land, among the throng, 
And ftjieak our nation's soul for song. 

Nay, ev'n in higher walks, where Art 
Performs, as 'twere, the gardener's part. 
And richer, if not sweeter, makes 
The flowers she from the wild hedge takes — 
Ev'n there, no voice hath charm'd my ear, 

No taste hath won my perfect praise, 
Like thine, dear friend ' — long, truly dear — 

Thine, and thy lov'd Olivia's lays. 
She, always beautiful, and growing 

Still more so every note she sings — 
Like an inspir'd young Sibyl,''' glowing 

With her own bright imaginings ! 
And thou, most worthy to be tied 

In music to her, as in love, 
Breathing that language by her side. 

All other language far above. 
Eloquent Song — whose tones and words 
In every heart find answering chords ! 

How happy once the hours we pass'd, 

Singing or listening all day long. 
Till Time itself seem'd chang'd, at last. 

To music, and we liv'd in song ! 
Turning the leaves of Haydn o'er. 

As quick, beneath her master hand. 
They open'd all their brilliant store. 

Like chambers, touch' d by fairy wand ; 
Or o'er the page of Mozart bending. 

Now by his airy warblings cheer'd. 
Now in his mournful Bequiem blending 

Voices, through which the heart was heard. 

And still, to lead our evening choir, 
"Was He invok'd, thy lov'd-one's Sire' — 
He, who, if aught of grace there be 

In the wild notes I write or sing, 
First smooth'd their links of harmony. 

And lent them charms they did not bring ; — 
He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, 
With whom, employ'd in his sweet art, 

1 Edward 'J'uite Dalton, the first husband of Sir John 
Stevenson's daughter, the hite Marchioness of Head fort. 

2 Such as those of Uomenicliino in the Palazzo Borghese 
at the Capitol, &c. 

3 Sir John Stevenson. 

4 The " Conjuration de Nic.ilas Gahrini, dit de Rienzi," 
by Die )esuit De Cprreau, is chiefly taken from the much 



(That art, which gives this world of ours 

A notion how they speak in heaven,) 
I've pass'd more bright and charmed hours 

Than all earth's wisdom could have given. 
O happy days, O early friends. 

How Life, since then, hath lost its flowers I 
But yet — though Time some foliage rends. 

The stem, the Friendship, still is ours ; 
And long may it endure, as green. 
And fresh as it hath always been ! 

How I have wandcr'd from my theme ! 

But where is he, that could return 
To such cold subjects from a dream. 

Through which these best of feelings bum : 
Not all the works of Science, Art, 

Or Genius in this world are worth 
One genuine sigh, that from the heart 

Friendship or Love draws freshly forth. 



EXTRACT Xin. 



Rome. 



Reflections on reading De Cerceau's Account of the Con.fpira- 
cy of Rienil, in 1347.4— TAe Meetintr of the Conspirators 
on the JVYV/ft nf the 19 h of May. — Their Procession in the 
Morning to the Capitol. — Riemi's Speech. 

'TwAS a proud moment — ev'n to hear the words 

Of Truth and Freedom 'mid these temples 
breath' d. 
And see, once more, the Forum shine with 
swords. 

In the Republic's sacred name unsheath'd — 
That glimpse, that vision of a brighter day 

For his dear Rome, must to a Roman be, 
Short as it was, worth ages pass'd away 

In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 

'Twas on a night of May, beneath that moon, 
Which had, through many an age, seen Time 

untune 
The strings of this Great Empire, till it fell 
From his rude hands, a broken, silent shell — 
The sound of the church clock,* near Adiii.v.x's 

Tomb, 
Summon'd the warriors, who had risen for Rome, 



more authentic work of Fortifiocca on the same subject. 
Rienzi was the son of a laundress. 

6 It is not easy to discover what church is meant by Du 
Cerceau here : — " II fit crier dans les rues de Rome, 4 son 
de trompe, que chacun eut i se trouver, sans armes, la nuit 
du lendemain, dix neuvi^me, dans I'eglise du chateau de 
Saint-Ange, an son de la cloche, afin de pourvoir au Pc* 
Et.it " 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



513 



To meet unarm'd, — -with none to watch them 

there, 
But God's ovrn eye, — and pass the night in 

prayer. 
Holy beginning of a holy cause. 
When heroes, girt for Freedom's combat, pause 
Before high Heav'n, and, humble in their might. 
Call down its blessing on that coming fight. 

At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot band ; 
And, as the breeze, fresh from the Tihek, fann'd 
Their gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see 

The palm tree there, the sword, the keys of 
Heaven ' — 
Types of the justice, peace, and liberty. 

That were to bless them, when their chains 
were riven. 
On to the Capitol the pageant mov'd. 

While many a Shade of other times, that still 
Around that grave of grandeur sighing rov'd, 

Hung o'er their footsteps up the Sacred Hill, 
And heard its mournful echoes, as the last 
High-minded heirs of the Republic pass'd. 
'Twas then that thou, their Tribune,^ (name, 

which brought 
Dreams of lost glory to each patriot's thought,) 
Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shall seek 
To wake up in her sons again, thus speak ; — 
•• Romans, look round you — on this sacred place 

" There once stood shrines, and gods, and 
godlike men. 
" What see j'ou now ? what solitary trace 

" Is left of all, that made Rome's glory then ? 
•' The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft 

«' Ev'n of its name — and nothing now remains 
" But the deep memory of that glory, left 

" To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! 
" But shall this be ? — our sun and sky the 
same, — 

" Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — 
" What withering curse hath fall'n on soul and 
frame, 

" What visitation hath there come from God, 

1 " Les gentilshommes conjures portaient devant lui trois 
etendarCs. Nicolas Guallato, surnoniine le bon diseur, por- 
tait le premier, qui etait de couleur rouge, et plus grand que 
les autres. On y voyait des caract&res d'or avec une feinme 
assise sur deux lions, tenant d'une main le globe du monde, 
et de I'autre une Palme pour rcpresenter la ville de Rome. 
C'etait le Gonfalon de In Liberie. Le second, i fonds blanc, 
avec un St. Paul tenant de la droite une Epee nue et de la 
gauclie la couronne de Justice, etait porte par Etienne Mag- 
nacuccia, notaire apostolique. Dans le troisieine, St. Pierre 
avait en main les clefs de la Concorde et de la Paix. Tout 
cela insinuait le dessein de Rienzi, qui etait de retablir la 
libert6 la justice et la paix." — Du Cerceau, liv. ii. 

2 Rienzi. 

66 



" To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, 
" Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves? 
" It cannot be — rise up, ye Mighty Dead, — 

" If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
" These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire 
tread, 
" Till all but Romans at Rome's lameness 
blush ! 

" Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes, 

" Where only date trees sigh and serpents hiss ; 
"And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 
" For the stork's brood, superb Peusepolis ! 
" Thrice happy both, that your extinguish'd race 
" Have left no embers — no half-living trace — 
"No slaves, to crawl around the once proud 

spot, 
" Till past renown in present shame's forgot. 
" While Rome, the Queen of all whose very 
wrecks, 
" If lone and lifeless through a desert hurl'd, 
"Would wear more true magnificence than (?eck3 
" Th' assembled thrones of all th' existing 
world — 
" Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stain'd and 
curs' d 
" Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, 
" By living human things — the deadliest, worst, 
" This earth engenders — tyrants and their 
slaves ! 
" And we — O shame ! — we, who have por 
der'd o'er 
" The patriot's lesson and the poet's lay ; ' 
" Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 
" Tracking our country's glories all the way — 
" Ev'n tee have tamely, basely kiss'd the ground 
"Before that Papal Power, —that Ghost of 
Her, 
" The World's Imperial Mistress — sitting, 
crown' d 
" And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulchre ! * 
" But this is past : — too long have lordly priests 
" And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 

3 The fine Canzone of Petrarch, beginning "Spirto gen- 
til," is supposed, by Voltaire and others, to have been ad- 
dressed to Rienzi ; but there is much more evidence of its 
having been written, as Ginguene asserts, to the young Ste- 
phen Colonna, on his being created a Senator of Rome. 
That Petrarch, however, was filled with high and patriotic 
hopes by the first measures of this extraordinary man, ap- 
pears from one of his letters, quoied by Du Cerceau, wliero 
he says, — " Pour tout dire, en un mot, j'atteste, non conime 
lecteur, mais comme temoin oculaire, qu'il nous a ramen6 
le justice, la paix, la bonne foi, la securite, et tons les autres 
vestiges de I'Slge d'or." 

* This image is borrowed from Hobbes, whose words are^ 
as near as I can recollect : — " For what is the Pcipacy, but 



dU 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



Withering about us — like devoted beasts, 
"Dragg'd to the shrine, witl. faded garlands 

tied. 
'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! 
Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 
The Genius of the Old RepuhHc, free 
As first he stood, in chainlcss majesty. 
And sends his voice through ages yet to 

come, 
' Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal 

Rome ! " 



EXTRACT XIV. 



Rome. 



Fragment, of a Dream. — The great Painters supposed to be 
Magicians. — The Beginnings vf the Art. — Oildings on the 
Glories and Draperies. — Improvement.' under Oiotto, S(c. 

— The first Dawn of the true Style in Masaccio.— Studied 
hy all the great ArtisU who followed him. — Leonardo da 
Vinei, with whom commenced the Golden Jla-e of Painting. 

— His Knowledge of Mathematics and of Music. — His fe- 
male Heads all like each other.— Triangular Faces.— Por- 
traits^ of Mnna Li.'^a, S{c. — Picture of Vanity and Modesty. 

— His ehef-d^(Euvre, the Last Supper. — Faded and almost 



Fill'd -with tbe wonders I had seen. 

In Rome's stupendous shrines and halls, 
I felt the veil of sleep, serene. 
Come o'er the memory of each scene. 

As twilight o'er the landscape falls. 
Nor was it slumber, sound and deep, 

But such as suits a poet's rest — 
That sort of thin, transparent sleep, 

Through which his daydream* shine the best. 
Methought upon a plain I stood. 

Where certain wondrous men, 'twas said, 
"With strange, miraculous power endu'd, 

"Were coming, each in turn, to shed 
His arts' illusions o'er the sight. 
And call up miracles of light. 
The sky above this lonely place. 

Was of that cold, uncertain hue. 
The canvas wears, ere, warm'd apace, 

Its bright creation dawns to view. 



the Ghost of the old Roman Empire, sitting crowned on the 
crave thereof?" 

1 The paintings of those artists who were introduced into 
Venice and Florence from Greece. 

2 Margaritnne of Orezzo, who was a pupil and imitator 
of the Greeks, is said to have invented this art of gilding the 
ornaments of pictures, a practice which, though it gave way 
to a purer taste at the beginning of the IGth century, was 
Btill occasionally used by many of the great masters : as by 
Raphael in the ornaments of the Fnmarina, and by Rubens 
not unfreqnently in glories and flames. 

3 Cimabue, Giotto, &.C. 



But soon a glimmer from the east 

Proclaim'd the first enchantments nigh ; ' 
And as the feeble light increas'd, 

Strange figures mov'd across the sky, 
With golden glories deck'd, and streaks 

Of gold among their garments' dyes ; * 
And life's resemblance ting'd their cheeks, 

But nought of life was in their eyes ; — 
Like the fresh-painted Dead one meets. 
Borne slow along Rome's mournful streets. 

But soon these figures pass'd away ; 

And forms succeeded to their place, 
With less of gold, in their array. 

But shining with more natural grace, 
And all could see the charming wands 
Had pass'd into more gifted hands.' 

Among these visions there was one,* 
Surpassing fair, on which the sun, 
That instant risen, a beam let fall, 

Which through the dusky twilight treni' 
bled. 
And reach'd at length, the spot where all 

Those great magicians stood assembled. 
And as they turn'd their heads, to view 

The shining lustre, I could trace 
The bright varieties it threw 

On each uplifted studying face ; * 
While many a voice with loud acclaim, 
Call'd forth, " Masaccio" as the name 
Of him, th' Enchanter, who had rais'd 
This mira-cle, on which aU gaz'd. 

'Twas daylight now — the sun had risen, 
From out the dungeon of old Night, — 

Like the Apostle, from his prison 
Led by the Angel's hand of light ; 

And — as the fetters, when that ray 

Of glory reach'd them, dropp'd away," 

So fled the clouds at touch of day ! 

Just then, a bearded sage ^ came forth, 

"VVho oft in thoughtful dream would stand, 



i The works of Masaccio. — For the character of this 
powerful and original genius, see Sir Joshua Reynold's 
nvelfth discourse. His celebrated frescoes are in the church 
of St. Pietro del Carmine, at Florence. 

6 All the great artists studied, and many of them bor- 
rowed from Masaccio. Several fipjres in llie Cartoons of 
Raphael are taken, with but little alteration, from his fres- 
coes. 

6 " And a light shined in the prison . . . and his chaini 
fell offfrom his hands." — Sets. 

1 Leonardo da Vinci. 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



516 



To trace upon the dusky earth 
Strange learned figures with his wand ; ' 

And oft he took the silver lute " 
His little page behind him bore, 

And wak'd such music as, when mute, 
Left in the soul a thirst for more ! 

Mean-while, his potent spells went on. 

And forms and faces, that from out 
A depth of shadow mildly shone. 

Were in the soft air seen about. 
Though as thick as midnight stars they 

beam'd. 
Yet all like living sisters seem'd. 
So close, in every point, resembling 

Each other's beauties — from the eyes 
Lucid as if through crystal trembling, 

Y'et soft as if suffused with sighs, 
To the long, fawn-like month, and chin, 

Lovely tapering, less and less. 

Till, by this very charm's excess, 
Like virtue on the verge of sin, 

It touch'd the bounds of ugliness. 
Here look'd as when they liv'd the shades 
Of some of Arno's dark-ey'd maids — 
Such maids as should alone live on. 
In dreams thus, when their charms are gone : 
Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes 

A painter for whole years might gaze,' 
Nor find in all his pallet's dyes. 

One that could even approach their blaze ! 

Here float two spirit shapes,* the one, 
With her white fingers to the sun 
Outspread, as if to ask his ray 
Wliether it e'er had chanc'd to play 
On lilies half so fair as they ! 
This self-pleas'd nymph, was Vanity — 
And by her side another smil'd. 

In form as beautiful as she. 
But with that air, subdu'd and mild, 

That still reserve of purity. 
Which is to beauty like the haze 

Of evening to some sunny view. 
Softening such charms as it displays, 

1 His treatise on Mechanics, Optics, &c. preserved in the 
Ambrosian library at Milan. 

- On dit que Leonard pant pour la premiere fois i la 
tour de Milan, dans un espece de concours ouvert entre les 
meilleurs joueurs de lyre d'ltalie. II se pr^senta avec une 
lyre de sa fa9on, construit en argent. — Hiitoire de la Pein- 
ture en fta'ie. 

8 He is said to have been four years employed upon the 
portrait of this fair Florentine, without being able, after all, 
lo come up to his idea of her beauty. 

* Vanity and Modesty in the coUecticn of Cardinal Pesch, 



And veiling others in that hue. 
Which fancy only can see through ! 

This phantom nymph, who could she be, 

But the bright Spirit, Modesty I 

Long did the learn'd enchanter stay 

To weave his spells, and still there pass'd, 
As in the lantern's shifting play. 
Group after group in close array, 

Each fairer, grander, than the last. 
But the great triumph of his power 

Was yet to come : — gradual and slow, 
(As all that is ordain'd to tower 

Among the works of man must grow,) 
The sacred vision stole to view. 

In that half light, half shadow shown, 
Which gives to ev'n the gayest hue, 

A sober' d, melancholy tone. 
It was a vision of that last,* 
Sorrowful night which Jesus pass'd 
With his disciples when he said 

Mournfully to them — "I shall be 
" Betray'd by one, who here hath fed 

•' This night at the same board with me." 
And though the Savior, in the dream. 
Spoke not these words, we saw them beam 
Legibly in his eyes (so well 
The great magician work'd his spell), 
And read in every thoughtful line 
Imprinted on that brow divine. 
The meek, the tender nature, griev'd. 
Not anger'd, to be thus deceiv'd — 
Celestial love requited ill 
For all its care, yet loving still — 
Deep, deep regret that there should fall 

From man's deceit so foul a blight 
Upon that parting hour — and all 

His Spirit must have felt that night. 
Who, soon to die for humankind, 

Thought only, 'mid his mortal pain, 
How many a soul was left behind 

For whom he died that death in vain ! 

Such was the heavenly scene — alas 
That scene so bright so soon should pass ! 

at Rome. The composition r-' •he four hands here is rathei 
awkward, but the picture, altogether, is very delightful. 
There is a repetition of the subject in the possession of Lu- 
cien Bonaparte. 

6 The Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci, which is in the 
Refectory of the Convent delle Grazie at Milan. See L'His- 
toire de la Peinture in ftalie, liv. iii. chap. 42. The writer 
of that interesting work (to whom 1 take this opportunity 
of ofTering my acknowledgments, for the copy he sent me a 
year sin-^e from Rome,) will see I have profited by some oi" 
his observations on this celebrated picture. 



516 



RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 



But pictur'd on the humid air, 

Its tintf?, ere long, grew languid there ; ' 

And storms came on, that, cold and rough, 

Scatter'd its gentlest glories all — 
As when the baffling winds blow off 

The hues that hang o'er Terni's fall, — 
rill, one by one, the vision's beams 

Faded away, and soon it fled. 
To join those other vanish' d dreams 

That now flit palely 'mong the dead, — 
The shadows of those shades, that go, 
Around Oblivion's lake, below ! 



EXTRACT XV. 



Rome. 



Mary Magdalen. — Her Story. — J\rumerous Pictures of her 
— Correggio. — Ouido. — Raphael, ^'c. — Canova's two ex- 
quisite Statues. — The Somariva Magdalen. — Chantrey^s 
Admiration of Canova's Works. 

No wonder. Mart, that thy story 
Touches all hearts — for there we see 

The soul's corruption, and its glory, 
Its death and life combin'd in thee. 

From the first moment, when we find 

Thy spirit haunted by a swarm 
Of dark desires, — like demons shrin'd 

Unholily in that fair form, — 
Till when, by touch of Hcav'n set free. 

Thou cam'st, with those bright locks of gold 
(So oft the gaze of Bethany), 

And, covering in their precious fold 
Thy Savior's feet, didst shed such tears 
As paid, each drop, the sins of years ! — 
Thence on, through all thy course of love 

To Him, thy Heavenly Master, — Him, 
Whose bitter death cup from above 

Had yet this cordial round the brim, 
That woman's faith and love stood fast 
And fearless by Him to the last : — 
TiU, O, blest boon for truth like thine ! 

Thou wert, of all, the chosen one, 
Before whose eyes that Face Divine, 
When risen from the dead, first shone ; 
That thou mightst see how, like a cloud. 
Had pass'd away its mortal shroud. 
And make that bright revealment known 
To hearts, less trusting than thy own. 

1 Leonardo appears to have used a mixture of oil and 
varnish for this picture, which alone, without the various 
other causes of its ruin, would have prevented any long du- 
ration of its beauties. It is now almost entirely effaced. 

2 This statue is one of the last works of Canova, and was 



All is aff'ecting, cheering, grand ; 

The kindliest record ever given, 
Ev'n under God's own kindly hand. 

Of what Repentance wins from Heaven ! 

No wonder, Mary, that thy face. 

In all its touching light of tears. 
Should meet us in each holy place. 

Where Man before his God appears, 
Hopeless — were he not taught to see 
All hope in Him, who pardon'd thee ! 
No wonder that the painter's skill 

Should oft have triumph' d in the power 
Of keeping thee all lovely still 

Ev'n in thy sorrow's bitterest hour ; 
That soft Correggio should diff'use 

His melting shadows round thy form ; 
That GuiDo's pale, unearthly hues 

Should, in portraying thee, grow warm ; 
That all — from the ideal, grand, 
Inimitable Roman hand, 
Down to the small, enamelling touch 

Of smooth Carlino — should delight 
In picturing her, who " lov'd so much," 

And was, in spite of sin, so bright ! 

But, Mary, 'mong these bold essays 

Of Genius and of Art to raise 

A semblance of those weeping eyes — 

A vision, worthy of the sphere 
Thy faith has earn'd thee in the skies. 

And in the hearts of aU men here, — 
None e'er hath match'd, in grief or grace, 
CanovaJs daydream of thy face, 
In those bright sculp tur'd forms, more bright 
With true expression's breathing light, 
Than ever yet, beneath the stroke 
Of chisel, into life awoke. 
The one,* portraying what thou wert 

In thy first grief, — while yet the flower 
Of those young beauties was unhurt 

By sorrow's slow, consuming power ; 
And mingling earth's seductive grace 

With heav'n's subliming thoughts so well. 
We doubt, while gazing, in tchich place 

Such beauty was most form'd to dwell ! — 
The other, as thou look'dst, when years 
Of fasting, penitence, and tears 
Had worn thy frame ; — and ne'er did Art 

With half such speaking power express 

not yet in maible when I left Rome. The other, which 
seems to prove, in contradiction to very high authority, that 
expression, of the intensest kind, is fully viithin the sphere 
of sculpture, was executed many years ago, and is in tha 
possession of the Count Somariva, at Paris. 



RHYllklES ON THE ROAD. 



61? 



Phe ruin ■which a brealcing heart 

Spreads, by degrees, o'er loveliness. 
Those wasting arms, that keep the trace, 
Ev'n still, of all their youthful grace, 
That loosen'd hair, of which thy brow- 
Was once so proud, — neglected now ! — 
Those features, ev'n in fading worth 
The freshest bloom to others given, 
And those sunk eyes, now lost to earth, 
But, to the last, still full of heaven ! 

Wonderful artist ! praise, like mine — 

Though springing from a soul, that feels 
Deep worship of those works divine, 

Where Genius all his light reveals — 
How weak 'tis to the words that came 
From him, thy peer in art and fame,' 
Whom I hafve known, by day, by night. 
Hang o'er thy marble with delight ; 
And, while his lingering hand would steal 

O'er every grace the taper"s rays,' 
Give thee, with all the generous zeal 
Such master spirits only feel. 

That best of fame, a rival's praise ! 



EXTRACT XVI. 

Les Charmettes. 

^ Visit to the House where Rousseau lived with Madame de 
Warrens. — Their Menage. — Its Orossness. — Claude AneU 
— Reverence with which the Spot is now visited. — .Absurd- 
ity of this blind Devotion to Fame. — Feelings excited by the 
Beauty and Seclusion of the Scene. — Disturbed by its Asso- 
ciations with Rousseau's History. — Impostures vf Men of 
Genius. — Their Power of mimickinjr all the best Feelings, 
Love, Independence, l^-c. 

Strange power of Genius, that can throw 
Round all that's vicious, weak, and low, 
Such magic lights, such rainbow dyes 
As dazzle ev'n the steadiest eyes. 



'Tis worse than weak — 'tis wrong, 'tis shame, 
This mean prostration before Fame ; 
This casting down, beneath the car 
Of Idols, whatsoe'er they are, 
Life's purest, holiest decencies. 
To be career'd o'er as they please. 
No — give triumphant Genius all 
For which his loftiest wish can call : 
If he be worshipp'd, let it be 
For attributes, his noblest, first ; 



1 Chantrey. 

2 Canova always shows his fine statue, the Venere Vinci- 
trice, by the light of a small candle 



Not with that base idolatry. 

Which sanctifies his last and worst. 

I may be cold ; — may want that glow 
Of high romance, which bards should know ; 
That holy homage, which is felt 
In treading where the great have dwelt ; 
This reverence, whatsoe'er it be, 

I fear, I feel, I have it not : — 
For here, at this still hour, to me 

The charms of this delightful spot ; 
Its calm seclusion from the throng, 

From all the heart would fain forget ; 
This narrow valley, and the song 

Of its small murmuring rivulet ; 
The flitting, to and fro, of birds. 

Tranquil and tame as they were once 
In Eden, ere the startling words 

Of Man disturb'd their orisons ; 
Those little, shadowy paths, that wind 
Up the hillside, with fruit trees lin'd, 
And lighted only by the breaks 
The gay wind in the foliage makes, 
Or vistas, here and there, that ope 

Through weeping willows, like the snatches 
Of far-off" scenes of light, which Hope 

Ev'n through the shade of sadness catches ! — 
All this, which — could I once but lose 

The memory of those vulgar ties. 
Whose grossness all the heavenliest hues 

Of Genius can no more disguise, 
Than the sun's beams can do away 
The filth of fens o'er which they play — 
This scene, which would have fiU'd my heart 

With thoughts of all that happiest is ; — 
Of Love, where self hath only part. 

As echoing back another's bliss ; 
Of solitude, secure and sweet. 
Beneath whose shade the Virtues meet ; 
Which, while it shelters, never chills 

Our sympathies with human woe, 
But keeps them, like sequester'd rills, 

Purer an-d fresher in their flow ; 
Of happy days, that share their beams 

'Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ ; 
Of tranquil nights, that give, in dreams. 

The moonlight of the morning's joy ! — 
All this my heart could dwell on here, 
But for those gross mementoes near ; 
Those sullying truths, that cross the track 
Of each sweet thought, and drive them back 
Full into all 1 he mire, and strife. 
And vanities of that man's life. 
Who, more than aU that e'er have glow'd 

With Fancy's flame (and it was his, 



618 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



In fullest warmth and radiance) show'd 

What an impostor Genius is ; 
How, with that strong, mimetic art. 

Which forms its life and soul, it takes 
AH shapes of thought, all hues of heart, 

Nor feels, itself, one throb it wakes ; 
How like a gem its light may smile 

O'er the dark path, by mortals trod, 
Itself as mean a worm, the while. 

As crawls at midnight o'er the sod ; 
What gentle words and thoughts may fall 

From its false lip, what zeal to bless. 
While home, friends, kindred, country, all, 

Lie waste beneath its selfishness ; 
How, with the pencil hardly dry 

From coloring up such scenes of love 
And beauty, as make young hearts sigh. 

And dream, and think through heav'n they 
rove, 
I'hey, who can thus describe and move, 

'the very ^\orkers of these charms, 



Nor seek, nor know a joy, above 
Some Maman's or Theresa's arms ! 

How all, in short, that makes the boast 
Of their false tongues, they want the most; 
And, while with freedom on their lips, 

Sounding their timbrels, to set free 
This bright world, laboring in th' eclipse 

Of priestcraft, and of slavery, — 
They may, themselves, be slaves as low 

As ever Lord or Patron made 
To blossom in his smile, or grow. 

Like stunted brushwood, in his shade. 
Out on the craft ! — I'd rather be 

One of those hinds, that round me tread. 
With just enough of sense to see 

The noonday sun that's o'er his head. 
Than thus, with high-built genius curs'd. 

That hath no heart for its foundation, 
Be all, at once, that's brightest, worst, 

Sublimest, meanest in creation ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE. 

BPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE CHARACTER OF 
VAPID, AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, 
AT THE KILKENNY THEATRE. 

{Entering as if to announce tke Play.) 

Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night. 
For the ninth time — O accents of delight 
To the poor author's ear, when three times three 
With a full bumper crowns his Comedy ! 
"When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken. 
He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken, 
And sees his playbill circulate — alas. 
The only bill on which his name will pass ! 
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame 
Through box and gallery waft your well-known 

name. 
While critic eyes the happy cast shall con. 
And learned ladies speU. your Dram. Person. 

'Tis said our worthy Manager ' intends 

To help my night, and he, you know, has friends. 



1 The late Mr. Richard Power. 

2 The brief appellation by which those persons were dis- 
tinguislied wlio at the opering of the new theatre of Cov- 



Friends, did I say ? for fixing friends, or parts. 
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts. 
There's nothing like him ! wits, at his request. 
Are turn'd to fools, and dull dogs learn to 

jest; 
Soldiers, for him, good " trembling cowards " 

make. 
And beaux, turn'd clowns, look ugly for his 

sake ; 
For him ev'n lawyers talk without a fee. 
For him (O friendship !) / act tragedy ! 
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks 
Make boars amusing, and put life in sticks. 

With such a manager we can't but please, 
Though London sent us all her loud O. P.'s,"'' 
Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and 

rattle, 
Arm'd with a thousand fans, we'd give them 

battle ; 
You, on our side, R. P.' upon our banners. 
Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.'s manners : 



ent Garden, clamored for the continuance of tlie old prices 
of admission. 
3 The initials of our manager's name. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



519 



And show that, here — howe'er John Bull may 

doubt — 
In all our plays, the Riot Act's cut out ; 
And, while we skin, the cream of many a jost, 
Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest. 

O gently thus, when three short weeks are pass'd, 
At Shakspeare's altar,' shall we breathe our 

last ; 
And, ere this long-lov'd dome to ruin nods, 
Die aU, die nobly, die like demigods ! 



EXTRACT 

FBOM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE 
AUTHOR, AT THE OPENING OF THE KILKENNY 
THEATRE, OCTOBER, 1809. 

Yet, even here, though Fiction rules the hour. 
There shine ^ome geiiuine smiles, beyond her 

power ; 
And there are tears, too — tears that Memory 

sheds 
Ev'n o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads. 
When her heart misses one lamented guest,"^ 
Whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest ! 
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets her task. 
And di-ooping weeps behind Thalia's mask. 

Forgive this gloom — forgive this joyless strain, 
Too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train. 
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part the 

lighter. 
As mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter j 
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue fails — 
As glowworms keep their splendor for their 

tails. 

I know not why — but time, mcthinks, hath 

pass'd 
More fleet than usual since we parted last. 
It seems but like a dream of yesternight, 
Whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying 

light; 
And, ere the memory lose one glowing hue 
Of former joj% we come to kindle new. 
Thus ever may the flying moments haste 
With trackless foot along life's vulgar waste, 
But deeply print and lingeringly move, 
When thus they reach the sunny spots we love. 



1 Tins alludes to a scenic representation then preparing 
for ttie lust night of the perfurmances. 



O yes, whatever be our gay career, 
Let this be still the solstice of the year. 
Where Pleasure's sun shall at its height remain. 
And slowly sink to level life again. 



THE SYLPH'S BALL. 

A Sylph, as bright as ever spcrted 
Her figure through the fields of air, 

By an old swarthy Gnome was courted. 
And, strange to say, he won the fair. 

The annals of the oldest witch 
A pair so sorted could not show ; 

But how refuse ? — the Gnome was rich. 
The Rothschild of the world below ; 

And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures, 
Are told, betimes, they must consider 

Love as an auctioneer of features, 
Who knocks them down to the best bidder. 

Home she was taken to his Mine — 
A Palace, paved with diamonds all — 

And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, 
Sent out her tickets for a Ball. 

The lotoer v;orld, of course, was there, 
And all the best ; but of the upper 

The sprinkling was but shy and rare, — 
A few old Sylphids, who lov'd supper. 

As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp 
Of Davy, that rcnown'd Aladdin, 

And the Gnome's Halls exhal'd a damp. 
Which accidents from fire were bad in ; 

The chambers were supplied with light 
By many strange but safe devices ; 

Large fireflies, such as shine at night 

Among the Orient's flowers and spices ; — 

Musical flint miUs — swiftly play'd 
By elfin hands — that, flashing round, 

Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids, 
Gave out, at once, both light and sound. 

Bologna stones, that drink the sun ; 

And water from that Indian sea. 
Whose waves at night like wildfire run — 

Cork'd up in crystal carefully. 



8 The late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest ncembers 
and best actors of Uie Kilkenny Tlieatrical Society. 



520 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Glowworms, that round the tiny dishes, 
Like little lighthouses, were set up ; 

And pretty phosphorescent fishes. 

That by theii own gay light were eat up. 

'Mong the few guests from Ether, came 
That wicked Sylph, whom Love we call — 

My Lady knew him but by name, 
My Lord, her husband, not at all. 

Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, appris'd 
That he was coming, and, no doubt, 

Alarm'd about his torch, advis'd 

He should, by all means, be kept out. 

But others disapprov'd this plan. 

And, by his flame though somewhat frighted. 
Thought Love too much a gentleman, 

In such a dangerous place to light it. 

However, there he was — and dancing 
^Vith the fair Sylph, light as a feather ; 

Tliey look'd like two fresh sunbeams, glancing. 
At daybreak, down to eai-th together. 

And all had gone off safe and well, 
But for that plaguy torch, whose light. 

Though not yet kindled — who could tell 
How soon, how devilishly, it might f 

And so it chanced — which, in those dark 
And fireless halls was quite amazing ; 

Did we not know how small a spark 
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. 

Whether it came (when close entangled 
In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes. 

Or from the lucciole, that spangled 
Her locks of jet — is all surmise ; 

But certain 'tis th* etherial girl 

Did drop a spark, at some odd turning. 

Which, by the waltz's windy whirl 
Was fann'd up into actual burning. 

O for that Lamp's metallic gauze, 

That curtain of protecting wire, 
Which Dav$ delicately draws 

Around illicit, dangerous fire ! — 

The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air, 
(Like that, which barr'd young Thisbe's 
bliss. 



Through whose small holes this dangerous pail 
May see each other, but not kiss.' 

At first the torch look'd rather bluely, — 
A sign, they say, that no good boded — 

Then quick the gas became unruly. 

And, crack ! the ball room all exploded. 

Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mix'd together, 
With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces, 

Like butterflies in stormy weather, 

AVere blown — legs, wings, and tails — to 
pieces ! 

While, 'mid these victims of the torch. 
The Sylph, alas, too, bore her part ! 

Found lying, \\-ith a livid scorch 

As if from lightning, o'er her heart ! 



" Well done " — a laughing Goblin said- 
Escaping from this gaseous strife — 

«« 'Tis not thejirst time Love has made 
" A blow-up in connubial life ! " 



REMONSTRANCE. 

^ter a Conversation with Lord John Russell, in which he had 
intimated some Idea of giving up all political Pursuits. 

What ! thou, with thy genius, thy j'outh, and 
thy name — 
Thou, born of a Russell — whose instinct to 
run 
The accustom'd career of thy sires, is the same 
As the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the 
sun ! 

Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp' d with a 
seal, 
Far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set ; 
With the blood of thy race, offer' d up for the 
weal 
Of a nation, that swears by that martyrdom 
yet! 

Shalt thou be faint hearted and tiirn from the 
strife, 
From the mighty arena, where all that is grandj 



Partique dedere 

Oscula quisque suae, noii pervenientia contri. 
Ovid 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



621 



And devoted, and \,ure, and adorning in life, 
'Tis for high-thoughted spirits like thine to 
command ? 

O no, never dream it — while good men despair 
Between tyrants and traitors, and timid men 
bow, 
Never think, for an instant, thy country can 
spare 
Such a light from her darkening horizon as 
thou. 

With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those 
Who in life's sunny valley lie shelter'd and 
warm ; 
Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose 

To the top cliffs of Fortune, and breasted her 
storm ; 

With an ardor for liberty, fresh as, in youth. 
It first kindles the bard and gives life to his 
lyre ; 
Yet mellow'd, ev'n now, by that mildness of 
truth. 
Which tempers, but chills not, the patriot fire ; 

With an eloquence — not like those rills from a 
height. 
Which sparkle, and foam, and in vapor are 
o'er; 
But a current, that works out its way into light 
Through the filtering recesses of thought and 
of lore. 

Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade ; 

If the stirrings of Genius, the music of fame, 

And the charms of thy cause have not power to 

persuade. 

Yet think how to Freedom thou'rt pledg'd by 

thy Name. 

Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's de- 
cree. 
Set apart for the Fane and its service divine. 
So the branches, that spring from the old Rus- 
sell tree. 
Arc by Liberty claim'd for the use of her 
Shrine. 



MY BIRTHDAY. 

My birthday " — what a different sound 
That word had in my youthful ears ! 



And how, each time the day comes round. 
Less and less white its mark appears ' 

When first our scanty years are told. 
It seems like pastime to grow old ; 
And, as Youth counts the shining links. 

That Time around him binds so fast. 
Pleased with the task, he little thinks 

How hard that chain will press at last. 
Vain was the man, and false as vain. 

Who said ' — " were he ordain'd to run 
" His long career of life again, 

" He would do all that he had done." 
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells 

In sober birthdays, speaks to me ; 
Far otherwise — of time it tells, 

Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly ; 
Of counsel mock'd; of talents, made 

Haply for high and piire designs, 
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid 

Upon unholy, earthly shrines ; 
Of nursing many a wrong desire ; 

Of wandering after Love too far. 
And taking every meteor fire. 

That cross'd my pathway, for his star. 
All this it tells, and, could I trace 

Th' imperfect picture o'er again, 
AVith pow'r to add, retouch, efface 

The lights and shades, the joy and pain, 
How little of the past would staj' ! 
How quickly all should melt away — 
All — but that Freedom of the Mind, 

Which hath been more than wealth to me ; 
Those friendships, in my boyhood twin'd, 

And kept till now unchangingly ; 
And that dear home, that saving ark. 

Where Love's true light at last I've found. 
Cheering within, when all grows dark. 

And comfortless, and stormy round ! 



FANCY. 

The more I've view'd this world, the more I'vt 
found. 
That, fiE'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures 
rare. 
Fancy commands, within her own bright round, 
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. 
Nor is it that her power can call up there 
A single charm, that's not from Nature won, — 



1 FoNTENELLE. — "Si je recommen^ais ma carrifire, j» 
ferai tout ce que j'ai fait." 



522 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear 


Which Beauty wakes in soulless men, — 


A single tint unborrow'd from the sun ; 


But lov'd, as children by their sires. 


But 'tis the mental medium it shines through, 




That lends to Beauty aU its charm and hue ; 


That flattering dream, alas, is o'er ; — 


As the same light, that o'er the level lake 


I know thee now — and though these eyes 


One dull monotony of lustre flings, 


Doat on thee wildly as before, 


Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make 


Yet, even in doating, I despise. 


Colors as gay as those on angels' wings 1 






Yes, sorceress — mad as it may seem — 




With all thy craft, such spells adorn thee, 




That passion even outlives esteem. 


SONG. 


And I, at once, adore — and scorn tliee. 


FANNY, DEAREST ! 




Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 


Carm. 11. 


Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh ; 




And every smile on my cheek should turn 


Pauca nunciate mea pxiella. 


To tears when thou art nigh. 


*«*««« 


But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 


Comrades and friends ! with whom, where'er 


So busy a life I live, 


The fates have will'd through life I've rov'd. 


That even the time it would take to Aveep 


Now speed ye home, and with you bear 


Is more than my heart can give. 


These bitter words to her I've lov'd. 


Then wish me not to despair and pine. 




Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 


Tell her from fool to fool to run. 


The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine, 


Where'er her vain caprice may call ; 


Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


Of all her dupes not loving one, 




But ruining and maddening all. 


Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 




Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 


Bid her forget — what now is pass'd — 


Rut, ah ! the mirror would cease to shine, 


Our once dear iove, whose ruin lies 


If dimm'd too often with sighs. 


Like a fair flower, the meadow's last, 


They lose tlie half of beauty's light, 


Which feels the ploughshare's edge, and 


Who view it through sorrow's tear ; 


dies! 


And 'tis but to see thee truly bright 




That I keep my ej-ebeams clear. 


Carm. 29. 


Then wait no longer till tears shall flow — 




Fanny, dearest ! the hope is vain ; 


Peninsularum Sirmio, iitsularumque 
Ocelle. 


If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 


I shall never attempt it with rain. 


Sweet Sirmio ! thou, the very eye 




Of all peninsulas and isles, 




That in our lakes of silver he, 




Or sleep, inwreath'd by Neptune's smiles — 


TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS. 




Carm. 70. 


How gladly back to thee I fly ; 




Still doubting, asking — can it be 


Dicebas quondam, ^e. 


That I have left Bithynia's sky, 


TO LESBIA. 


And gaze m safety upon thee ? 


Thou told'st me, in our days of love, 


0, what is happier than to find 


That I had all that heart of thine ; 


Our hearts at ease, our perils pass'd ; 


That, ev'n to share the couch of Jove, 


When, anxious long, the lighten'd mind 


Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from mine. 


Lays down its load of care at last : 


How purely wert thou worshipp'd then ! 


"SMien, tired with toil o'er land and deep, 


Not with the vague and vulgar fires 


Again we tread the welcome floor 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Of our own home, and sink to sleep 
On the long-wish'd-for bed once more' 

This, this it is, that pays alone 

The ills of all life's former track. — 

Shine out, my beautiful, my own 
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back. 

And thou, fair Lake, whose water quaffs 
The light of heav'n like Lydia's sea, 

Kejoice, rejoice — let all that laughs 
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me ! 



TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA. 

Nulla tiium nobis subducet femina lectuni, &c. &c. 
Lib. iv. Carin. 13. 

" Never shall woman's smile have power 
"To win me from those gentle charms ! " — 

Thus swore I, in that happy hour, 
When Love first gave thee to my arms. 

And still alone thou charm'st my sight — 
Still, though our city proudly shine 

With forms and faces, fair and bright, 
I see none fair or bright but thine. 

Wotild thou wert fair for only me, 
And couldst no heart but mine allure ! — 

To all men else unpleasing be. 
So shall I feel my prize secure.* 

0, love like mine ne'er wants the zest 

Of others' envy, others' praise ; 
But, in its silence safely blest. 

Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. 

Charm of my life ; by whose sweet power 
All cares are hush'd, all ills subdued — 

My light, in even the darkest hour. 
My crowd, in deepest solitude ! ' 

No, not though heaven itself sent down 
Some maid of more than heavenly charms, 

With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 
Would he for her forsake those arms ! 



1 O quid solutis est beatius curis, 

Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
Lahore fessi veninius lareni ad nostrum, 
Desidcratoque acquiesclmus lecto. 

' Displiceas aliis, sic ego tutus ero. 



IMITATION. 



FROM THE FRENCH. 



With women and apples both Paris and Adam 

Made mischief enough in their day : — 
God be prais'd that the fate of mankind, my 
dear Madam, 

Depends not on ms, the same way. 
For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple 

The world would have doubly to rue thee ; 
Like Adam, I'd gladly take from thee the apple, 

Like Paris, at once give it to thee. 



INVITATION TO DINNER, 

ADDRESSED TO LORD LANSDOWNE. 

September, 1818. 
Some think we bards have nothing real ; 

That poets live among the stars so, 
Their very dinners are ideal, — 

(And, heaven knows, too oft they are so,) — 
For instance, that we have, instead 

Of vulgar chops, and stews, and hashes, 
First course — a Phoenix, at the head, 

Done in its own celestial ashes ; 
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing 
All the time its neck was wringing. 
Side dishes, thus — Minerva's owl. 
Or any such like learned fowl ; 
Doves, such as heav'n's poulterer gets, 
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets. 
Larks, stew'd in Morning's roseate breath, 

Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor ; 
And nightingales, berhymed to death — 

Like young pigs whipp'd to make them tender. 

Such fare may suit those bards, who're able 
To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table ; 
But as for me, who've long been taught 

To eat and drink like other people ; 
And can put up with mutton, bought 

Where Bromham " rears its ancient steeple - • 
K Lansdowne will consent to share 
My humble feast, though rude the fare, 
Yet, season'd by that salt he brings 
From Attica's salinest springs, 
'Twill turn to dainties ; — while the cup, 
Beneath his influence brightening up, 

« Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atrl 

Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. 
4 A picturesque village in sight of my cottage, and from 
which it is separated but by a small verdant valley 



524 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



1^ 



Like that of Baucis, touch'd by Jove, 
Will sparkle fit for gods above ! 



VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE'S 
INKSTAND.' 

WRITTEN MAY, 1832. 

^LL, as he left it ! — even the pen, 
So lately at that mind's command, 

Carelessly lying, as if then 

Just fallen from his gifted hand. 

Have we then lost him ? scarce an hour, 
A little hour, seems to have pass'd, 

Since Life and Inspiration's power 
Around that relic breath'd their last. 

Ah, powerless now — like talisman. 
Found in some vanish'd wizard's halls, 

Whose mighty charm with him began. 
Whose charm with him extinguish'd falls. 

Yet though, alas ! the gifts that shone 
Around that pen's exploring track. 

Be now, with its great master, gone. 
Nor living hand can call them back ; 

Who does not feel, while thus his eyes 
Rest on the enchanter's broken wand, 

Each earth-born spell it work'd arise 
Before him in succession grand ? — 

Grand, from the Truth that reigns o'er all ; 

The unshrinking Truth, that lets her light 
Through Life's low, dark, interior fall. 

Opening the whole, severely bright ; 

Yet softening, as she frowns along, 

O'er scenes which angels weep to see — 

Where Truth herself half veils the Wrong, 
In pity of the Misery. 

True bard ! — and simple as the race 

Of true-born poets ever are, 
When, stooping from their starry place, 

They're children, near, though gods, afar. 

How freshly doth my mind recall, 

'Mong the few days I've known with thee, 

1 Soon after Mr. Crabbe's death, the sons of that gentle- 
man did nie the honor of presenting to me the inkstand, 
pencil, &c. which their distinguished father had long been 
in the habit of using. 

2 The lines that follow allude to a day passed in company 



One that, most buoyantly of all, 
Floats in the wake of memory ; * 

When he, the poet, doubly graced. 

In life, as in his perfect strain. 
With that pure, mellowing power of Taste, 

Without which Fancy shines in vain ; 

Who in his page will leave behind. 
Pregnant with genius though it be. 

But half the treasures of a mind, 

Where Sense o'er aU holds mastery : — 

Friend of long years ! of friendship tried 
Through many a bright and dark event ; 

In doubts, my judge — in taste, my guide — 
In all, my stay and ornament ! 

He, too, was of our feast that day. 

And all were guests of one, whose hano 

Hath shed a new and deathless ray 
Around the lyre of this great land ; 

In whose sea odes — as in those shells 

Where Ocean's voice of majesty 
Seems still to sound — immortal dwells 

Old Albion's Spirit of the Sea. 

Such was our host ; and though, since then. 
Slight clouds have ris'n 'twixt him and me. 

Who would not grasp such hand again, 
Stretch' d forth again in amity .'' 

"Who can, in this short life, afford 

To let such mists a moment stay. 
When thus one frank, atoning word. 

Like sunshine, melts them all away ? 

Bright was our board that day — though owe 
Unworthy brother there had place ; 

As 'mong the horses of the Sun, 
One was, they say, of earthly race. 

Yet, next to Genius is the power 
Of feeling where true Genius lies ; 

And there was light around that hour 
Such as, in memory, never dies ; 

Light which comes o'er me, as I gaze. 
Thou Relic of the Dead, on thee, 

with Mr. Crabbe, many years since, when a party, consist- 
ing only of Mr. Rogers, Mr. Crabbe, and the author of these 
verses, had the pleasure of dining witli Mr. Thomas Camn- 
bell, at his house at Sydenham. 






Wrn,' i(liw/||j|,i|,( 



I'" I 'liijll, 



i'rmim 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



623 



Like all such dreams of vanish' d days, 
Brightly, indeed — but mournfully 1 



CAROLINE. VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT. 



WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 



1832. 



When I -would sing thy beauty's light. 
Such various forms, and all so bright, 
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear, 
I know not which to call most fair, 
Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring 
Forever round thee, which to sing. 

When I would paint thee, as thou art. 
Then all thou wert comes o'er my heart — 
The graceful child, in beauty's dawn, 
Within the nursery's shade withdraw. 
Or peeping out — like a young moon 
Upon a world 'twill brighten soon. 
Then next, in girlhood's blushing hour. 
As from thy own lov'd Abbey tower 
I've seen thee look, all radiant, down, 
With smiles that to the hoary frown 
Of centuries round thee lent a ray. 
Chasing even Age's gloom away ; — 
Or, in the world's resplendent throng. 
As I have mark'd thee glide along, 
Among the crowds of fair and great 
A spirit, pure and separate, 
To which even Admiration's eye 
Was fearful to approach too nigh ; — 
A creature, circled by a spell 
Within which nothing wrong could dwell ; 
And fresh and dear as from the source. 
Holding through life her limpid course, 
Like Arethusa through the sea, 
Stealing in fountain purity. 

Now, too, another change of light ! 
As noble bride, still meekly bright, 
Thou bring'st thy Lord a dower above 
All earthly price, pure woman's love ; 
And show'st what lustre Rank receives, 
When with his proud Corinthian leaves 
Her rose thus high-bred Beauty weaves. 

Wonder not if, where aU's so fair, 
To choose were more than bard can dare ; 
Wonder not if, while every scene 
I've watch'd thee through so bright hath been, 
Th' enamour'd Muse should in her quest 
Of beauty, know not where to rest, 



But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall. 
Hailing thee beautiful in all ! 



A SPECULATION. 

Of all speculations the market holds forth, 
The best that I know for a lover of pelf, 

Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is worth. 
And then sell him at that which he sets o 
himself. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822. 

They tell us of an Indian tree, 

Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky 
May tempt its boughs to wander free, 

And shoot, and blossom, wide and high. 
Far better loves to bend its arms 

Downward again to that dear earth. 
From which the Ufe, that fills and warms 

Its grateful being, first had birth. 

'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends, 
And fed with fame (*/ fame it be) 

This heart, my own dear mother, bends. 
With love's true instinct, back to thee ! 



LOVE AND HYMEN. 

Love had a fever — ne'er could close 
His little eyes till day was breaking ; 

And wild and strange enough, Heav'n knows. 
The things he rav'd about while waking. 

To let him pine so were a sin ; — 

One, to whom all the world's a debtor — 

So Doctor Hymen was call'd in, 
And Love that night slept rather better. 

Next day the case gave further hope yet. 
Though still some ugly fever latent ; ■ 

'* Dose, as before " — a gentle opiate. 
For which old Hymen has a patent. 

After a month of daily call, 

So fast the dose went on restoring. 

That Love, who first ne'er slept at all. 

Now took, the rogue ! to dowmight snoring. 



526 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 




And the swords of all Italy, half way unsheath'd, 


LINES 


But waited one conquering cry, to flash 


ON THE 


out ! 


ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES, 1821. 




Carbone notati. 


■NVhen around you the shades of your Mighty 




in fame. 


Ay— down to the dust with them, slaves as 


FiLicAJAS and Petrarchs, seemed bursting to 


they are. 


view, 


From this hour, let the blood in their das- 


And their words, and their warnings, like tongues 


tardly veins. 


of bright flame 


That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, 


Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on 


Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains. 


you ! 


On, on like a cloud, through their beautiful 


shame! that, in such a proud moment of 


vales, 


life, 


Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er — 


Worth the hist'ry of ages, when, had you but 


Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails 


hurl'd 


From each slave mart of Europe, and shadow 


One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strive 


their shore ! 


Between freemen and tyrants had spread 




through the world — 


Let their fate be a mockword — let men of all 




lands 


That then — 0, disgrace upon manhood — ev n 


Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to 


then, 


the poles. 


You should falter, should cling to your pitiful 


When each sword, that the cowards let fall 


breath ; 


from their hands. 


Cow'r down into beasts, when you might have 


Shall be forg'd into fetters to enter their souls. 


stood men. 




And prefer the slave's life of prostration to 


And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driv'n. 


death. 


Rase slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, 




To think — as the Doom'd often think of that 


It is strange, it is dreadful : — shout, Tyranny, 


heav'n 


shout 


They had once within reach — that they might 


Through your dungeons and palaces, «« Free- 


have been free. 


dom is o'er ; " — 




If there lingers one spark of her light, tread it 


shame ! when there was not a bosom, whose 


out. 


heat 


And return to your empire of darkness once 


Ever rose 'bove the zero of C h's heart, 


more. 


That did not, like echo, your war hjTnn repeat. 




And send all its prayers with your Liberty's 


For, if such are the braggarts that claim to be 


start ; 


free. 




Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me 


When the world stood in hope — when a spirit. 


kiss; 


that breath'd 


Far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee, 


The fresh air of the olden time, whisper' d 


Than to sully ev'n chains by a struggle like 


about ; 


thisl 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



527 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



PREFACE 

TO THE EIGHTH VOLUME. 

On my return from the interesting visit to 
Rome, of which some account has been given 
in the preceding Preface, I took up my abode 
in Paris, and, being joined there by my famUy, 
continued to reside in that cajiital, or its en- 
virons, till about the close of the year 1822. 
As no life, however sunny, is without its clouds, 
I could not escape, of course, my share of such 
passing shadows ; and this long estrangement 
from our happy English home, towards which 
my family yearned even more fondly than 
myself, had been caused bj' difficulties of a 
pecxmiary nature, and to a large amount, in 
which I had been involved by the conduct of 
the person who acted as my deputy in the small 
office I held at Bermuda. 

That I should ever have come to be chosen 
for such an employment seems one of those 
freaks or anomalies of human destiny which 
baffle all ordinary speculation ; and went far, 
indeed, to realize Beaumarchais' notion of the 
sort of standard by which, too frequently, quali- 
fication for place is regulated, — " II fallut un 
calculateur ; ce fut un danseur qui I'obtint." 

But however much, in this instance, I suf- 
fered from my want of schooling in matters of 
business, and more especially from my having 
neglected the ordinary precaution of requiring 
security from my deputy, I was more than 
consoled for all such embarrassment, were it 
even ten times as much, by the eager kindness 
with which friends pressed forward to help to 
release me from my difficulties. Could I ven- 
ture to name the persons, — and they were 
many, — who thus volunteered their aid, it 
would be found they were all of them men 
Avhose characters enhanced such a service, and 
that, in all, the name and the act reflected 
honor upon each other. 

I shall so far lift the veil in which such deli- 
cate generosity seeks to shroud itself, as to men- 
tion briefly the manner in which one of these 
kind friends, — himself possessing but limited 
means, — proposed to contribute to the object 
of releasing me from my embarrassments. After 



adverting, in his letter, to my misfortunes, and 
" the noble way," as he was pleased to say, 
"in which I bore them," he adds, — "would 
it be very impertinent to say, that I have 600/. 
entirely at your disposal, to be paid when you 
like ; and as much more that I could advance, 
upon any reasonable security, payable in seven 
years ? " The writer concludes by apologizing 
anxiously and delicately for *♦ the liberty which 
he thus takes," assuring me that " he woidd not 
have made the offer if he did not feel tliat he 
would most readily accept the same assistance 
from me." I select this one instance from 
among the many which that trying event of 
my Hie enables me to adduce, both on account 
of the deliberate feeling of manly regard which 
it manifests, and also from other considerations 
which it would be out of place here to men- 
tion, but which rendered so genuine a mark of 
friendship from such a quarter peculiaily touch- 
ing and welcome to me. 

When such were the men who hastened to 
my aid in this emergency, I need hardly say, 
it was from no squeamish pride, — for the pride 
would have been in receiving favors from such 
hands, — that I came to the resolution of grate- 
fully declining their offers, and endeavoring to 
work out my deliverance by my own efforts. 
With a credit still fresh in the market of litera- 
ture, and with publishers ready as ever to risk 
their thousands on my name, I could not but 
feel that, however gratifying was the generous 
zeal of such friends, I should best show that I, 
in some degree, deserved their offers, by de- 
clining, under such circumstances, to accept 
them. 

Meanwhile, an attachment had issued against 
me from the Court of Admiralty ; and as a 
negotiation was about to be opened with tne 
American claimants, for a reduction of their 
large demand upon me, — supposed, at that 
time, to amount to six thousand pounds, — it 
was deemed necessary that, pending the treaty, 
I should take up my abode in France. 

To write for the means of daily subsistence, 
and even in most instances to " forestall the 
slow harvest of the brain," was for me, un- 
luckily, no novel task. But I had now, in 
addition to these home calls upon the Muse, a 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



new, painful, and, in its first aspect, overwhelm- 
ing exigency to provide for ; and, certainly, 
Paris, swarming throughout as it was, at that 
period, with rich, gay, and dissipated English, 
was, to a person of my social habits and multi- 
farious acquaintance, the very worst possible 
place that could have been resorted to for even 
the semblance of a quiet or studious home. 
The only tranquil, and, therefore, to me, most 
precious portions of that period were the two 
summers passed by my family and myself with 
our kind Spanish friends, the V*******ls, 
at their beautiful place. La Butte Coaslin, on 
the road up to Bellevue. There, in a cottage 
belonging to M. V ******* 1, and but a 
few steps from his house, we contrived to con- 
jure up an apparition of Sloperton;' and I was 
able for some time to work with a feeling of 
comfort and home. I used frequently to pass 
the morning in rambling alone through the 
noble park of St. Cloud, with no apparatus for 
the work of authorship but mj memoran- 
dum book and pencils, forming sentences to run 
smooth and moulding verses into shape. In 
the evenings I generally joined with Madame 
V*******lin Italian duets, or, with far 
more pleasure, sat as listener, while she sung 
to the Spanish guitar those sweet songs of her 
own country to which few voices could do such 
justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances connected 
with our summer visits to La Butte was the 
near neighborhood of our friend, Mr. Kenny, 
the lively dramatic writer, who was lodged pic- 
turesquely in the remains of the Palace of the 
King's Aunts, at Bellevue. I remember, on my 
first telling Kenny the particulars of my Ber- 
muda mishap, his saying, after a pause of real 
feeling, " Well, — it's lucky you're a poet ; — a 
philosopher never could have borne it." Wash- 
ington Irving also was, for a short time, our 
visitor ; and still recollects, I trust, his reading 
to me some parts of his then forthcoming work, 
Bracebridge Hall, as we sat together on the 
grass walk that leads to the Rocher, at La 
Butte. 

Among the writings, then but in embyro, to 
which I looked forward for the means of my 
enfranchisement, one of the most important, as 
well as most likely to be productive, was my 
intended Life of Sheridan. But I soon found 
that, at such a distance from all those living 

1 "A little cot, with trees arow. 

And, like its master, very low." 



authorities from whom alone I could gain any 
interesting information respecting the private 
life of one who left behind him so little episto- 
lary correspondence, it would be wholly impos- 
sible to proceed satisfactorily with this task 
Accordingly I wrote to Mr. Murray and Mr. 
Wilkie, who were at that time the intended 
publishers of the work, to apprise them of this 
temporary obstacle to its progress. 

Being thus baffled in the very first of the few 
resources I had looked to, I next thought of a 
Romance in verse, in the form of Letters, or 
Epistles ; and with this view sketched out s 
story, on an Egyptian subject, differing not 
much from that which, some years after, formed 
the groundwork of the Epicurean. After labor- 
ing, however, for some months, at this experi- 
ment, amidst interruption, dissipation, and dis- 
traction, which might well put all the Nine 
Muses to flight, I gave up the attempt in de- 
spair ; — fully convinced of the truth of that 
warning conveyed in some early verses of my 
own, addressed to the Invisible Girl : — 

O hint to the bard, 'tis retirement alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone : 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between. 
His song to the world let him utter unseen, 
&c. &c. 2 

It was, indeed, to the secluded life I led dur- 
ing the years 1813-1816, in a lone cottage 
among the fields, in Derbyshire, that I owed 
the inspiration, whatever may have been its 
value, of some of the best and most popular 
portions of Lalla Pookh. It was amidst the 
snows of two or three Derbyshire winters that 
I found myself enabled, by that concentration 
of thought which retirement alone gives, to call 
up around me some of the sunniest of those 
Eastern scenes which have since been welcomed 
in India itself, as almost native to its clime. 

Abortive, however, as had now been all my 
efforts to woo the shy spirit of Poesy, amidst 
such unquiet scenes, the course of reading I 
found time to pursue, on the subject of Egj-pt, 
was of no small service in storing my mind with 
the various knowledge respecting that country, 
which some years later I turned to account, in 
writing the story of the Epicurean. The kind 
facilities, indeed, towards this object, which 
some of the most distinguished French scholars 
and artists afforded me, are still remembered by 
me with thankfulness. Besides my old ac* 

2 See p. 44 of this edition. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



quaintance, Denon, whose drawings of Egypt, 
then of some value, I frequently consulted, I 
found Mons. Fourier and Mons. Langles no less 
prompt in placing books at my disposal. With 
Humboldt, also, who was at that time in Paris, 
I had more than once some conversation on the 
subject of Egypt, and remember his expressing 
himself in no very laudatory terras respecting 
the labors of the Fr'^nch savans in that country. 

I had now been foiled and frustrated in two 
of those literary projects on which I had counted 
most sanguinely in the calculation of my re- 
sources ; and, though I had found sufficient 
time to furnish my musical publisher with the 
Eighth Number of the Irish Melodies, and also 
a Number of the National Aii's, these works 
alone, I knew, would yield but an insufficient 
supply, compared with the demands so closely 
and threateningly hanging over me. In this 
difficulty I called to mind a subject, — the 
Eastern allegory of the Loves of the Angels, — 
on which I had, some years before, begun a 
prose story, but in which, as a theme for poetry, 
I had now been anticipated by Lord Byron, in 
one of the most sublime of his many poetical 
miracles, " Heaven and Earth." Knowing how 
soon I should be lost in the shadow into which 
so gigantic a precursor would cast me, I had 
endeavored, by a speed of composition which 
must have astonished my habitually slow pen, 
to get the start of my noble friend in the time 
of publication, and thus give myself the sole 
chance I could perhaps expect, under such 
unequal rivalry, of attracting to my work the 
attention of the public. In this humble specu- 
lation, however, I failed ; for both Avorks, if I 
recollect right, made their appearance at the 
same time. 

In the mean while, the negotiation which had 
been entered into with the American claimants, 
for a reduction of the amount of their demands 
upon me, had continued to " drag its slow 
length along ; " nor was it till the month of 
September, 1822, that, by a letter from the 
Messrs. Longman, I received the welcome in- 
telligence that the terms offered, as our ultima- 
tum, to the opposite party, had been at last 
accepted, and that I might now with safety re- 
turn to England. I lost no time, of course, in 
availing myself of so welcome a privilege ; and 
as all that remains now to be told of this trying 
episode in my past life may be comprised in a 
small compass, I shall trust to the patience of 
my readers for tolerating the recital. 

On arriving in England 1 learned, for the first 
67 



time, — having been, till then, kept very much 
in darkness on the subject, — that, after a long 
and frequently interrupted course of negotia- 
tion, the amount of the claims of the American 
merchants had been reduced to the sum of one 
thousand guineas, and that towards the pay- 
ment of this the uncle of my deputy, — a rich 
London merchant, — had been brought, with 
some difficulty, to contribute three hundred 
pounds. I was likewise informed, that a very 
dear and distinguished friend of mine, to whom, 
by his own desire, the state of the negotiation 
was, from time to time, reported, had, upon 
finding that there appeared, at last, some chance 
of an arrangement, and learning also the amount 
of the advance made by my deputy's relative, 
immediately deposited in the hands of a banker 
the remaining portion (750^.) of the required 
sum, to be there in readiness for the final settle- 
ment of the demand. . 

Though still adhering to my original purpose 
of owing to my own exertions alone the means 
of relief from these difficulties, I yet felt a pleas- 
ure in allowing this thoughtful deposit to be 
applied to the generous purpose for which it 
was destined ; and having employed in this 
manner the 750^., I then transmitted to my kind 
friend, — I need hardly say with what feelings 
of thankfulness, — a check on my publishers 
for the amount. 

Though this effort of the poet's purse was 
but, as usual, a new launch into the Future, — 
a new anticipation of yet unborn means, — the 
result showed, I am happy to say, that, in this 
instance at least, I had not counted on my bank 
" in nubibus " too sanguinely ; for, on receiving 
my publishers' account, in the month of Juno 
following, I found 1000/. placed to my credit 
from the sale of the Loves of the Angels, and 
500/. from the Fables of the Holy Alliance. 

I must not omit to mention, that, among the 
resources at that time placed at my disposal, 
was one small and sacred sum, which had been 
set apart by its young possessor for some such 
beneficent purpose. This fund, amounting to 
about 300/., arose from the proceeds of the sale 
of the first edition of a biographical work, then 
recently published, which will long be memo- 
rable, as well from its own merits and subject, 
as from the lustre that has been since shed back 
upon it from the public career of its noble 
author. To a gift from such hands might well 
have been applied the words of Ovid, 

acceptissiina semper 

Miinera sunt, auctor qua; pretiosa faciL 



530 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



In this volume, and its immediate successor, 
will be found collected almost all those delin- 
quencies of mine, in the way of satire, which 
have appeared, from time to time, in the pub- 
lic journals, during the last twenty or thirty 
years. The comments and notices required to 
tJirow light on these political trifles must be 
reserved for our next volume. 



PREFACE. 

The Eastern story of the angels Harut and 
Marut,' and the Rabbinical fictions of the loves 
of Uzziel and Shiimchazai,- are the only sources 
to which I need refer, for the origin of the no- 
tion on which this Romance is founded. In 
addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, 
it struck me also as capable of affording an 
allegorical medium, through which might be 
shadowed out (as I have endeavored to do in 
the following stories) the fall of the Soul from 
its original purity ' — the loss of light and hap- 
piness which it suffers, in the pursuit of this 
world's perishable pleasures — and the piinish- 
ments, both from conscience and Divine justice, 
with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous 
inquiry into the awful secrets of Heaven are 
sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cu- 
pid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this 
sort of " veiled meaning," and it has been my 
wish (however I may have failed in the attempt) 
to communicate to the following pages the same 
moral interest. 

Among the doctrines, or notions, derived by 
Plato from the East, one of the most natural 
and sublime is that which inculcates the pre- 
existence of the soul, and its gradual descent 
into this dark material world, from that region 
of spirit and light which it is supposed to have 
once inhabited, and to which, after a long lapse 
of purification and trial, it will return. This 
belief, under various symbolical forms, may be 
traced through almost all the Oriental theolo- 
gies. The Chaldeans represent the Soul as 

1 See note on page 534. 

2 Hyde, de Relig. Vet. Persaruin, p. 272. 

3 The account which Macrobius gives* of the downward 
ouniey of the Soul, through that gate of the zodiac which 

opens into the lower spheres, is a curious specimen of the 
wild fancies that passed for philosoi)hy in ancient limes. 

In the system of Manes, the luminous or spiritual princi- 
tle owes ita corruption not to any evil tendency of its own, 



, Scipionis, cap. 12. 



originally endowed with wings, which fall away 
when it sinks from its native element, and must 
be reproduced before it can hope to return. 
Some disciples of Zoroaster once inquired of 
him, " How the wings of the Soul might be 
made to grow again ? " — " By sprinkling them," 
he replied, " with the Waters of Life." — " But 
where are those Waters to be found ? " they 
asked. — " In the Garden of God," replied Zo- 
roaster. 

The mythology of the Persians has allego- 
rized the same doctrine, in the history of those 
genii of light who strayed from their dwellings 
in the stars, and obscured their original nature 
by mixture with this material sphere ; while 
the Egyptians, connecting it with the descent 
and ascent of the sun in the zodiac, considered 
Autumn as emblematic of the Soul's decline 
towards darkness, and the reappearance of 
Spring as its return to life and light. 

Besides the chief spirits of the Mahometan 
heaven, such as Gabriel, the angel of Revela- 
tion, Israfil, by whom the last trumpet is to be 
sounded, and Azrael, the angel of death, there 
were also a number of subaltern intelligences, 
of which tradition has preserved the names, 
appointed to preside over the different stages, 
or ascents, into which the celestial world was 
supposed to be divided. "* Thus Kelail governs 
the fifth heaven ; while Sadiel, the presiding 
spirit of the thii-d, is also employed in steady- 
ing the motions of the earth, which would be 
in a constant state of agitation, if this angel did 
not keep his foot planted upon its orb.* 

Among other miraculous interpositions in fa- 
vor of Mahomet, we find commemorated in the 
pages of the Koran the appearance of five thou- 
sand angels on his side at the battle of Bedr. 

The ancient Persians supposed that Ormuzd 
appointed thirty angels to preside successively 
over the days of the month, and twelve greater 
ones to assume the government of the months 
themselves ; among whom Bahman (to whom 
Ormuzd committed the custody of all animals, 
except man,) was the greatest. Mihr, the an- 

but to a violent inroad of the spirits of darkt.ess, who, tind- 
ing themselves in the neighborhood of this pure light, and 
becoming passionately enamoured of its beaiKy, break the 
boundaries between them, and take forcible possession of it.f 

* " We adorned the lower heaven with lights, and placed 
therein a guard of angels." — Koran, chap. xli. 

6 See D'Herbelot, passim 



t See a Treatise " De la Religion des Petses," by the Ahbi 
Foucher, Memoires de I'Academie, torn. xx.xi. p. 45G. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



631 



gel of the 7th month, was also the spirit that 
watched over the affairs of friendship and love ; 

— Chftr had the care of the disk of the sun ; — 
Mah was agent for the concerns of the moon ; 

— Isphandarmaz (whom Cazvin calls the Spirit 
of the Earth) was the tutelar genius of good 
and virtuous women, &c. &c. &c. For all this 
the reader may consult the 19th and 20th chap- 
ters of Hyde de lielig. Yet. Persarum, where the 
names and attributes of these daily and monthly 
angels are Avith much minuteness and erudition 
explained. It appears, from the Zend-avesta, 
that the Persians had a certain office or prayer 
for every day of the month (addressed to the 
particular angel who presided over it), which 
they called the Sirouze. 

The celestial Hierarchy of the Syrians, as 
described by Kircher, appears to be the most 
regularly graduated of any of these systems. 
In the sphere of the Moon they placed the an- 
gels, in that of Mercury the archangels, Venus 
and the Sun contained the Principalities and 
the Powers ; — and so on to the summit of the 
planetary system, where, in the sphere of Sat- 
urn, the Thrones had their station. Above this 
was the habitation of the Cherubim in the sphere 
of the fixed stars ; and still higher, in the region 
of those stars which are so distant as to be im- 
perceptible, the Seraphim, we are told, the most 
perfect of all celestial creatures, dwelt. 

The Sabaeans also (as D'llerbelot tells us) had 
their classes of angels, to whom they prayed as 
mediators, or intercessors ; and the Arabians 
worshipped female angels, whom they called 
Benab Hasche, or, Daughters of God. 



TwAS when the world was in its prime. 

When the fresh stars had just begun 
Their race of glory, and young Time 

Told his first birthdays by the sun ; 
When, in the light of Nature's dawn 

Kejoicing, men and angels met' 
On the high hill and sunny lawn, — 
Ere sorrow came, or Sin had drawn 

'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet ! 
When earth lay nearer to the skies 

Than in those days of crime and woe, 

1 The Mahometans believe, says D'Herbelot, that in that 
early period of the world, "les hommes n'eurent qu'une 
Beiile religion, et fiirent souvent visiles des Anges, qui leur 
donnoient la main." 

2 " To which will be joined the sound of the bells hang- 
ing on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind 



And mortals saw, without surprise. 
In the mid air, angelic eyes 
Gazing upon this world below. 

Alas, that Passion should profane, 
Ev'n then, the morning of the earth ! 

That, sadder still, the fatal stain 

Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth — 

And that from Woman's love should faD 

So dark a stain, most sad of all ! 

One evening, in that primal hour, 

On a hill's side, where hung the ray 
Of sunset, brightening rill and bower, 

Three noble j'ouths conversing lay ; 
And, as they look'd, from time to time, 

To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd 
His radiant wing, their brows sublime 

Bespoke them of that distant world — 
Spirits, who once, in brotherhood 
Of faith and bliss, near Alla stood, 
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown 
The wind that breathes from Alla's throne,' 
Creatures of light, such as still play, 

Like motes in sunshine round the Lord, 
And through their infinite array 
Transmit each moment, night and day. 

The echo of His luminous word ! 

Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft. 

Of the bright eyes that charm'd them 
thence ; 
Till, yielding gradual to the soft 

And balmy evening's influence — 
TJie silent breathing of the flowers — 

The melting light that beam'd above, 
As on their first, fond, erring hours, — 

Each told the story of his love. 
The history of that hour unbless'd, 
When, like a bird, from its high nest 
Won down by fascinating eyes. 
For Woman's smile he lost the skies. 

The First who spoke was one, with look 

The least celestial of the three — 
A Spirit of light mould, that took 

The prints of earth most yieldingly ; 
Who, ev'n in heaven, was not of those 

Nearest the Throne,' but held a place 

proceeding from the Throne, so often as the Blessed wish 
for music." — See SaWs Koran, Prelim. Dissert. 

3 The ancient Persians supposed that this Throne was 
placed in the Sun, and that through the stars were distrib 
uted the various classes of Angels that encircled it. 

The Basilidians supposed that there were three hundiw* 



532 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Far off, among those shining rows 

That circle out through endless space, 
And o'er whose wings the light from Him 
In Heaven's centre falls most dim. 

Still fair and glorious, he but shone 
Among those youths th' unheavenliest one - 
A creature, to whom light remain' d 
From Eden still, but alter'd, stain'd, 
And o'er whose brow not Love alone 

A blight had, in his transit, cast, 
But. other, earthlier joys had gone. 

And left their footprints as they pass'd. 
Sighing, as back through ages flown, 

Like a tomb searcher, Memory ran, 
Lifting each shroud that Time had thrown 

O'er buried hopes, he thus began : — 



FIRST ANGEL'S STORY. 
♦' 'TwAS in a land, that far away 

Into the golden orient lies, 
Where Nature knows not night's delay. 
But springs to meet her bridegroom, Day, 

Upon the threshold of the skies. 
One morn, on earthly mission sent,' 

And mid way choosing where to light, 
I saw, from the blue element — 
, O beautiful, but fatal sight ! — 
One of earth s fairest womankind, 
Half veil'd from view, or rather shrin'd 
In the clear crystal of a brook ; 

Which, while it hid no single gleam 
Of her young beauties, made them look 

More spirit-like, as they might seem 

Through the dim shadowing of a dream. 
Passing in wonder I look'd on. 

While, playfully around her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone. 

She mov'd in light of her own making. 
At length, as from that airy height 
I gently lower'd my breathless flight. 
The tremble of my wings aU o'er 

(For through each plume I felt the thrill) 
Startled her, as she reach'd the shore 

Of that small lake — her mirror still — 
Above whose brink she stood, like snow 
When rosy with a sunset glow. 
Never shall I forget those eyes ! — 
The shame, the innocent surprise 

and sixty-five orders of angels, " dont la perfection alloit en 
decroissant, 4 mesure qii'ils s'cloignoient de la premiere 
classe d'esi>rits plac6s dans le premier ciel." — See Dupuis, 
Orig. des Cultes, torn. ii. p. 112. 
1 It appears that, in most languages, the term employed 



Of that bright face, when in the air 

Uplooking, she beheld me there. 

It seem'd as if each thought and look, 

And motion were that minute chain' d 
Fast to the spot, such root she took, 
And — like a sunflower by a brook, 

With face upturn'd — so still remain'd ! 

In pity to the wondering maid. 

Though loath from such a vision turning. 
Downward I bent, beneath the shade 

Of my spread wings to hide the burning 
Of glances, which — I well could feel — 

For me, for her, too warmly shone ; 
But, ere I could again unseal 
My restless eyes, or even steal 

One sidelong look, the maid was gone — 
Hid from me in the forest leaves, 

Sudden as when, in all her charms 
Of full-blown light, some cloud receives 

The Moon into his dusky arms. 

'Tis not in words to tell the power. 
The despotism that, from that hour, 
Passion held o'er me. Day and night 

I sought around each neighboring spot ; 
And, in the chase of this sweet light. 

My task, and heaven, and all forgot ; — 
AU, but the one, sole, haunting dream 
Of her I saw in that bright stream. 

Nor was it long, ere by her side 

I found myself, whole happy days. 
Listening to words, whose music vied 
With our own Eden's seraph lays, 
When seraph lays are warm'd by love, 
But, wanting that, far, far above ! — 
And looking into eyes where, blue 
And beautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shone 
A heaven, more worshipp'd than my own. 
O what, while I could hear and see 
Such words and looks, was heaven to me ? 
Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
'Twas blessed, while she breath'd it too ; 
Though dark the flowers, though dim the sky, 
Love lent them light, while she was nigh. 
Throughout creation I but knew 
Two separate worlds — the one, that small, 
Belov'd, and consecrated spot 

for an angel means also a messenger. Firischteh, the Per- 
sian word for angel, is derived (says D'Herbelot) from th» 
verb Firischtin, to send. The Hebrew term, too, Melak, 
has the same signification. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



533 



Where Lea was — the other, all 
ITie duU, wide waste, where she was not ! 

But vain my suit, my madness vain ; 
Though gladly, from her eyes to gain 

One earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that hung 

Furl'd at my back, and o'er the Fire 
In Gehim's ' pit their fragments flung ; — 
'Twas hopeless all — pure and unmov'd 

She stood, as lilies in the light 

Of the hot noon but look more white ; — 
And though she lov'd me, deeply lov'd, 
'Twas not as man, as mortal — no, 
Nothing of earth was in that glow — 
She lov'd me but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant place 
She saw so oft in dreams — that Heaven, 

To which her prayers at morn were sent, 
And on whose light she gaz'd at even, 
Wishing for wings, that she might go 
Out of this shadowy world below, 

To that free, glorious element ! 

Well I remember by her side 

Sitting at rosy eventide, 

When, — turning to the star, whose head 

Look'd out, as from a bridal bed, 

At that mute, blushing hour, — she said, 

" O, that it were my doom to be 

" The Spirit of yon beauteous star, 
•' Dwelling up there in purity, 

" Alone, as all such bright things are ; — 
«' My sole employ to pray and shine, 

«« To light my censer at the sun, 
" And cast its fire towards the shrine 

" Of Him in heaven, the Eternal One ! " 

So innocent the maid, so free 

From mortal taint in soul and frame. 
Whom 'twas my crime — my destiny — 
To love, ay, burn for, with a flame. 
To which earth's wildest fires are tame. 
Had you but seen her look, when first 
From my mad lips tb' avowal burst ; 
Not anger' d — no — the feeling came 
From depths beyond mere anger's flame — 
It was a sorrow, calm as deep, 
A mournfulness that could not weep, 

» The name given by the Mahometans to the infernal re- 
gions, over which, tJiey say, the angel Tabliek presides. 

By the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the Koran, the 
commentators understand seven different departments or 
wards, in which seven different sorts of sinners are to be 
punished. The first, called Gehennem, is for sinful Mus- 
sulmans ; tlie second, Ladha, for Christian offenders ; the 



So fiU'd her heart was to the brink, 
So fix'd and froz'n with grief, to think 
That angel natures — that ev'n I, 
Whose love she clung to, as the tie 
Between her spirit and the sky - 
Should fall thus headlong from the height 
Of aU that heaven hath pure and bright ! 

That very night — my heart had grown 

Impatient of its inward burning ; 
The term, too, of my stay was flown, 
And the bright Watchers near the throne. 
Already, if a meteor shone 
Between them and this nether zone, 

Thought 'twas their herald's wing return- 
ing. 
Oft did the potent spellword, given 

To Envoys hither from the skies, 
To be pronounc'd, when back to heaven 

It is their time or wish to rise. 
Come to my lips that fatal day ; 

And once, too, was so nearly spoken. 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heaven began to play ; - — 

When my heart fail'd — the spell was broken, 
The word unfinish'd died away. 
And my check'd plumes, ready to soar, 
FeU slack and lifeless as before. 

How could I leave a world, which she. 

Or lost or won, made aU to me ? 

No matter where my wanderings were, 

So there she look'd, breath' d, mov'd about -« 
Woe, ruin, death, more sweet with her. 

Than Paradise itself, without ! 

But, to return — that very day 

A feast was held, where, full of mirth. 
Came — crowding thick as flowers that play 
In summer winds — the young and gay 

And beautiful of this bright earth. 
And she was there, and 'mid the young 

And beautiful stood first, alone ; 
Though on her gentle brow still hung 

The shadow I that morn had thrown — 
The first, that ever shame or woe 
Had cast upon its vernal snow. 
My heart was madden'd ; — in the flush 

Of the wild revel I gave way 

third, Hothama, is appointed for Jews ; and the fourth and 
fifth, called Sair and Sacar, are destined to receive the Sa- 
baeans and the worshippers of fire ; in the sixth, named Ge- 
him, those pagans and idolaters who admit a plurality of 
gods are placed ; while into the abyss of the seventh, called 
Derk Asfal, or tlie Deepest, the hypocritical canters of alX 
religions are thrown. 



534 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



To all that frantic mirth — that rush 

Of desperate gaycty, which they, 
Who never felt how pain's excess 
Can break out thus, think happiness ! 
Sad mimicry of mirth and life, 
Whose flashes come but from the strife 
Of inward passions — like the light 
Struck out by clashing swords in fight. 

Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane 
And blessing of man's heart and brain — 
That draught of sorcery, which brings 
Phantoms of fair, forbidden things — 
Whose drops, like those of rainbows, smile 

Upon the mists that circle man, 
Bright'ning not only Earth, the while, 

But grasping Heaven, too, in their span! — 
Then first the fatal wine cup rain'd 

Its dews of darkness through my lips,' 
Casting whate'cr of light remain'd 

To my lost soul into eclipse ; 
And filling it with such wild dreams, 

Such fantasies and wrong desires, 
As, in the absence of heaven's beams, 

Haunt us forever — like wild fires 

That walk this earth, when day retires. 

Now hear the rest ; — our banquet done, 
I sought her in th' accustom'd bower, 
AVhere late we oft, when day was gone, 
And the world hush'd, had met alone. 
At the same silent, moonlight hour. 
Her eyes, as usual, were upturn' d 
To her lov'd star, whose lustre burn'd 
Purer than ever on that night ; 
While she, in looking, grew more bright. 
As though she borrow'd of its light. 

There was a virtue in that scene, 

A spell of holiness around. 
Which, had my burning brain not been 

Thus madden'd, would have held me bound. 

As though I trod celestial ground. 
Ev'n as it was, with soul all fiame. 

And lips that burn'd in their own sighs, 
I stood to gaze with awe and shame — 
The memory of Eden came 

Full o'er me when I saw those eyes ; 



1 I have already mentioned that some of the circum- 
stances of this story were suggested to me by the eastern le- 
gend of the two angels, llariit and M.ixiit, as given by Ma- 
riti, wno says that the author of the Taalim founds upon it 
the Mahometan prohibition of wine.* 1 have since found 

• The Bahardanusl ♦ells the fable dillerently. 



And though too well each glance of mine 

To the pale, shrinking maiden prov'd 
How far, alas, from aught divine. 
Aught worthy of so pure a shrine. 

Was the wild love with which I lov'd, 
Yet must she, too, have seen — O yes, 

'Tis soothing but to think she saw 
The deep, true, soulfelt tenderness. 

The homage of an Angel's awe 
To her, a mortal, whom pure love 
Then plac'd above him — far above — 
And all that struggle to repress 
A sinful spirit's mad excess. 
Which work'd within me at that hour. 

When, with a voice, where Passion shed 
All the deep sadness of her power, 

Her melancholy power — I said, 
'♦ Then be it so ; if back to heaven 

" I must unlov'd, unpitied fly, 
" Without one blest memorial given 

" To soothe me in that lonely sky ; 
" One look, like those the young and fond 

" Give when they're parting — which would 
be, 
" Ev'n in remembrance, far bej^ond 

" All heaven hath left of bliss for me ! 

" 0, but to sec that head recline 

" A minute on this trembling arm, 
" And those mild eyes look up to mine, 

" Without a dread, a thought of harm ! 
" To meet, but once, the thrilling touch 

" Of lips too purely fond to fear me — 
" Or, if that boon be all too much, 

" Ev'n thus to bring their fragrance near me ! 
" Nay, shrink not so — a look — a word — 

" Give them but kindly and I fly ; 
" Already, see, my plumes have stirr'd, 

'• And tremble for their home on high. 
" Thus be our parting — cheek to cheek — 

" One minute's lapse will be forgiven, 
*' And thou, the next, shalt hear me speak 

" The spell that plumes my wing for hcaveji ! '' 

While thus I spoke, the fearful maid. 
Of me, and of herself afraid. 
Had shrinking stood, like flowers beneath 
The scorching of the south wind's breath : 



that Mariti's version of the tale(whicli differs also from that 
of Dr. Prideaux, in his Life of Mahomet,) is taken from the 
French Encyclopedie, in which work, under the head " Arol 
et Marot," tlie reader will find it. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 635 


But when I nam'd — alas, too well, 


It was to yonder star I trac'd 


I now recall, though wilder'd then, — 
Instantly, when I nam'd the spell, 
Her brow, her eyes uprose again. 


Her journey up the illumin'd waste — 
That isle in the blue firmament. 
To which so oft her fancy went 


And, with an eagerness, that spoke 


In wishes and in dreams before. 


The sudden light that o'er her broke, 
" The spell, the spell .' — 0, speak it now, 
« And I will bless thee ! " she exclaim'd — 
Unknowing what I did, inflam'd. 
And lost already, on her brow 

I stamp'd one burning kiss, and nam'd 
The mystic word, till then ne'er told 
To living creature. of earth's mould ! 


And which was now — such, Purity, 
Thy blest reward — ordain'd to be 

Her home of light forevermore ! 
Once — or did I but fancy so r — 

Ev'n in her flight to that fair sphere. 
Mid all her spirit's new-felt gluw, 
A pitying look she turn'd below 

On him who stood in darkness here ; 


Scarce was it said, when, quick as thought; 
Her lips from mine, .like echo, caught 
The holy sound — her hands and eyes 
Were instant lifted to the skies, 


Him whom, perhaps, if vain regret 
Can dwell in heaven, she pities yet ; 
And oft, when looking to this dim 
And distant world, remembers him. 


And thrice to heaven she spoke it out 




With that triumphant look Faith wears, 
When not a cloud of fear or doubt, 


But soon that passing dream was gone ; 
Farther and farther oif she shone, 


A vapor from this vale of tears, 


Till lessen' d to a point, as small 


Between her and her God appears ! 
That very moment her whole frame 


As are those specks that yonder burn, — 
Those vivid drops of light, that fall. 
The last from Day's exhausted urn. 


All bright and glorified became, 
And at her back I saw unclose 


And when at length she merg'd, afar. 
Into her own immortal star, 


Two wings, magnificent as those 
That sparkle around Alla's Throne, 

Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose 
Above me, in the moonbeam shone 


And when at length my straining sight 
Had caught her Aving's last fading ray, 

That minute from my soul the light 
Of heaven and love both pass'd away; 


With a pure light, which — from its hue, 
Unknown upon this earth — I knew 
Was light from Eden, glistening through ! 
Most holy vision ! ne'er before 


And I forgot my home, my birth, 
Profan'd my spirit, sunk my brow, 

And re veil' d in gross joys of earth, 
Till I became — what I am now ! " 


Did aught so radiant — since the day 




When Eblis, in his downfall, bore 


The Spirit bow'd his head in shame ; 


The third of the bright stars away — 


A shame, that of itself would tell — 


Rise, in earth's beauty, to repair 
That loss of light and glory there ! 


Were there not even those breaks of flame, 
Celestial, through his clouded frame — 


But did I tamely view her flight ? 
Did not /, too, proclaim out thrice 


How grand the height from which he fell ! 
That holy Shame, which ne'er forgets 
Th' unblench'd renown it us'd to wear ; 


The powerful words that were, that night, — 
ev'n for heaven too much delight ! — 


Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets. 
To show her sunshine has been there. 


Again to bring us, eyes to eyes. 
And soul to soul, in Paradise ? 


Once only, while the tale he told. 
Were his eyes lifted to behold 


I did — I spoke it o'er and o'er — 
I pray'd, I wept, but all in vain ; 

For me the spell had power no more. 

There seem'd around me some dark chain 


That happy stainless star, where she 
Dwelt in her bower of purity ! 
One minute did he look, and then. 
As though he felt some deadly pain 


Which still, as I essay'd to soar, 
Baffled, alas, each wild endeavor : 
Dead lay my wings, as they have lain 
Since that sad hour, and will remain — 


From its sweet light through heart and brain, 
Shrunk back, and never look'd again. 


So wills th' offended God — forever 1 





536 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Who was the Second Spirit ? he 

^Vith the proud front and piercing glance — 

Who seem'd, when viewing heaven's expanse, 
As though his far-sent eye could see 
On, on into th' Immensity 
Behind the veils of that blue sky, 
Where Alla's grandest secrets lie ? — 
His wings, the while, though day was gone, 

Flashing with many a various hue 
Of light they from themselves alone, 

Instinct with Eden's brightness, drew. 
'Twas liuBi — once among the prime 

And flower of those bright creatures, nam'd 
Spirits of Knowledge,' who o'er Time 

And Space and Thought an empire claim'd. 
Second alone to Him, whose light 
Was, ev'n to theirs, as day to night ; 
'Twixt Avhom and them was distance far 

And wide, as would the journey be 
To reach from any island star 

The vague shores of Infinity ! 

'Twas RuBi, in whose mournful eye 
Slept the dim light of days gone by ; 
W^hose voice, though sweet, fell on the ear 

Like echoes, in some silent place. 
When first awak'd for many a year ; 

And when he smil'd, if o'er his face 

Smile ever shone, 'twas like the grace 
Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, 
The sunny life, the glory gone. 
Ev'n o'er his pride, though still the same, 
A softening shade from sorrow came ; 
And though at times his spirit knew 

The kindlings of disdain and ire. 
Short was the fitful glare they threw — 
Like the last flashes, fierce but few. 

Seen through some noble pile on fire ! 

Such was the Angel, who now broke 

The silence that had come o'er all, 
When he, the Spirit that last spoke, 

Clos'd the sad history of his fall ; 
And, while a sacred lustre, flown 

For many a day, relum'd his cheek — 
Beautiful, as in days of old ; 
And not those eloquent lips alone 

But every feature seem'd to speak — 
Thus his eventful story told : — 



1 The Kerubiim, as the Mussulmans call them, are often 
Joined indiscriminately with the Asrafil or Seraphim, under 



SECOND ANGEL'S STORY. 

" You both remember well the day, 

When unto Eden's new-made bowers, 
Alla convok'd the bright array 

Of his supreme angelic powers. 
To witness the one wonder yet, 

Beyond man, angel, star, or sun, 
He must achieve, ere he could set 

His seal upon the world, as done — 
To see that last perfection rise. 

That crowning of creation's birth. 
When, 'mid the worship and surprise 
Of circling angels. Woman's eyes 

First open'd upon heaven and earth ; 
And from their lids a thrill was sent. 
That through each living spirit went , 
Like first light through the firmament ! 

Can you forget how gradual stole 
The fresh-awaken'd breath of soul 
Throughout her perfect form — which seem'd 
To grow transparent, as there beam'd 
That dawn of Mind within, and caught 
New loveliness from each new thought ? 
Slow as o'er summer seas we trace 

The progress of the noontide air. 
Dimpling its bright and silent face 
Each minute into some new grace, 

And varying heaven's reflections there — 
Or, like the light of evening, stealing 

O'er some fair temple, which all day 
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing 

Its several beauties, ray by ray, 
Till it shines out, a thing to bless, 
AU full of light and loveliness. 

Can you forget her blush, when round 
Through Eden's lone, enchanted ground 
She look'd, and saw, the sea — the skies — 

And heard the rush of many a wing. 

On high behests then vanishing ; 
And saw the last few angel eyes, 
StiU lingering — mine among the rest, — 
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest ? 
From that miraculous hour, the fate 

Of this new, glorious Being dwelt 
Forever, with a spell-like weight. 
Upon my spirit — early, late, 

Whate'er I did, or dream'd, or felt, 
The thought of what might yet befall 
That matchless creature mix'd with all. — 



one common name of Azazil, by which all spirits who ap 
proach near the throne of Alla are designated. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



637 



Nor she alone, but her whole race 

Through ages yet to come — whate'er 
Of feminine, and fond, and fair. 

Should spring from that pure mind and face, 
All wak'd my soul's intensest care ; 

Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me 

Creation's strangest mystery ! 

It was my doom — ev'n from the first, 

When witnessing the primal burst 

Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise . 

Those bright creations in the skies, — 

Those worlds instinct with life and light, 

AVhich Man, remote, but sees bj' night, — 

It was my doom still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the time 

Held all my soul, enchain'd, enchanted, 

And left me not a thought, a dream, 

A word, but on that only theme ! 

The wish to know — that endless thirst, 

Which ev'n by quenching is awak'd, 
And which becomes or bless'd or curs' d. 

As is the fount whereat 'tis slak'd — 
Still urg'd me onward, with desire 
Insatiate, to explore, inquire — 
Whate'er the wondrous things might be, 
That wak'd each new idolatry — 

Their cause, aim, source, whence ever sprung — 
Their inmost powers, as though for me 

Existence on that knowledge hung. 

O what a vision were the stars, 

When first I saw them burn on high, 
Rolling along, like living cars 

Of light, for gods to journey by ! > 
They were my heart's first passion — days 
And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
Have I hung floating, till each sense 
Seem'd full of their bright influence. 
Innocent joy ! alas, how much 

Of misery had I shunn'd below. 
Could I have still liv'd bless'd with such ; 
Nor, proud and restless, burn'd to know 
The knowledge that brings guilt and woe. 

1 " C'est un fait indubitable que la plupart des anciens 
philosopbes, soit Chaldeens, soit Grecs, nous ont donn6 les 
astres coinme aninies, et out soutenu que les astres, qui 
nous 6clairent n'etoient que, ou les chars, ou meme les na- 
vires des Intelligences qui les conduisoient. Pour les Chars, 
cela se lit partout ; on n'a qu'ouvrir Pline, St. Clement," 
&c. &c. — Mimoire Histurique, sur Ic Sabiisme, par M. FouR- 

MONT. 

A belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of 
spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the 
68 



Often — so much I lov'd to trace 
The secrets of this starry race — 
Have I at morn and evening run 
Along the lines of radiance spun 
Like webs, between them and the sun, 
Untwisting all the tangled ties 
Of light into their diff'erent dyes — 
Then fleetly wing'd I off", in quest 
Of those, the farthest, loneliest, 
That watch, like -nanking sentinels,* 
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells ; 
And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 
Their track through that grand solitude, 
Asking intently all and each 

What soul within their radiance dwelt, 
And wishing their sweet light were speech. 

That they might tell me aU they felt. 

Nay, oft, so passionate my chase 
Of these resplendent heirs of space, 
Oft did I follow — lest a ray 

Should 'scape me in the farthest night — 
Some pilgrim Comet, on his way 

To visit distant shrines of light, 
And well remember how I sung 

Exultingly, when on my sight 
New worlds of stars, all fresh and young, 
As if ju«t born of darkness, sprung ! 

Such was my pure ambition then. 

My sinless transport, night and morn ; 
Ere yet this newer world of men, 

And that most fair of stars was bom 
Which I, in fatal hour, saw rise 
Among the flowers of Paradise ! 
Thenceforth my nature all was chang'd, 

My heart, soul, senses turn'd below ; 
And he, who but so lately rang'd 

Yon wonderful expanse, where glow 
Worlds upon worlds, — yet found his mind 
Ev'n in that luminous range confin'd, — 
Now bless'd the humblest, meanest sod 
Of the dark earth where Woman trod ! 
In vain my former idols glisten'd 

From their far thrones ; in vain these 
ears 

East. Kircher has given the names and stations of the 
seven archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews di? 
tributed through the planets. 

* According to the cosmogony of the ancient Persians, 
there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of 
the heavens, to watch over the other tixed stars, and super- 
intend the planets in their course. The names of these foui 
sentinel stars are, according to the Boundesh, Taschter, for 
the east ; Satevis, for the west ; Venand, for the south ; and 
Haftorang, for the north. 



638 THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 


To the once thrilling music listen'd, 


Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe ; 


That hymn'd around my favorite spheres — 


Which, though from heaven all pure it came. 


To earth, to earth each thought was given, 


Yet stain'd, misus'd, brought sin and shame 


That in this half-lost soul had birth ; 


On her, on me, on all below ! 


Like some high mount, whose head's in heaven, 




While its whole shadow rests on earth ! 


I had seen this ; had seen Man, arm'd, 




As his soul is, with strength and sense, 


Nor was it Love, ev'n yet, that thrall'd 


By her first words to ruiu charm'd ; 


My spirit in his burning ties ; 


His vaunted reason's cold defence, 


And less, still less could it be call'd 


Like an ice barrier in the ray 


That grosser flame, round which Love flics 


Of melting summer, smil'd away. 


Nearer and nearer, till he dies — 


Naj', stranger yet, spite of all this — 


No, it was wonder, such as thrill'd 


Though by her counsels taught to ciT, 


At all God's works my dazzled sense ; 


Though driv'n from Faradise for her. 


The same rapt wonder, only fill'd 


(And icith her — that, at least, was bliss,) 


With passion, more profound, intense, — 


Had I not heard him, ere he cross'd 


A vehement, but wandering fire, 


The threshold of that earthly heaven, 


Whioh, though nor love, nor yet desire, 


Which by her wildering smile he lost — 


Though through all womankind it took 


So quickly was the wrong forgiven ! — 


Its range, as lawless lightnings run, 


Had I not heard him, as he press'd 


Yet wanted but a touch, a look. 


The frail, fond trembler to a breast 


To fix it burning upon One. 


Which she had doom'd to sin and strife. 




Call her — ev'n then — his Life ! his Life ! > 


Then, too, the ever-restless zeal, 


Yes, such the love-taught name, the first. 


Th' insatiate curiosity 


That ruin'd Man to Woman gave, 


To know how shapes, so fair, must feel — 


Ev'n in his outcast liour, when curs'd 


To look, but once, beneath the seal 


By her fond witchery, with that worst 


Of so much loveliness, and see 


And earliest boon of love, the grave ! 


What souls belong'd to such bright eyes — 


She, who brought death into the world, 


Whether, as sunbeams find tlieir way 


There stood before him, with the light 


Into the gem that hidden lies, 


Of their lost Faradise still bright 


Those looks could inward turn their ray, 


Upon those sunny locks, that curl'd 


And make the soul as bright as they : 


Down her white shoulders to her feet — 


All this impell'd my anxious chase. 


So beautiful in form, so sweet 


And still the more I saw and knew 


In heart and voice, as to redeem 


Of Woman's fond, weak, conquering race, 


The loss, the death of all things dear, 


Th' intenser still my wonder grew. 


Except herself— and make it seem 




Life, endless Life, while she was near ! 


I had beheld their First, their Eve, 


Could I help wondering at a creature. 


Born in that splendid Faradise, 


Thus circled round with spells so strong — 


Which sprung there solely to receive 


One, to whose every thought, word, feature, 


The first light of her waking eyes. 


In joy and woe, through right and wrong, 


I had seen purest angels lean 


Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave, 


lu worship o'er her from above ; 


To bless or ruin, curse or save ? 


And man — yes, had envying seen 




Froud man possess' d of all her love. 


Nor did the marvel cease with her — 




New Eves in all her daughters came, 


1 saw their happiness, so brief, 


As strong to charm, as weak to err. 


So exquisite, — her error, too. 


As sure of man through praise and blame, 


That easy trust, that prompt belief 


AVhate'er they brought him, pride or shame, 


In what the warm heart wishes true ; 


He still th' unreasoning worsliipper. 


That faith in words, when kindly said. 




By which the whole fond sex is led — 


1 Chavali, or, as it is in Arabic, llavah (the name by 


Mingled with — what I durst not blame, 


wliicii Adam called the woman after their transgiession). 


For 'tis my own — that zeal to hww, 


means " Life." 



THE LOVES OS 


THE ANGELS. 53d 


And they, throughout all time, the same 


Though, even here, her form could spare 


Enchantresses of soul and frame. 


From its own beauty's rich excess 


Into whose hands, from first to last, 


Enough to make ev'n them more fair — 


This world with all its destinies, 


But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear 


Devotedly by heaven seems cast, 


Through her whole frame — the soul, stiL 


To save or ruin, as they please ! 


near. 


0, 'tis not to be told how long, 


To light each charm, yet independent 


How restlessly I sigh'd to find 


Of what it lighted, as the sun 


Some one, from out that witching throng, 


That shines on flowers, would be resplendent 


Some abstract of the form and mind 


Were there no flowers to shine ipon — 


Of the whole matchless sex, from which, 


'Twas this, all this, in one combin'd — 


In my own arms beheld, pOJ^sess'd, 


Th' unnumber'd looks and arts that form 


I might learn all the powers to witch. 


The glory of young womankind, 


To warm, and (if my fate unblest 


Taken, in their perfection, warm, 


Wotdd have it) ruin, of the rest ! 


Ere time had chill'd a single charm. 


Into whose inward soul and sense 


And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind, 


I might descend, as doth the bee 


As gave to beauties, that might be 


Into the flower's deep heart, and thenco 


Too sensual else, too unrefin'd, 


Rifle, in all its purity. 


The impress of Divinity ! 


The prime, the quintessence, the whole 




Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul ! 


'Twas this— a union, which the hand 




Of Nature kept for her alone. 


At length, my burning wish, my prayer — 


Of every thing most playful, bland. 


(For such — what will tongues not dare, 


Voluptuous, spiritual, grand, 


When hearts go wrong ! — this lip preferr'd) — 


In angel natures and her own — 


At length my ominous prayer was heard — 


this it was that drew me nigh 


But whether heard in heaven or hell. 


One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I, 


Listen — and thou wilt know too well. 


A bright twin sister from on high — 




One, in whose love, I felt, were given 


There was a maid, of all who move 


The mix'd delights of either sphere, 


Like visions o'er this orb, most fit 


All that the spirit seeks in heaven. 


To be a bright j'oung angel's love, 


And all the senses burn for here. 


Herself so bright, so exquisite ! 




The pride, too, of her step, as light 


Had we — but hold — hear every part 


Along th' unconscious earth she went. 


Of our sad tale — spite of the pain 


Seem'd that of one, born with a right 


Remembrance gives, when the fix'd dart 


To walk some heav'nlier element. 


Is stirr'd thus in the wound again — 


And tread in places where her feet 


Hear every step, so full of bliss. 


A star at every step should meet. 


And yet so ruinous, that led 


'Twas not alone that loveliness 


Down to the last, dark precipice, 


By which the 'wilder'd sense is caught — 


Where perish'd both — the fall'n, the dead 1 


Of lips, whose very breath could bless ; 




Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought 


From the first hour she caught my sight, 


But luminous escapes of thought ; 


I never left her — day and night 


Of eyes that, when by anger stirr'd. 


Hovering unseen around her way. 


Were fire itself, but, at a word 


And 'mid her loneliest musings near. 


Of tenderness, all soft became 


I soon could track each thought that lay, 


As though they could, like the sun's bird. 


Gleaming within her heart, as clear 


Dissolve away in their own flame — 


As pebbles within brooks appear ; 


Of form, as pliant as the shoots 


And there, among the countless things 


Of a young tree, in vernal flower ; 


That keep young hearts forever glowing, 


Yet round and glowing as the fruits, 


Vague wishes, fond imaginings, 


That drop from it in summer's hour ; — 


Love dreams, as yet no object knowing — 


'Twas not alone this loveliness 


Light, winged hopes, that come when bid, 


That falls to loveliest women's share, 


And rainbow joys that end in weeping ; 



r 

540 THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


And passions, among pure thoughts hid, 


From lamps invisible then stole, 


Like serpents under flow'rets sleeping : — 


Brightly pervading all the place — 


'Mong all these feelings — felt where'er 


Like that mysterious light the soul. 


Young hearts are beating — I saw there 


Itself unseen, sheds through the face. 


Proud thoughts, aspirings high — beyond 


There, at her altar while she knelt. 


Whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond — 


And all that woman ever felt. 


Glimpses of glory, far away 


When God and man both claim' d her sighs - 


Into the bright, vague future given ; 


Every warm thought, that ever dwelt. 


A.nd fancies, free and grand, whose play, 


Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies, 


Like that of eaglets, is near heaven ! 


Too pure to fall, too gross to rise. 


With this, too — what a soul and heart 


Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes — 


To fall beneath the tempter's art ! — 


Then, as the mystic light's soft ray 


A zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er 


Grew softer still, as though its ray 


Enshrin'd itself in form so fair. 


Was brcath'd from her, I heard her say : — 


Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve, 




AVith every fruit of Eden blest, 


" idol of my dreams ! whate'er 


Save one alone — rather than leave 


" Thy nature be - human, divine, 


That one unreach'd, lost all the rest. 


" Or but half heav'nly— still too fair, 




" Too heavenly to be ever mine I 


It was in dreams that first I stole 




With gentle mastery o'er her mind — 


" Wonderful Spirit, who dost make 


In that rich twilight of the soul, 


" Slumber so lovely, that it seems 


When reason's beam, half hid behind 


" No longer life to live awake. 


The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds 


" Since heaven itself descends in di-eams. 


Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds — 




'Twas then, by that soft light, I brought 


" Why do I ever lose thee ? why 


Vague, glimmering visions to her view ; — 


" When on thy realms and thee I gaze 


Catches of radiance, lost when caught, 


" Still drops that veil, which I could die, 


Bright labyrinths, that led to nought. 


'♦ gladly, but one hour to raise ? 


And vistas, with no pathway through ; — 




Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone. 


" Long ere such miracles as thou 


Then clos'd, dissolv'd, and left no trace — 


" And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst 


All that, in short, could tempt Hope on. 


" For light was in this soul, which now 


But give her wing no resting-place ; 


" Thy looks have into passion nurs'd. 


Myself the while, with brow, as yet, 




Pure as the young moon's coronet. 


•' There's nothing bright above, below. 


Through every dream still in her sight. 


" In sky — earth — ocean, that this breast 


Th' enchanter of each mocking scene, 


" Doth not intensely burn to know. 


Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, 


" And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest ! 


Who said, "Behold yon world of light," 




Then sudden dropp'd a veil between ! 


«• Then come, Spirit, fi-om behind 




'♦ The curtains of thy radiant home, 


At length, when I perceiv'd each thought, 


•• If thou wouldst be as angel shrin'd. 


Waking or sleeping, fix'd on nought 


" Or lov'd and clasp'd as mortal, come ! 


But these illusive scenes, and me — 




J'he phantom, who thus came and went, 


« Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, 


In half revealments, only meant 


" That I may, waking, know and see ; 


To madden curiosity — 


" Or waft me hence to thy own sphere, 


When by such various arts I found 


" Thy heaven or — ay, even that with thee ! 


Her fancy to its utmost wound, 




One night — 'twas in a holy spot, 


" Demon or God, who hold'st the book 


Which she for pray'r had chos'n — a grot 


«' Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye. 


Of purest marble, built below 


" Give me, with thee, but one bright look 


Her garden beds, through which a glow 


" Into its leaves, and let me die ! 



TKE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



" By those ethereal wings, whose way 
" Lies through an element, so fraught 

" With living Mind, that, as they play, 
" Their every movement is a thought ! 

" By that bright, wreathed hair, between 
•' Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind 

" Of Paradise so late hath been, 
" And left its fragrant soul behind ! 

" By those impassion'd eyes, that melt 
" Their light into the inmost heart ; 

" Like sunset in the waters, felt 

•' As molten fire through every part — 

" I do implore thee, O most bright 

" And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er 

" My waking, wondering eyes this night, 
" This one blest night — I ask no more ! " 

Exhausted, breathless, as she said 
These burning words, her languid head 
Upon the altar's steps she cast. 
As if that brain throb were its last — 

Till, startled by the breathing, nigh, 
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh. 
Sudden her brow again she rais'd ; 

And there, just lighted on the shrine, 
Beheld me — not as I had blaz'd 

Around her, fuU of light divine, 
Li her late dreams, but soften'd down 
Lito more mortal grace ; — my crown 
Of flowers, too radiant for this world, 

Left hanging on yon starry steep ; 
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd, 

When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep ; 

Or like autumnal clouds, that keep 
Their lightnings sheath' d, rather than mar 
The dawning hour of some young star ; 
And nothing left, but what beseem' d 

Th' accessible, though glorious mate 
Of mortal woman — whose eyes beam'd 

Back upon hers, as passionate ; 
Whose ready heart brought flame for flame, 
Whose sin, whose madness was the same ; 
And whose soul lost, in that one hour. 

For her and for her love — O more 
Of heaven's light than ev'n the power 

Of heav'n itself could now restore ! 



1 Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf — a sort of wall or 
partition which, according to the 7th chapter of the Koran, 
separates hell from paradise, and where tliey, who have not 
merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance into 
heaven, are supposed to stand for a certain period, alteniate- 



And yet, that hour ! " 

The Spirit here 

Stopp'd in his utterance, as if words 
Gave way beneath the wild career 

Of his then rushmg thoughts — like chords, 
Midway in some enthusiast's song. 
Breaking beneath a touch too strong ; 
While the clinch' d hand upon the brew 
Told how remembrance throbb'd theit now ! 
But soon 'twas o'er — that casual blaze 
From the sunk fire of other days — 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 

Had been too fierce to be relum'd, 
Soon pass'd away, and the youth, turning 

To his bright listeners, thus resum'd : — 

"Days, months elaps'd, and, though what 
most 

On earth I sigh'd for was mine, all — 
Yet — was I happy ? God, thou know'st. 
Howe'er they smile, and feign, and boast, 

What happiness is theirs, who fall ! 
'Twas bitterest anguish — made more keen 
Ev'n by the love, the bliss, between 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell 

In agonizing cross light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 

In purgatory ' catch of heaven ! 
The only feeling that to me 

Seem'd joy — or rather my sole rest 
From aching misery — was to see 

My young, proud, blooming Lilis blest. 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul — whom yet its thirst 
Fervidly panted after still, 

And found the charm fresh as at first — 
To see her happy — to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play'd 
Of former pride, of glory wreck'd. 

On her, my Moon, whose light I made. 

And whose soul worshipp'd ev'n my shade — 
This was, I own, enjoyment — this 
My sole, last Hngering glimpse of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature ! — pioud, 

Beyond what ev'n most queenly stirs 
In woman's heart, nor would have bow'd 

That beautiful young brow of hers 
To aught beneath the First above, 
So high she deeui'd her Cherub's love ! 

ly tantalized and tormented by the sights that are on e^ 
side presented to them. 

Manes, who borrowed in many instances from the Plalon- 
ists, placed his purgatories, or places of purification, in tlic 
Sun and Moon. — Beausobre, liv. iii. chau 8. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS> 



Then, too, that passion, hourly growing 

Stronger and stronger — to which even 
Her love, at times, gave way — of knowing 

Every thing strange in earth and heaven ; 
Not only all that, full revcal'd, 

Th' eternal Alla loves to show, 
But all that He hath wisely seal'd 

In darkness, for man iwt to know — 
Ev'n this desire, alas, ill starr'd 

And fatal as it was, I sought 
To feed each minute, and unbarr'd 

Such realms of wonder on her thought, 
As ne'er, till then, had let their light 
Escape on any mortal's sight ! 
In the deep earth — beneath the sea — 

Through caves of fire — through wilds of air — 
■\Vherever sleeping Mystery 

Had spread her curtain, we were there — 
Love still beside us, as we went. 
At home in each new element. 

And sure of worship every where ! 

Then first was Nature taught to lay 

The wealth of all her kingdoms down 
At woman's worshipp'd feet, and say, 

" Bright creature, this is all thine own ! ' 
Then first were diamonds, from the night,* 
Uf earth's deep centre brought to light. 
And made to grace the conquering Avay 
Of proud young beauty with their ray. 
Then, too, the pearl from out its shell 

Unsightly, in the sunless sea, 
(As 'twere a spirit, forc'd to dwell 

In form unlovely) was set free. 
And round the neck of woman threw 
A light it lent and borrow'd too. 
For never did this maid — whate'er 

Th' ambition of the hour — forget 
Her sex's pride in being fair ; 
Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare, 
"VVliich makes the mighty magnet, set 
In Woman's form, more mighty yet. 
Nor was there aught within the range 

Of my swift wing in sea or air, 

1 " Quelques gnomes desireiix de devenir iitimortels, 
•ivDient voiilii gagner les bonnes graces des nos filles, et 
Itur avoient apporle des pierrerie? dont ils sent gardiens 
natiirels : et ces auteurs ont cru, s'appuyant sur le livre 
d'Enorh nial-entendu, que c'etoient des pieges que les an- 
gcs amourenx," &c. &c. — Comte de Oabalis. 

As the fiction of the loves of angels with women gave 
birth to the funciful world of sylphs and gnomes, so we owe 
to it also the invention of those beautiful Genii and Peris, 
which embellish so much the mythology of the East ; for in 
the fabulous histories of Caioumarath, of Thanuirath, &c., 
lht>se spiritual creatures are always represented as the de- 



Of beautiful, or grand, or strange. 
That, quickly as her wish could change, 

1 did not seek, with such fond care, 
That when I've seen her look above 

At some bright star admiringly, 
I've said, " Nay, look not there, my love,* 
Alas, I cannot give it thee ! " 

But not alone the wonders found 

Through Nature's realm — th' unveil'd, ma- 
terial. 
Visible glories, that abound. 
Through all her vast, enchanted ground — 

But whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal. 
Dwells far away from human sense, 
Wrapp'd in its own intelligence — 
The mystery of that Fountain head, 

From which all vital spirit runs. 
All breath of Life, where'er 'tis spread 

Through men or angels, flowers or suns 
The workings of th' Almighty Mind, 
When first o'er Chaos he design'd 
The outlines of this world ; and through 

That depth of darkness — like the bow, 
Call'd out of rain clouds, hue by hue ^ — 

Saw the grand, gradual picture grow ; — 
The covenant with humankind 

By Alla made'' — the chains of Fate 
He round himself and them hath twin'd, 

Till his high task he consummate ; — 

Till good from evil, love from hate. 
Shall be work'd out through sin and pain. 
And Fate shall loose her iron chain. 
And all be free, be bright again ! 

Such were the deep-drawn mysteries, 
And some, ev'n more obscure, profound. 

And wildering to the mind than these, 

Which — far as woman's thought could 
sound. 

Or a fall'n, outlaw'd spirit reach — 

She dar'd to learn, and I to teach. 

Till — fill'd with such unearthly lore. 
And mingling the pure light it brings 

scendants of Seth, and called the Bani Algiann, or children 
of Giann. 

2 I am aware that this Iiappy saying of Lord Albemarle's 
loses much of its grace and playfulness, by being put into 
the mouth of any but a human lover. 

3 According to Whitcliurst's theory, the mention of rain 
bows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism; as lis 
says, " There was no rain before the flood, and consequent- 
ly no rainbow, which accounts for the novelty of this sight 
after the Deluge." 

* For the terms of this compact, of which the angels wers 
supposed to he witnesses, see the chapter of the Koran, en 
titled Al Araf, and the article " Adam " in D'Herbelot 



THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 543 


With much that fancy had, before, 


When thoughts of an offended heaven, 


Shod in false, tinted glimmerings — 


Of sinfulness, which I — ev'n 1, 


Th' enthusiast girl spoke out, as one 


While down its steep most headlong driven — 


Inspii'd, among her own dark race, 


Well knew could never be forgiven, 


Who from their ancient shrines would run, 


Came o'er me with an agony 


Leaving their holy rites undone. 


Beyond all reach of mortal woe — 


To gaze upon her holier face. 


A torture kept for those who know, 


And, though but wild the things she spoke, 


Know every thing, and — worst of all — 


Yet, 'mid that play of error's smoke 


Know and love Virtue while they fall ! 


Into fair shapes by fancy curl'd. 


Ev'n then, her presence had the power 


Some gleams of pure religion broke — 


To soothe, to warm — nay, ev'n to bless — 


Glimpses, that have not yet awoke. 


If ever bliss could graft its flower 


But startled the still dreaming world ! 


On stem so full of bitterness — 


0, many a truth, remote, sublime. 


Ev'n then her glorious smile to me 


Which Ileav'n would from the minds of men 


Brought wai-mth and radiance, if not 


Have kept conccal'd till its own time, 


balm ; 


Stole out in these revealments then — 


Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea. 


Rcvealments dim, that have forerun, 


Brightening the storm it cannot calm. 


By ages, the great. Sealing One ! ' 




Like that imperfect dawn, or light' 


Oft, too, when that disheartening fear. 


Escaping from the Zodiac's signs, 


Which all who love, beneath yon sky, 


Which makes the doubtful east half bright, 


Feel, when they gaze on what is dear — 


Before the real morning shines '. 


The dreadful thought that it must die ! 




That desolating thought, which comes 


Thus did some moons of bliss go by — 


Into men's happiest hours and homes ; 


Of bliss to her, who saw but love 


Whose melancholy boding flings 


And knowledge throughout earth and sky ; 


Death's shadow o'er the brightest things. 


To M-hose enamour'd soul and eye. 


Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads 


I secm'd — as is the sun on high — 


The grave beneath young lovers' heads ! 


The light of all below, above. 


This fear, so sad to all — to me 


The spirit of sea, and land, and air, 


Most full of sadness, from the thought 


Whose influence, felt every where, 


That I must still live on,' when she 


Spread from its centre, her own heart, 


Would, like the snow that on the sea 


Ev'n to the world's extremest part ; 


Fell yesterday, in vain be sought ; 


While through that world her reinless mind 


That heaven to me this final seal 


Had now career'd so fast and far. 


Of all earth's sorrow would deny, 


That earth it-^elf seem'd left behind, 


And I eternally must feel 


And her proud fancy, unconfin'd. 


The death pang, without power to die ! 


Aheady saw Heaven's gates ajar ! 


Ev'n this, her fond endearments — fond 




As ever cherish' d the sweet bond 


Happy enthusiast ! still, 0, still 


'Twixt heart and heart — could charm away ; 


Spite of my own heart's mortal chill. 


Before her look no clouds would stay. 


Spite of that double-fronted sorrow. 


Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, 


AVhich looks at once before and back. 


Their darkness put a glory on ! 


Beholds the yesterday, the morrow. 


But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong, 


And sees both comfortless, both black — 


The guilty, to be happy long ; 


Spite of all this, I could have still 


And she, too, now, had sunk within 


Li her delight forgot all ill ; 


The shadow of her tempter's sin. 


Or, if pain would not be forgot, 


Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence 


At least have borne and murmur'd not. 


To snatch the fated victim thence ! 


1 In acknowledging the authority of the great Prophets 


3 Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Mahom- 


who haii preceded hitn, Mahomet represented his own mis- 


etan doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of ani- 


sion as tlie final " Seal,''^ or consummation of them all. 


mals, living either on land or in the sea, but of the angela 


2 The Zodiacal Light 


also, must necessarily taste of death. 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in your hearts, weep it for me. 

'Twas on the evening of a day, 
Which we in love had dreamt away ; 
In that same garden, where — the pride 
Of seraph splendor laid aside, 
And those wings furl'd, whose open light 
For mortal gaze were else too bright — 
I first had stood before her sight, 
And found myself — O, ecstasy, 

Which ev'ia in pain I ne'er forget — 
Worshipp'd as only God should be, 

And lov'd as never man was yet ! 
In that same garden were we now, 

Thoughtfully side by side reclining, 
Her eyes turn'd upward, and her brow 

With its own silent fancies shining. 

It was an evening bright and still 

As ever blush'd on wave or bower, 
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill 

Could happen in so sweet an hour. 
Yet, I remember, both grew sad 

In looking at that light — ev'n she, 
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad. 

Felt the still hour's solemnity, 
And thought she saw, in that repose, 

The death hour not alone of light. 
But of this whole fair world — the close 

Of all things beautiful and bright — 
The last, grand sunset, in whose ray 
Nature herself died calm away ! 

At length, as though some livelier thought 
Had suddenly her fancy caught, 
She turn'd upon me her dark eyes, 

DUated into that full shape 
They took in joy, reproach, surprise, 

As 'twere to let more soul escape, 
And, playfully as on my head 
Her white hand rested, smil'd and said : — 

" I had, last night, a dream of thee, 
" Resembling those divine ones, given, 

" Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy, 

" Before thou cam'st, thyself, from heaven. 

" The same rich -vsTcath was on thy brow, 

" Dazzling as if of starlight made ; 
« And these wings, lying darkly now, 
'< Like meteors round thee flash'd and play'd. 

" Thou stood'st, all bright, as in those dreams, 
«« As if just wafted from above ; 



' Mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams 
" A creature to adore and love. 

' Sudden I felt thee draw me near 
" To thy pure heart, where, fondly plac'd, 

• I seem'd within the atmosphere 
" Of that exhaling light embrac'd ; 

' And felt, methought, th' ethereal flame 
" Pass from thy pm-er soul to mine ; 

' Till — O,. too blissful — I became, 
" Like thee, all spirit, all divine ! 

' Say, why did dream so blest come o'ei 
me, 

" If, now I wake, 'tis faded, gone ; 
' When will my Cherub shine before me 

" Thus radiant, as in heaven he shone ? 

' When shall I, waking, be aUow'd 
" To gaze upon those perfect charms, 

' And clasp thee once, without a cloud, 
" A chill of earth, within these arms ? 

' what a pride to say, this, this 

" Is my own Angel — all divine, 
' And pure, and dazzling as he is, 

"And fresh from heaven — he's mine, he's 
mine ! 

' Think' st thou, were Lilis in thy place, 

" A creature of yon lofty skies, 
' She would have hid one single grace, 

"One glory from her lover's eyes ? 

' No, no — then, if thou lov'st like me, 
" Shine out, young Spirit, in the bla^e 

' Of thy most proud divinity, 
" Nor think thou'lt wound this rectal 
gaze. 

" Too long and oft I've look'd upon 
" Those ardent eyes, intense ev'n thus — 

'■' Too near the stars themselves have gone, 
" To fear aught grand or luminous. 

" Then doubt me not — 0, who can say 
" But that this dream may yet come true, 

" And my blest spirit drink thy ray, 
" Till it becomes all heavenly too ? 

" Let me this once but feel the flame 
" Of those spread wings, the very pride 

" WUl change my nature, and this frame 
"By the mere touch be deified ! " 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Thus spoke the maid, as one, not us'd 
To be by earth or heav'n refus'd — 
As one, who knew her influence o'er 

All creatures, whatsoe'er they were, 
And, though to heaven she could not soar. 

At least would bring down heaven to her. 

Little did she, alas, or I — 

Ev'n I, whose soul, but half way yet 
Lnmerg'd in sin's obscurity 
Was as the earth whereon we lie, 

O'er half whose disk the sun is set — 
Little did we foresee the fate, 

The dreadful — how can it be told ? 
Such pain, such anguish to relate 

Is o'er again to feel, behold ! 
But, charg'd as 'tis, my heart must speak 

Its sorrow out, or it will break ! 
Some dark misgivings had, I own, 

Pass'd for a moment through my breast — 
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown, 

To one, or both — something unbless'd 

To happen from this proud request. 
But soon these boding fancies fled ; 

Nor saw I aught that could forbid 
My full revealment, save the dread 

Of that first dazzle, when, unhid. 

Such light should burst upon a lid 
Ne'er tried in heaven ; — and ev'n this glare 
She might, by love's own nursing care, 
Be, like young eagles, taught to bear. 
For well I knew, the lustre shed 
From cherub wmgs, when proudliest spread. 
Was, in its nature, lambent, pure, 

And innocent as is the light 
The glowworm hangs out to allure 

Her mate to her green bower at night. 
Oft had I, in the mid air, swept 
Through clouds in which the lightning slept, 
As in its lair, ready to spring. 
Yet walc'd it not — though from my wing 
A thousand sparks fell glittering ! 
Oft too when round me from above 

The feather' d snow, in all its whiteness, 
Fell, like the moultings of heaven's Dove,' — 

So harmless, though so full of brightness, 



1 The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his 
Familiar, and was frequently seen to whisper into his ear, 
was, if I recollect right, one of that select number of ani- 
mals (including also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the 
Seven Sleepers, &c.) which weie thought by the Prophet 
worthy of admission into Paradisj. 

" The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved 
(when ho hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pur- 
69 



Was my brow's wreath, that it would shake 
From off its flowers each downy flake 
As delicate, unmelted, fair. 
And cool as they had lighted there. 

Nay ev'n with Lilis — had I not 

Around her sleep all radiant beam'd. 
Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot 

To kiss her eyelids, as she dream'4 ? 
And yet, at morn, from that repose. 

Had she not wak'd, unscath'd and bright, 
As doth the pure, unconscious rose, 

Though by the firefly kiss'd all night ? 

Thus having — as, alas, deceiv'd 
By my sin's blindness, I beUev'd — 
No cause for dread, and those dark eyes 

Now fix'd upon me, eagerly 
As though th' unlocking of the skies 

Then waited but a sign from me — 
How could I pause ? how ev'n let fall 

A word, a whisper that could stir 
In her proud heart a doubt, that all 

I brought from heaven belong'd to her 
Slow from her side I rose, while she 
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly. 
But not with fear — aU hope, and pride. 

She waited for the awful boon. 
Like priestesses, at eventide, 

Watching the rise of the fuU moon, 
Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, 
'Twill madden them to look upon ! 

Of all my glories, the bright cro"wn, 
Which, when I last from heaven came down, 
Was left behind me, in yon star 
That shines from out those clouds afar, — 
Where, relic sad, 'tis treasur'd yet, 
The downfall'n angel's coronet ! 
Of aU my glories, this alone 
Was wanting : — but th' illumin'd brow. 
The sunbright locks, the eyes that now 
Had love's spell added to their own. 
And pour'd a light tiU then unknown ; — 
Th' unfolded wings, that, in their play. 
Shed sparkles bright as Alla's throne ; 



suers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's 
web, and a nest built by two pigeons at the entrance, willi 
two eggs unbroken in it, which made them think no one 
could have entered it. In consequence of this, tliey sav. 
Mahomet enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as sn- 
cred, and never to kill a sp\A6r." -Mcdern Vnivcnal His 
tory, vol. i. 



>46 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



All I could bring of heaven's array, 

Of that rich panoply of charms 
A Cherub moves in, on the day 
Of his best pomp, I now put on ; 
And, proud that in her eyes I shone 

Thus glorious, glided to her arms ; 
Which still (though, at a sight so splendid, 

Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 
Sunk on her breast,) were wide extended 

To clasp the form she durst not see ! ' 
Great Heav'n ! how could thy vengeance light 
So bitterly on one so bright ? 
How could the hand, that gave such charms, 
Blast them again, in love's own arms ? 
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame, 

When — most horrible ! — I felt 
That every spark of that pure flame — 

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt — 
Was now, by my transgression, turn'd 
Lito gross, earthly fire, which burn'd, 
Burn'd ali it touch'd, as fast as eye 

Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes ; 
Till there — O God, I still ask why 
Such doom was hers ? — I saw her lie 

Black'ning within my arms to ashes ! 
That brow, a glory but to see — 

Those lips, whose touch was what the first 
Fresh cup of immortality 

Is to a new-made angel's thirst ! 
Those clasping arms, within whose round — 
My heart's horizon — the whole bound 
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found ! 
Which, ev'n in this dread moment, fond 

As when they first were round me cast, 
Loos'd not in death the fatal bond. 

But, burning, held me to the last ! 
All, all, that, but that morn, had seem'd 
As if Love's self there breath'd and beam'd, 
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay. 
Withering in agony away ; 
And mine, O misery ! mine the flame. 
From which this desolation came ; — 
I, the curs'd spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that loveliness ! 

r was maddening ! — but now hear even worse — 
Had death, death only, been the curse 
I brought upon her — had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in the dust — and did the spirit 
No part of that fell curse inherit. 



1 " Mohammed (says Sale), though a prophet, was not 
able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his 
proper form, much less would others be able to support it." 



'Twere not so dreadful — but, come near — 
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear — 
Just when her eyes, in fading, took 

Their last, keen, agoniz'd farewell. 
And look'd in mine with — 0, that look ! 

Great vengeful Power, whate'er the heU 
Thou mayst to human souls assign. 
The memory of that look is mine ! — 

In her last struggle, on my brow 

Her ashy lips a kiss impress' d, 
So withering ! — I feel it now — 

'Twas fire — but fire, ev'n more unbless'd 
Than was my own, and like that flame, 
The angels shudder but to name, 
Hell's everlasting element ! 

Deep, deep it pierc'd into my brain, 
Madd'ning and torturing as it went ; 

And here — mark here, the brand, the 
stain 
It left upon my front — burnt in 
By that last kiss of love and sin — 
A brand, which all the pomp and pride 
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide ! 

But is it thus, dread Providence 

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she. 
Who, (but for one proud, fond off"ence,) 

Had honor'd heaven itself, should be 
Now doom'd — I cannot speak it — no, 
Merciful Alla ! 'tis not so — 
Never could lips divine have said 
The fiat of a fate so dread. 
And yet, that locjte. — so deeply fraught 

With more than anguish, with despair — 
That new, fierce fire, resembling nought 

In heaven or earth — this scorch I bear ! — 
O — for the first time that these knees 

Have bent before thee since my fall, 
Great Power, if ever thy decrees 

Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall. 
Pardon that spirit, and on me. 

On me, who taught her pride to err. 
Shed out each drop of agony 

Thy burning vial keeps for her ! 
See, too, where low beside me kneel 

Two other outcasts, who, though gone 
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel 

And pray for that poor mortal one. 
Alas, too well, too well they know 
The pain, the penitence, the woe 
That Passion brings upon the best. 
The wisest, and the loveliest. — 
O, who is to be sav'd, if such 

Bright, erring souls are not forgiven ; 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



547 



So loath they wander, and so much 

Their very wanderings lean towards heaven ! 
Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer 

That creature's sufferings all to me — 

Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be, 
To save one minute's pain to her, 

Let mine last all eternity ! " 

He paus'd, and to the earth bent do^wn 

His throbbing head ; while they, who felt 
That agony as 'twere their own. 

Those angel youths, beside him knelt, 
And, in the night's still silence there, 
While mournfully each wandering air 
Play'd in those plumes, that never more 
To their lost home in heav'n must soar, 
Brcath'd inwardly the voiceless prayer, 
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear — 
And which if Mercy did not hear, 
O, God would not be what this bright 

And glorious universe of His, 
This world of beauty, goodness, light 

And endless love proclaims He is ! 

Not long they knelt, when, from a wood 
That crown'd that airy solitude. 
They heard a low, uncertain sound. 
As from a lute, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round 
The new-born fancy, with fond tone. 
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own ! 
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well 

That gentle instrument, as suits 
The sea air to an ocean shell, 

(So kin its spirit to the lute's). 
Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain, 
Interpreting its joy, its pain, 

And lending the light wings of words 
To many a thought, that else had lain 

Unfledg'd and mute among the chords. 

All started at the sound — but chief 

The third young Angel, in whose face, 
Though faded like the others, grief 

Had left a gentler, holier trace ; 
As if, ev'n yet, throiigh pain and ill, 
Hope had not fled him — as if still 
Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup, 

Unmelted at the bottom lay. 
To shine again, when, all drunk up. 

The bitterness should pass away. 
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes 
There shone more pleasure than surprise. 
Turn to the wood, from whence that sound 

Of solitary sweetness broke ; 



Then, listening, look delighted round 

To his bright peers, while thus it spoke : — 

•' Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 

" My angel lord, come pray with me ; 
•* In vain to-night my lip hath strove 
" To send one holy prayer above — 
" The knee may bend, the lip may move, 

" But pray I cannot, without thee ! 
<' I've fed the altar in my bower 

" With droppings from the incense tree ; 
" I've shelter'd it from wind and shower, 
" But dim it burns the livelong hour, 
" As if, like me, it had no power 

" Of life or lustre, without thee ! 

'• A boat at midnight sent alone 
" To drift upon the moonless sea, 

" A lute, whose leading chord is gone, 

" A wounded bird, that hath but one 

" Imperfect wing to soar upon, 

" Are like what I am, without thee ! 

'• Then ne'er, my spirit love, divide, 

" In life or death, thyself from me ; 
" But when again, in sunny pride, 
" Thou walk'st through Eden, let me glide, 
" A prostrate shadow, by thy side — 
" O happier thus than without thee ! " 

The song had ceas'd, when, from the wood 

Which, sweeping down that airy height, 
Reach'd the lone spot whereon they stood — 

There suddenly shone out a light 
From a clear lamp, which, as it blaz'd 
Across the brow of one, who rais'd 
Its flame aloft (as if to throw 
The light upon that group below). 
Display' d two eyes, sjiarkling between 
The dusky leaves, such as are seen 
By fancy only, in those faces. 

That haunt a poet's walk at even. 
Looking from out their leafy places 

Upon his dreams of love and heaven. 
'Twas but a moment — the blush, brought 
O'er all her features at the thought 

Of being seen thus, late, alone. 
By any but the eyes she sought. 

Had scarcely for an instant shone 

Through the dark leaves, when she wm 
gone — 
Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead 
Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, 
<' Behold, how beautiful ! " — 'tis fled 



548 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Yet, ere she went, the words, " I come, 
«< I come, my Nama," reach'd her ear, 
In that kind voice, familiar, dear, 

Which tells of confidence, of home, — 
Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, 

Till they grow otie, — of faith sincere. 

And all that Love most loves to hear ; 

A music, breathing of the past, 
The present and the time to be. 

Where Hope and Memory, to the last, 
Lengthen out life's true harmony I 

Nor long did he, whom call so kind 
Summon'd away, remain behind ; 
Nor did there need much time to tell 

What they — alas, more fall'n than he 
From happiness and heaven — knew well, 

His gentler love's short history ! 

Thus did it run — not as he told 

The tale himself, but as 'tis grav'd 
Upon the tablets that, of old. 

By Seth * were from the deluge sav'd, 
AH written over with subhme 

And saddening legends of th' unblest. 
But glorious Spirits of that time. 

And this young Angel's 'mong the rest. 



THIRD ANGEL'S STORY. 
Among the Spirits, of pure flame. 

That in th' eternal heav'ns abide — 
Circles of light, that from the same 

Unclouded centre sweeping wide. 

Carry its beams on every side — 
Like spheres of air that waft around 
The undulations of rich sound — 

1 Seth is a favorite personage among the Orientals, and 
acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant 
romances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of 
this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained 
the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c. &c. 
The Curds, too (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix), have 
a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and 
which tliey call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth. 

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to 
have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, 
Xixutlirus is said in Chaldaean fable to have deposited in 
Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science 
wliich he had saved out of the waters of a deluge. — See 
Jablonski's learned remarks upon these columns or tablets 
of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars 
of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth. — Pantheon. Egypt, lib. 
V. cap. 5. 

2 The Mussulmans, says D'Herbelot, apply the general 
name, Mocarreboun, to all those Spirits " qui approchent le 
plus pres le Tr8ne." Of this number are Mikail and Ge- 
brail. 



Till the far-circling radiance be 

Diffus'd into infinity ! 

First and immediate near the Throne 

Of Alla,* as if most his own. 

The Seraphs stand '' — this biirning sign 

Trac'd on their banner, " Love Divine! " 

Their rank, their honors, far above 

Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given. 
Though knowing all ; — so much doth Love 

Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in heaven ! 



'Mong these was Zaraph once — and none 

E'er felt affection's holy fire. 
Or yearn'd towards th' Eternal One, 

With half such longing, deep desire. 
Love was to his impassion'd soul 

Not, as with others, a mere part 
Of its existence, but the whole — 

The very lifebreath of his heart ! 
Oft, when from Alla' s lifted brow 

A lustre came, too bright to bear, 
And all the seraph ranks would bow. 

To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare 

To look upon th' effulgence there — 
This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze 

(Such pride he in adoring took), 
And rather lose, in that one gaze. 

The power of looking, than 7iot look ! 
Then too, when angel voices sung 
The mercy of their God, and strung 
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet. 

That moment, watch' d for by all eyes. 
When some repentant sinner's feet 

First touch'd the threshold of the skies, 
then how clearly did the voice 
Of Zakaph above all rejoice ! 

3 The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. 

There appears to be, among writers on the East, as well 
as among the Orientals themselves, considerable indecision 
with regard to the respective claims of Seraphim and Cheru- 
bim to the highest rank in the celestial hierarchy. The 
derivation which Hyde assigns to the word Cherub seems to 
determine the precedence in favor of that order of spirits: — 
" Cherubim, i. e. Propinqui Angeli, qui sc. Deo proprius 
quam alii accedunt ; nam Charab est i. q. Karab, appropin- 
quare." (P. 263.) Al Beidavv^i, too, one of the commenta 
tors of the Koran, on that passage, " the angels, who bear 
the throne,' and those who stand about it," (chap, xl.) says, 
" These are the Cherubim, the highest order of angels." 
On the other hand, we have seen, in a preceding note, that 
the Syrians place the sphere in which the Seraphs dwell at 
tlie very summit of all the celestial systems ; and even, 
among Mahometans, the word Azazil and Mocarreboun 
(which mean the spirits tliat stand nearest to the throne 
of Alla) are indiscriminately applied to both Serapliim and 
Cherubim. 



THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 549 


Love was in every buoyant tone — 


That the charm'd Angel, as it stole 


Such, love, as only could belong 


Tenderly to his ear, along 


To the blest angels, and alone 


Those lulling waters where he lay. 


Covild, ev'n from angels, bring such song ! 


Watching the daylight's dying ray, 




Thought 'twas a voice from out the wave. 


Alas, that it should e'er have been 


An echo, that some sea nymph gave 


In heav'n as 'tis too often here, 


To Eden's distant harmony, 


Where nothing fond or bright is seen, 


Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea ! 


But it hath pain and peril near ; — 




Where right and wrong so close resemble, 


Quickly, however, to its source. 


That what we take for virtue's thrill 


Tracking that music's melting course. 


Is often the first downward tremble 


He saw, upon the golden sand 


Of the heart's balance unto ill ; 


Of the sea shore a maiden stand. 


W^here Love hath not a shrine so pure, 


Before whose feet th' expiring waves 


So holy, but the serpent, Sin, 


Flung their last off'ering. with a sigh — 


In moments, ev'n the most secure, 


As, in the East, exhausted slaves 


Beneath his altar may glide in ! 


Lay down the far-brought gift, and die — 




And, while her lute hung by her, hush'd. 


So was it with that Angel — such 


As if unequal to the tide 


The charm, that slop'd his fall along, 


Of song, that from her lips stiU gush'd. 


From good to ill, from loving much. 


She rais'd, like one beatified. 


Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. 


Those eyes, whose light seem'd rather given 


Ev'n so that am'rous Spirit, bound 


To be ador'd than to adore — 


By beauty's spell, where'er 'twas found, 


Such eyes, as may have look'd from heaven, 


From the bright things above the moon 


But ne'er were rais'd to it before ! 


DoviTi to earth's beaming eyes descended. 




Till love for the Creator soon 


Love, Religion, Music ' — all 


In passion for the creature ended. 


That's left of Eden upon earth 




The only blessings, since the fall 


'Twas first at twilight, on the shore 


Of our weak souls, that still recall 


Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute 


A trace of their high, glorious birth — 


And voice of her he lov'd steal o'er 


How kindred are the dreams you bring ! 


The silver waters, that lay mute. 


How Love, though unto earth so prone. 


As loath, by even a breath, to stay 


Delights to take Religion's wing, 


The pilgrimage of that sweet lay ; 


When time or grief hath stain'd his own ! 


Whose echoes still went on and on. 


How near to Love's beguiling brink, 


Till lost among the light that shone 


Too oft, entranc'd Religion lies ! 


Far off, beyond the ocean's brim — 


While Iklusic, Music is the link 


There, where the rich cascade of day 


They both still hold by to the skies, 


Had, o'er th' horizon's golden rim, 


The language of their native sphere. 


Into Elysium roll'd away ! 


Which they had else forgotten here. 


Of God she sung, and of the mild 




Attendant Mercy, that beside 


How then could Zaraph fail to feel 


His awful throne forever smil'd. 


That moment's witcheries ? — one, so fair. 


Ready, with her white hand, to guide 


Breathing out music, that might steal 


His bolts of vengeance to their prey — 


Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer 


That she might quench them on the way ! 


That seraphs might be prciud to share ! 


Of Peace — of that Atoning Love, 


0, he did feel it, all too well — 


Upon whose star, shining above 


With warmth, that far too dearly cost — 


This twilight world of hope and fear. 


Nor knew he, when at last he fell. 


The weeping eyes of Faith are fix'd 


To which attraction, to which spell, 


So fond, that with her every tear 




The light of that love star is mix'd ! — 




AU this she sung, and such a soul 


1 " Les Egyptiens disent que la Musique est Sanr de la 


Of piety was in that song. 


Religion." — Voyases de Pytliagore, torn. i. p. 422. 



650 



THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 



Love, Music, or Devotion, most 
His soul in that sweet hour was lost. 

Sweet was the hour, though clearly won. 

And pure, as aught of earth could be, 
For then first did the glorious sun 

Before religion's altar see 
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie 
Sclf-pledg'd, in love to live and die. 
lilest union ! by that Angel wove, 

And worthy from such hands to come ; 
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love, 
When fall'n or exil'd from above. 

In this dark world can find a home. 

And though the Spirit had transgress'd. 
Had, from his station 'mong the blest 
Won down by woman's smile, allow'd 

Terrestial passion to breathe o'er 
The mirror of his heart, and cloud 

God's image, there so bright before — 
Yet never did that Power look down 

On error with a brow so mild ; 
Never did Justice wear a frown. 

Through which so gently Mercy smil'd. 
For humble was their love — with awe 

And trembling like some treasure kept, 
That was not theirs by holy law — 
Whose beauty with remorse they saw, 

And o'er whose preciousness they wept. 
Humility, that low, sweet root. 
From which all heavenly virtues shoot, 
Was in the hearts of both — but most 

In Nama's heart, by whom alone 
Those charms, for which a heaven was lost, 

Seem'd all unvalued and unknown ; 
And when her Seraph's eyes she caught, 

And hid hers glowing on his breast, 
Ev'n bliss was humbled by the thought — 

•' What claim have I to be so blest ? " 
Still less could maid, so meek, have nurs'd 
Desire of knowledge — that vain thirst. 
With which the sex hath all been curs'd, 
From luckless Eve to her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 

1 Sara. 

2 An allusion to the Sephiroths or Splendors of the Jew- 
ish Cabbala, represented as a tree, of which God is the 
crown or summit. 

The Sephiroths are the higher orders of emanative beings 
in the strange and incomprehensible system of the Jewisli 
Cabbala. They are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, 
&c. &c. ; and their influences are supposed to act through 
certain canals, which communicate with each other. 

8 The reader may judge of the rationality of this Jewish 
system by the following explanation of part of the machine- 



The secrets of the angels ' : no — 

To love as her own Seraph lov'd. 
With Faith, the same through bliss and woe ■ 

Faith, that, were ev'n its light remov'd, 
Could, like the lial, fix'd remain, 
And wait till it shone :.ut again ; — 
With Patience that, though often bow'd 

By the rude storm, can rise anew ; 
And Hope that, ev'n from Evil's cloud. 

Sees sunny Good half breaking through ! 
This deep, relying Love, worth more 
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore — 
This Faith, more sure than aught beside, 
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride 
Of her fond heart — th' unreasoning scope 

Of all its views, above, below — 
So true she felt it that to hope-, 

To trust, is happier than to know. 
And thus in humbleness they trod. 
Abash' d, but pure before their God ; 
Nor e'er did earth behold a sight 

So meekly beautiful as they. 
When, with the altar's holy light 

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray, 
Hand within hand, and side by side, 
Two links of love, a while untied 
From the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the last ! — 
Two fallen Splendors,'^ from that tree, 
WTiich buds with such eternally,' 
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all 
Their light and freshness in the fall. 

Their only punishment, (as wrong. 

However sweet, must bear its brand,) 
Their only doom was this — that, long 

As the green earth and ocean stand. 
They both shall wander here — the same, 
Throughout all time, in heart and frame — 
Still looking to that goal sublime. 

Whose light remote, but sure, they see ; 
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, 

Whose home is in Eternity ! 
Subject, the while, to all the strife, 
True Love encounters in this life — 



ry : — " Les canaux qui sortent de la Misiricorde et de la 
Force, et qui vont aboutir i la Beaute, sont charges d'un 
grand nombre d'Anges. II y en a trente-cinq sur lo canal 
de la Mis^ricorde, qui recompensent et qui couronnent la 
vertu des Saints," &c. &c. — For a concise account of the 
Cabalistic Philosophy, see Enfield's very useful compen- 
dium of Brucker. 

"On les represente quelquefois sous la figure d'un arbre 
. . . . I'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de I'arbre Sephirotique 
ou des Splendeurs divins, est I'Infini." — VHintoire des 
Jaifs, liv ix. 11 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 651 


The Avishes, hopes he breathes in vain ; 


And, shaking off earth's soiling dust 


The chill, that turns his warmest sighs 


From their emancipated wings. 


To earthly vapor, ere they rise ; 


Wander forever through those skies 


The doubt he feeds on, and the pain 


Of radiance, where Love never dies ! 


That in his very sweetness lies : — 




Still worse, th' illusions that betray 


In what lone region of the earth 


His footsteps to their shining brink ; 


These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell. 


That tempt him, on his desert way 


God and the Angels, who look forth 


Through the bleak world, to bend and drink, 


To watch their steps, alone can tell. 


Where nothing meets his lips, alas, — 


But should we, in our wanderings. 


But he again must sighing pass 


Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants 


On to that far-off home of peace. 


But the adornment of bright wings, 


In which alone his thirst will cease. 


To look like heaven's inhabitants — 




Who shine where'er they tread, and yet 


All this they bear, but, not the less. 


Are humble in their earthly lot. 


Have moments rich in happiness — 


As is the wayside violet. 


Blest meetings, after many a day 


That shines unseen, and were it not 


Of widowhood pass'd far away, 


For its sweet breath would be forgot — 


Wlien the lov'd face again is seen 


Whose hearts, in every thought, are one. 


Close, close, with not a tear between — 


Whose voices utter the same wills — 


Confidings frank, without control, 


Answering, as Echo doth some tone 


Pour'd mutually from soul to soul ; 


Of fairy music 'mong the hiUs, 


As free from any fear or doubt 


So like itself, we seek in vain 


As is that light from chill or stain, 


Which is the echo, which the strain — 


The sun into the stars sheds out. 


Whose piety is love, whose love, 


To be by them shed back again ! — 


Though close as 'twere their souls' embrace. 


That happy minglement of hearts, 


Is not of earth, but from above — 


Where, chang'd as chemic compounds are, 


Like two fair mirrors, face to face. 


Each with its own existence parts, 


Whose light, from one to th' other thrown. 


To find a new one, happier far ! 


Is heaven's reflection, not their own 


Such are their joys — and, crowning all, 


Should we e'er meet with aught so pure. 


That blessed hope of the bright hour. 


So perfect here, we may be sure 


When, happy and no more to fall. 


'Tis Zaeaph and his bride we see ; 


Their spirits shall, with freshen'd power. 


And call young lovers round, to view 


Rise up rewarded for their trust 


The pilgrim pair, as they pursue 


In Him, from whom all goodness springs, 


Their pathway towards eternity. 


MISCELLANE 


OUS POEMS. 


SCEPTICISM. 


Oft, in the very arms of Love, 




A chill came o'er her heart — a fear 


Ere Psyche drank the cup, that shed 

Immortal Life into her soul. 
Some evil spirit pour'd, 'tis said, 


That Death might, even yet, remove 
Her spirit from that happy sphere. 


One drop of Doubt into the bowl — 






" Those sunny ringlets," she exclaim' d, 


Which, mingling darkly with the stream, 


Twining them round her snowy fin- 


To Psyche's lips— she knew not why — 


gers ; 


Made cv'n that blessed nectar seem 


'« That forehead, where a light, unnam'd. 


As though its s veetness soon would die. 


" Unknown on earth, forever Hngers ; 



652 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



" Those lips, through which I feel the breath 
" Of Heav'n itself, whene'er they sever — 

" Say, are they mine, beyond all death, 
" My own, hereafter, and foreVer ? 

" Smile not — I know that starry brow, 
" Those ringlets, and bright lips of thine, 

" Will always shine, as they do now — 
" But shall / live to see them shine ? " 

In vain did Love say, " Turn thine eyes 
" On all that sparkles round thee here — 

" Thou'rt now in heaven, where nothing dies, 
" And in these arms — what cmist thou fear ? ' 

In vain — the fatal drop, that stole 
Into that cup's immortal treasure. 

Had lodg'd its bitter near her soul. 
And gave a tinge to every pleasure. 

And though there ne'er was transport given 
Like Pyche's with that radiant boy. 

Hers is the only face in heaven. 
That wears a cloud amid its joy. 



A JOKE VERSIFIED. 

' Come, come," said Tom's father, " at your 

time of life, 
" There's no longer excuse for thus playing 

the rake — 
It is time you should think, boy, of taking a 

wife " — 
"Why, so it is, father — whose wife shall I 

take ? " 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 

Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood 

By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky, 
Is that remembrance, which the wise and good 

Leave in the hearts that love them, when 
they die. 
So pure, so precious shall the memory be, 
Bequeath'd, in dying, to our souls by thee — 
So shall the love we bore thee, cherish' d warm 

Within our souls through grief, and pain, and 
strife, 
Be, like Elisha's cruise, a holy charm, 

Wherewith to '< heal the waters " of this life ! 



TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ. 

ON HIS MAXING ME A PRESENT OP A. WINB 
STRAINER. 

Brighton, June, 1825. 
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt ? — 

Resembles much friend Ewart's ' wine. 
When first the rosy drops come out, 

How beautiful, how clear they shine \ 

And thus a while they keep their tint. 
So free from even a shade with some, 

That they would smile, did you but hint. 
That darker drops would ever come. 

But soon the ruby tide runs short, 

Each minute makes the sad truth plainer, 

Till life, like old and crusty port, 

When near its close, requires a strainer 

This friendship can alone confer, 
Alone can teach the drops to pass, 

K not as bright as 07tce they were, 
At least unclouded, through the glass. 

Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine. 

Of which this heart were fonder, vainer, 

Than thus, if life grow like old wine, 
To have thy friendship for its strainer. 



FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. 

Here lies Factotum Ned at last ; 

Long as he breath'd the vital air, 
Nothing throughout all Europe pass'd. 

In which Ned hadn't some small share. 

Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out, 
Whatever statesmen did or said. 

If not exactly brought about, 

'Twas all, at least, contriv'd by Ned. 

With Nap, if Russia went to war, 
'Twas owing, under Providence, 

To certain hints Ned gave the Czar — 
(Vide his pamphlet — price, sixpence. J 

If France was beat at Waterloo — 

As all but Frenchmen think she was — 

To Ned, as Wellington weU knew, 
Was owing half that day's applause. 



A wine merchant. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 553 


Then for his news — no envoy's bag 


What shall I sing thee ? Shall I weave 


E'er pass'd so many secrets through it ; 


A song of that sweet summer eve. 


Scarcely a telegraph could wag 


(Slimmer, of which the sunniest part 


Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. 


Was that we, each, had in the heart,) 




When thou and I, and one like thee, 


Such tales he had of foreign plots, 


In life and beauty, to the sound 


With foreign names, one's ear to buzz in ! 


Of our own breathless minstrelsy, 


From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots, 


Danc'd till the sunlight faded round, , 


From Poland, owskis by the dozen. 


Ourselves the whole ideal Ball, 




Lights, music, company, and all ! 


When George, alarm'd for England's creed, 


0, 'tis not in the languid strain 


Turn'd out the last Whig ministry, 


Of lute like mine, whose day is pass'd, 


And men ask'd — who advis'd the deed ? 


To call up ev'n a dream again 


Ned modestly confess'd 'twas he. 


Of the fresh light those moments cast. 


Por though, by some unlucky miss. 




He had not downright seen the King, 


COUNTEY DANCE AND QUADRILLE. 


He sent such hints through Viscount This, 




To Marquis That^ as clinch' d the thing. 


One night the nymph call'd Country Dance — 




(Whom folks, of late, have us'd so ill, 


The same it was in science, arts. 


Preferring a coquette from France, 


The Drama, Books, MS. and printed — 


That mincing thing, Mamselle Quadrille") — 


Kean learn'd from Ned his cleverest parts. 




And Scott's last work by him was hinted. 


Having been chased from London down 




To that most humble haunt of all 


Childe Harold in the proofs he read, 


She used to grace — a Country Town — 


And, here and there, infused some soul in't — 


Went smiling to the New Year's Ball. 


Nay, Davy's Lamp, till seen by Ned, 




Had — odd enough — an awkward hole in't. 


" Here, here, at least," she cried, " though driv'n 




" From London's gay and shining tracks — 


'Twas thus, aU-doing and all-knowing. 


" Though, like a Peri cast from heaven, 


Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, singer. 


♦' I've lost, forever lost, Almack's - 


Whatever was the best pie going. 




In that Ned — trust him — had his finger. 


" Though not a London Miss alive 


******** 


" Would now for her acquaintance own me : 




" And spinsters, ev'n, of forty-five. 




" Upon their honors ne'er have known me ; 


WHAT SHALL I SING THEE? 




TO . 


*' Here, here, at least, I triumph still, 


" And — spite of some few dandy Lancers, 


What thall I sing thee ? Shall I teU 


" Who vainly try to preach Quadrille — 


Of that bright hour, remember'd well 


" See nought but true-blue Country Dancers. 


As though it shone but yesterday. 




When, loitering idly in the ray 


" Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms. 


Of a spring sun, I heard, o'erhead, 


" My throne, like Magna Charta, raise 


My name as by some spirit said, 


" 'Mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms. 


And, looking up, saw two bright eyes 


" That scorn the threaten'd chaine Anglaise " 


Above me from a casement shine. 




Dazzling my mind with such surprise 


'Twas thus she said, as 'mid the din 


As they, who sail beyond the Line, 


Of footmen, and the town sedan. 


Feel when new stars above them rise ; — 


She lighted at the King's Head Inn, 


And it was thine, the voice that spoke. 


And up the stairs triumphant ran. 


Like Ariel's, in the mid air then ; 




And thine the eye, whose lustre broke — 


The Squires and their Squiresses all, 


Never to be forgot again ! 
70 


With young Squirinas, just come out. 



654 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


And my Lord's daughters from the Hall, 


A thousand flaws of character. 


(QuadriUers, in their hearts, no doubt,) — 


To one vile rumple of a frill. 


All these, as light she tripp'd up stairs, 


No rouge did She of Albion wear ; 


Were in the cloak room seen assembling — 


Let her but run that two-heat race 


"When, hark ! some new, outlandish airs, 


She calls a Set, not Dian e'er 


From the First Fiddle, set her trembling. 


Came rosier from the woodland chase. 


She stops — she listens — can it be :" 


Such was the nj'-mph, whose soul had in't 


Alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it — 


Such anger now — whose eyes of blue 


It is " Di tanti palpiti " 


(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint. 


As plain as English bow can scrape it, 


"WTiich English maids call " Waterloo ") — 


" Courage ! " however — in she goes, 


Like summer lightnings, in the dusk 


With her best, sweeping country grace ; 


Of a warm evening, flashing broke. 


When, ah too true, her worst of foes. 


While — to the tune of « Money Musk," ' 


Quadrille, there meets her, face to face. 


Which struck up now — she proudly spoke — 


for the lyre, or violin. 


' Heard you that strain — that joyous strain ? 


Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, 


" 'Twas such as England lov'd to hear. 


To sing the rage these nymphs were in. 


" Ere thou, and all thy frippery train, 


Their looks and language, airs and trickery. 


" Corrupted both her foot and ear — 


There stood Quadrille, with catlike face 


" Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands, 


(The beau ideal of French beauty). 


" Presum'd, in sight of all beholders. 


A bandbox thing, all art and lace 


« To lay his rude, licentious hands 


Down from her nose tip to her shoetie. 


"On virtuous English backs and shoul 
ders — 


Her flounces, fresh from Victorine — 


From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair — 


" Ere times and morals both grew bad. 


Her poetry, from Lamartine — 


" And, yet unfleec'd by funding blockheads, 


Her morals, from — the Lord knows where. 


•' Happy John Bull not only had. 




«' But danc'd to, ' Money in both pockets.' 


And, when she danc'd — so slidingly, 




So near the ground she plied her art, 


" Alas, the change ! — 0, L— d— y. 


You'd swear her mother earth and she 


" Where is the land could 'scape disasters, 


Had made a compact ne'er to part. 


" With such a Foreign Secretary, 




" Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters ? 


Her face too, all the while, sedate, 




No signs of life or motion showing. 


" Woe to ye, men of ships and shops ! 


Like a bright pmidules dial plate — 


" Rulers of daybooks and of waves ! 


So still, you'd hardly think 'twas going. 


" Quadrill'd, on one side, into fops. 




" And drUl'd, on t'other, into slaves ! 


Full fronting her stood Country Dance — 




A fresh, frank nj'mph, whom you would know 


" Ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen. 


For English, at a single glance — 


" Like pigeons, truss'd for exhibition, 


English all o'er, from top to toe. 


" With elbows, a. la crapaudine. 




" And feet, in — God knows what position ; 


A little gauche, 'tis fair to own, 




And rather given to skips and bounces ; 


" Hemm'd in by watchful chaperons. 


Endangering thereby many a gown. 


" Inspectors of your airs and graces, 


And playing, oft, the dev'l with flounces. 


" ■\\lio intercept all whisper'd tones. 




" And read your telegraphic faces ; 


Unlike Mamselle — who would prefer 




(As morally a lesser ill') 


1 An old English Country Dance. 



mSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 65d 


"Unable with the youth adoi'd, 


The streamlet frozen on its way. 


'• In that grim cordon of Mammas, 


To feed the marble Founts of Kings, 


« To interchange one tender word, 


Now, loosen' d by the vernal ray. 


« Though whisper'd but in queue- de- chats. 


Upon its path exulting springs — 




Ae doth this bounding heart to thee. 


" Ah did you know how bless'd we rang'd, 


My ever blissfiil Maami ! 


♦< Ere vile Quadrille usurp'd the fiddle — 




" What looks in setting were exchang'd. 


Such bright hours were not made to stay ♦ 


" What tender words in dozcti the middle ; 


Enough if they a while remain, 




Like Irem's bowers, that fade away, 


" How many a couple, like the wind. 


From time to time, and come again. 


" Which nothing iu its course controls, 


And life shall all one Irem be 


'< Left time and chaperons far behind. 


For us, my gentle Maami. 


" And gave a loose to legs and souls ; 






haste, for this impatient heart, 


" How matrimony throve — ere stopp'd 


Is like the rose in Yemen's vale. 


" By this cold, silent, foot coquetting — 


That rends its inmost leaves apart 


" How charmingly one's partner popp'd 


With passion for the nightingale ; 


" Th' important question in pomsetting. 


So languishes this soul for thee, 




My bright and blushing Maami ! 


" While now, alas — no sly advances — 




" No marriage hints — all goes on badly — 




«' 'Twixt Parson Malthus and French Dances, 




" We, girls, are at a discount sadly. 






LINES 


«' Sir WUliam Scott (now Baron Stowell) 




<• Declares not half so much is made 


ON THE DEATH OP 


" By Licenses — and he must know well — 


JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN 


" Since vile Quadrilling spoil' d the trade." 






If ever life was prosperously cast. 


She ceas'd — tears fell from every Miss — 


K ever life was like the lengthen'd flow 


She now had touch' d the true pathetic : — 


Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last. 


One such authentic fact as this, 


'Twas his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps 


Is worth whole volumes theoretic. 


below. 


Instant the cry was " Country Dance ! " 


The sunny temper, bright where all is strife. 


And the maid saw, with brightening face, 


The simple heart above all worldly wiles ; 


The Steward of the night advance, 


Light wit that plays along the calm of life. 


And lead her to her birthright place. 


And stirs its languid surface into smiles ; 


The fiddles, which a while had ceas'd, 


Pure charity, that comes not in a shower, 


Now tun'd again their summons sweet, 


Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, 


And, for one happy night, at least, 


But, like the dew, with gradual silent power. 


Old England's triumph was complete. 


Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads ; 




The happy grateful spirit, that improves 




And brightens every gift by fortune given ; 


GAZEL. 


That wander where it will with those it loves, 


Makes every place a home, and home a heaven : 


Haste, Maami, the spring is nigh ; 




Already, in th' unopen'd flowers 


AU these were his. — 0, thou who read'st this 


That sleep around us, Fancy's eye 


stone. 


Can see the blush of future bowers ; 


When for thyself, thy children, to the sky 


And joy it brings to thee and me. 


Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone. 


My own beloved Maami ! 


That ye like him may live, like him may die ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



GENIUS AND CRITICISM. 

Scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur. 

Seweca. 

Op old, the Sultan Genius reign' d. 
As Nature meant, supreme, alone ; 

With mind uncheck'd, and hands unchain'd, 
His views, his conquests were his own. 

But power like his, that digs its grave 
With its own sceptre, could not last ; 

So Genius' self became the slave 

Of laws that Genius' self had pass'd. 

As Jove, who forg'd the chain of Fate, 
Was, ever after, doom'd to wear it ; 

His nods, his struggles all too late — 
*' Qui semel jvissit, semper paret." 

To check young Genius' proud career, 
The slaves, who now his throne invaded, 

Made Criticism his prime Vizir, 

And from that hour his glories faded. 

Tied down in Legislation's school. 
Afraid of even his own ambition, 

His very victories were by rule, 

And he was great but by permission. 

His most heroic deeds — the same. 

That dazzled, when spontaneous actions — 

Now, done by law, seem'd cold and tame,' 
And shorn of all their first attractions. 

If he but stirr'd to take the air. 
Instant, the Vizir's Council sat — 

" Good Lord, your Highness can't go there — 
" Bless me, your Highness can't do that." 

If, loving pomp, he chose to buy 

Bich jewels for his diadem, 
" The taste was bad, the price was high — 

" A flower were simpler than a gem." 

To please them if he took to flowers — 
" What trifling, what unmeaning things ! 

" Fit for a woman's toilet hours, 

'< But not at all the style for Kings." 

If, fond of his domestic sphere. 
He play'd no more the rambling comet — 



"A duU, good sort of man, 'twas clear, 
" But, as for great or brave, far from it." 

Did he then look o'er distant oceans, 

For realms more worthy to enthrone him ! — 

" Saint Aristotle, what wild notions ! 
" Serve a « ne exeat regno ' on him." 

At length, their last and worst to do. 
They round him plac'd a guard of watchmen. 

Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue 

Turn'd up with yellow — chiefly Scotchmen ; 

To dog his footsteps all about. 

Like those in Longwood's prison grounds, 
Who at Napoleon's heels rode out. 

For fear the Conqueror should break bounds 

for some Champion of his power. 

Some Ultra spirit, to set free. 
As erst in Shakspeare's sovereign hour, 

The thunders of his Royalty ! — 

To vindicate his ancient line, 

The first, the true, the only one, 
Of Right eternal and divine, 

That rules beneath the blessed sun. 



TO LADY J * R * * Y, 

ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE SOMETHING IN HEB 
ALBUM. 

Written at Middleton. 
O ALBUMS, albums, how I dread 

Your everlasting scrap and scrawl ! 
How often wish that from the dead. 
Old Omar would pop forth his head, 

And make a bonfire of you all ! 

So might I 'scape the spinster band. 

The blushless blues, who, day and night. 
Like duns in doorways, take their stand, 
To waylay bards, with book in hand. 
Crying forever, " Write, sir, write ! " 

So might I shun the shame and pain, 
That o'er me at this instant come. 

When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain. 

Knocks at the portal of my brain. 

And gets, for answer, <' Not at home 1 " 
J\rovember, 1828. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



55] 



TO THE SAME. 

ON LOOKING THEOTJGH HER ALBUM. 

No wonder bards, both high and low, 
From Byron down to * * * * * and me, 



Should seek the fame, which all bestow 
On him whose task is praising thee. 

Let but the theme be J * r * * y's eyes. 
At once all errors are forgiven ; 

As ev'n old Sternhold stiU we prize, 
Because, though dull, he sings of heaven. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The following trifles, having enjoyed, in their 
circulation through the newspapers, all the ce- 
lebrity and length of Ufe to which they were 
entitled, would have been suffered to pass qui- 
etly into oblivion without pretending to any 
further distinction, had they not already been 
published, in a collective form, both in London 
and Paris, and, in each case, been mixed up 
with a number of other productions, to which, 
whatever may be their merit, the author of the 
following pages has no claim. A natural desire 
to separate his own property, worthless as it is, 
from that of others, is, he begs to say, the chief 
motive of the publication of this volume. 



TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. 

Effare causam nominis, 

Utrumne mores hoc tui 

Nomen dedere, an nomen hoc 

Secuta morum regula. Ausonios. 

1816. 
Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Low, 
(By name, and ah ! by nature so) 

As thou art fond of persecutions. 
Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated. 
How Captain Gulliver was treated. 

When thrown among the LiUputians. 

They tied him down — these little men did — 
And having valiantly ascended 

Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance. 
They did so strut ! — upon my soiil. 
It must have been extremely droll 

To see their pygmy pride's exuberance ! 

And how the doughty manikins 
Amus'd themselves with sticking pins 



And needles in the great man's breeches : 
And how some very little things. 
That pass'd for Lords, on scaffoldings 

Got up, and worried him with speeches. 

Alas, alas ! that it should happen 

To mighty men to be caught napping ! — 

Though different, too, these persecutions ; 
For GuUiver, there, took the nap. 
While, here, the Nap, O sad mishap. 

Is taken by the LiUputians ! 



AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN BANK 
AND GOVERNMENT. 



Bank. 



1826. 



Is aU then forgotten ? those amorous pranks 
You and I, in our youth, my dear Govern- 
ment, play'd; 
When you call'd me the fondest, the truest of 
Banks, 
And enjoy'd the endearing advances I made ! 

When left to ourselves, unmolested and free. 
To do aU that a dashing young couple should 
do, 

A law against paying was laid upon me. 

But none against oioing, dear helpmate, on you. 

Andisitthenvanisl'd? — that "hour (as Othello 

So happily calls it) of Love and Direction? " ' 

And must we, like other fond doves, my dear 

fellow. 

Grow good in our old age, and cut the ccu- 

nection ? 



" An hour 

Of love, of worldly matter and direction." 



56'8 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Government. 

Even so, my belov'd Mrs. Bank, it must be ; 
This paying in cash plays the devil with woo- 
ing;' 
We've both had our swing, but I plainly foresee 
There must soon be a stop to our bill-ing and 
cooing. 

Propagation in reason — a small child or two — 
Even Reverend Malthus himself is a friend to ; 

The issue of some folks is mod'rate and few — 
But ours, my dear corporate Bank, there's no 
end to ! 

So — hard though it be on a pair, who've already 
Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, and 
pence ; 

And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, Freddy,' 
So lavish of cash and so sparing of sense — 

The day is at hand, my Papyria ' Venus, 

When — high as we once us'd to carry our 
capers — 
Those soft billet doux we're now passing between 
us, 
Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in curl 
papers. 

And when — if we still must continue our love, 
(After all that has pass'd) — our amour, it is 
clear, 

Ajike that which Miss Danae manag'd with Jove, 
Must all be transacted in bullion, my dear ! 
February, 1826. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVEREIGN 
AND A ONE-POUND NOTE. 

IL " O ego noil felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres 
Agna liipos, capresque leones." Hor. 

Said a Sovereign to a Note, 

In the pocket of my coat. 
Where they met in a neat purse of leather, 

" How happens it, I prithee, 

" That, though I'm wedded with thee, 
" Fair Pound, we can never live together ? 

" Like your sex, fond of change, 
" With Silver you can range, 

1 It appears, however, that Ovid was a friend to the re- 
imnption of payment in specie: — 

" finein, specie caeleste rcsiimt&, 

Luctibus iinposuit venitque salutifer urbi." 

Met. 1. 15, V. 743. 



" And of lots of young sixpences be mother ; 

" While with me — upon my word, 

" Not my Lady and my Lord 
" Of W — stm — th see so little of each other ! " 

The indignant Note replied 

(Lying crumpled by his side), 
" Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam. Sir — 

" One cannot look askance, 

" But, whip ! you're oif to France, 
" Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir. 

" Your scampering began 

" From the moment Parson Van, 
" Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter ; 

" ' For better or for worse ' 

" Is the usual marriage curse, 
" But ours is all ' worse ' and no ' better.' 

*' In vain are laws pass'd, 

" There's nothing holds you fast, 

'• Though you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore 
you — 
" At the smallest hint in life, 
" You forsake your lawful wife, 

" As other Sovereigns did before you. 

" I flirt with Silver, true — 

" But what can ladies do, 
" When disown'd by their natural protectors ? 

" And as to falsehood, stuff ! 

" I soon shall he false enough, 
" When I get among those wicked Bank Di- 
rectors." 

The Sovereign, smiling on her, 

Now swore, upon his honor, 
To be henceforth domestic and loyal ; 

But, within an hour or two. 

Why — I sold him to a Jew, 
And now he's at No. 10 Palais Royal. 



AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD KING. 

" duera das finem, Rex magne, laborum? "— Virril. 
1826. 
How ca)i you, my Lord, thus delight to tor- 
ment all 
The Peers of the realm about cheapening their 
corn,* 

2 Honorable Frederic R— b — ns— n. 

3 So called, to distinguish her from the "Aurea" or 
Golden Venus. 

* See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednesday, March 1. 
1826, when Lord King was severely reproved by several of 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



659 



When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 
'Tis hardly worth while being very high bom ? 

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your 
Hfe, 
On a question, my Lord, there's so much to 
abhor in ? 
A question — like asking one, " How is your 
wife ? " — 
At once so confounded domestic and foreign. 

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast ; 

But Peers, and such animals, fed up for show, 

(Like the well-physick'd elephant, lately de- 

ceas'd,) 

Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you 

know. 

You might see, my dear Baron, how bor'd and 

distress'd 

Were their high noble hearts by your merci- 
less tale. 
When the force of the agony wrung ev'n a jest 

From the frugal Scotch wit of my Lord 
L— d— d— le ! > 

Blight Peer ! to whom Nature and Berwick- 
shire gave 
A humor, endow'd with effects so provoking, 
That, when the whole House looks unusually 
grave, 
You may always conclude that Lord L — d- 
— d — le's joking ! 

And then, those unfortunate weavers of Perth — 
Not to know the vast difference Providence 
dooms 
Between weavers of Perth and Peers of high 
birth, 
'Twixt those who have heirlooms, and those 
who've but looms ! 

«♦ To talk now of starving ! " — as great Ath — 1 
said * — 
(And the nobles aU cheer'd, and the bishops 
all wonder'd,) 
" When, some years ago, he and others had fed 
Of these same hungry devils about fifteen 
hundred ! " 



the nol)Ie Peers, for making so many speeches against the 
Corn Laws. 

1 This noble Earl said, that " when he heard the petition 
lame from ladies' boot and shoemakers, he thought it must 
be against the ' corns ' which they inflicted on the fair sex." 

2 The Ddke of Athol said, that " at a former period. 



It follows from hence — and the Duke's very 
words 
Should be publish' d wherever poor rogues of 
this craft are — 
That weavers, once rescued from starving by 
Lords, 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords ever 
after. 

When Rome was uproarious, her knowing pa- 
tricians 
Made " Bread and the Circus " a cure for each 
roio ; 
But not so the plan of our noble physicians, 
«' No Bread and the Treadmill's " the regimen 
now. 

So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, your 
prose. 
As I shall my poetry — neither convinces ; 
And all we have spoken and written but shows, 
When you tread on a noblman'a com^ how 
he winces. 



THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 

"Now wliat, we ask, is become of this Sinking Fund — 
these eiglit millions of surplus above expenditure, which 
were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the 
amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually.' 
Where, indeed, is the Sinking Fund itself.'" — Tht 
Times. 

Take your bell, take your beU, 

Good Crier, and tell 
To the Bulls and the Bears, till their ears are 
stunn'd, 

That, lost or stolen, 

Or fall'n through a hole in 
The Treasury floor, is the Sinking Fund ! 

O yes ! O yes ! 
Can any body guess 
What the dense has become of this Treasury 
wonder ? 

It has Pitt's name on't, 
AU brass, in the front, 
And R — b — ns — n's, scrawl' d with a goose quili, 
under. 



when these weavers were in great distress, the landed inter- 
est of Perth had supported 1500 of them. It was a poor re- 
turn for these very men now to petition against the persons 
who had fed them." 

3 An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on Lord L.'s 
joke. 



560 SATIRICAL AND HUMOEOUS POEMS. 


Folks well knew what 


Adorn' d with somniferous poppies, to show 


Would soon be its lot, 


Thou wert always a true Country- gentleman's 


When Frederic and Jenky set hobnobbing,' 


Goddess. 


And said to each other. 




" Suppose, dear brother, 


Behold, in his best shooting jacket, before thee. 


«' We make this funny old Fund worth robbing." 


An eloquent Squire, who most humbly be- 




seeches, 


We are come, alas ! 


Great Queen of Mark Lane (if the thing doesn't 


To a very pretty pass — 


bore thee). 


Eight Hundred Millions of score to pay, 


Thoul't read o'er the last of his — newer-last 


With but Five in the till, 


speeches. 


To discharge the biU, 




And even that Five, too, whipp'd away ! 


Ah, Ceres ! thou knows't not the slander and 




scorn 


Stop thief! stop thief ! — 


Now heap'd upon England's Squirearchy, so 


From the Sub to the Chief, 


boasted ; 


Tliese Gemmen of Finance are plundering cat- 


Improving on Hunt,^ 'tis no longer the Corn, 


tle- 


'Tis the ffrowers of Corn that are now, alas ! 


Call the watch — call Brougham, 


roasted. 


TeU Joseph Hume, 




That best of Charleys, to spring his rattle. 


In speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack 


Whoever will bring 


Reviewers, economists — fellows, no doubt, 


This aforesaid thing 


That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, and Bac- 


To the well-known House of Bobinson and 


chus, 


Jenkin, 


And Gods of high fashion know little about. 


Shall be paid, with thanks. 




In the notes of banks. 


There's B— nth — m, whose English is all hLs 


Whose Funds have all learn'd "the Art of 


own making, — 


Sinking." 


Who thinks just as little of settling a nation 




As he would of smoking his pipe, or of taking 


yes ! yes ! 


(What he, himself, calls) his " post-prandial 


Can any body guess 


vibration." ^ 


What the dev'l has become of this Treasury 




wonder ? 


There are two Mr. M Us, too, whom those 


It has Pitt's name on't, 


that love reading 


All brass, in the front. 


Through all that's unreadable, call very 


And R — b— ns— n's, scrawl'd with a goose quill. 


clever ; — 


under. 


And, whereas M 11 Senior makes war on 




ffood breeding, 




M U Junior makes war on aU breedi7ig 


ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 


whatever ! 


BY SIR TH— M— S L— THBR— E. 


In short, my dear Goddess, Old England's di- 


" Legifera Cereri Phoeboque;" Virgii,. 


vided 
Between ultra blockheads and superfine sages ; 


Dear Goddess of Corn, whom the ancients, we 


With which of these classes we, landlords, have 


know. 


sided 


(Among other odd whims of those comical 


Thou'lt find in my Speech, if thou'lt read a 


bodies,) 


few pages. 


1 In 1894, when the Sinking Fund was raised by the im- 


corn, was about this time introduced by Mr. Hunt, as a sub- 


position of nertf taxes to the sum of five millions. 


stitute for coffee. 


8 A sort of "breakfast powder," composed of roasted 


3 The venerable Jeremy's phrase for his afier-dinna* 




walk 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



661 



For therein I've prov'd, to my own satisfaction, 
And that of all Squires I've the honor of 
meeting, 
That 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouth'd 
detraction 
To say that poor people are fond of cheap 
eating. 

On the contrary, such the " chaste notions " ' of 
food 
That dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, 
They would scorn any law, be it ever so good. 
That would make thee, dear Goddess, less 
dear than thou art ! 

And, O, for Monopoly what a bless'd day. 
When the Land and the Silk '^ shall, in fond 
combination, 
(Like SuUiy and Silkij, that pair in the play,') 
Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents and 
Starvation ! 

Long life to the Minister ! — no matter who, 
Or how dull he may be, if, with dignified 
spirit, he 
Keeps the ports shut — and the people's mouths, 
too — 
We shall all have a long run of Freddy's 
prosperity. 

And, as for myself, who've, like Hannibal, sworn 
To hate the whole crew who would take our 
rents from us. 
Had England but One to stand by thee. Dear 
Corn, 
That last, honest Uni-Corn^ would be Sir 
• Th— m— s ! 



A HYIkIN OF WELCOME AFTER THE 
RECESS. 



" Animas sapientiores fieri 

And now — cross buns and pancakes o'er ■ 
Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more ! 



1 A phrase in one of Sir T — m — s's last speeches. 

2 Great efforts were, at tliat time, making for the exclu- 
sion of foreign silk. 

3 " Road to Ruin." 

* Tliis is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to 
the natural history of the Unicorn, which is supposed to be 
something between the Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's 
Cyclopaedia assures us, has a particular liking for every 
thiiig " chaste." 

5 An item of expense which Mr. Hume in vain endeav- 



71 



Thrice hail and welcome, Houses Twain ! 
The short eclipse of April Day 
Having (God grant it !) pass'd away, 

Collective Wisdom, shine again ! 

Come, Ayes and Noes, through thick and 

thin, — 
With Paddy H — Imes for whipper-in, - 

Whate'er the job, prepar'd to back it ; 
Come, voters of Supplies — bestowers 
Of jackets upon trumpet blowers. 

At eighty mortal pounds the jacket ! * 

Come — free, at length, from Joint-Stock cares— 
Ye Senators of many Shares, 

Whose dreams of premium knew no bound- 
ary ; 
So fond of aught like Company, 
That you Avould even have taken tea 

(Had you been ask'd) with Mr. Goundry* 

Come, matchless country gentlemen ; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas — wisest then. 

When creeds and corn laws are debated ; 
Come, rival ev'n the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 

A Squire is transubstantiated. 

Come, L — derd — e, and tell the world, 
That — surely as thy scratch is curl'd, 

As never scratch was curl'd before — 
Cheap eating does more harm than good, 
And working people, spoil'd by food. 

The less they eat, will work the more. 

Come, G — lb — m, with thy glib defence 
(Which thou'dst have made for Peter's Pence) 

Of Church Rates, worthy of a halter ; 
Two pipes of port {old port, 'twas said 
By honest Neiojioxi'') bought and paid 

By Papists for the Orange Altar ! * 

Come H — rt — n, with thy plan, so merry, 
For peopling Canada from Kerry — 
Not so much rendering Ireland quiet, 

ored to get rid of: — tnimpeters, it appears, like the mer. 
of All-Souls, must be " bene vestili." 

6 The gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his 
Joi'iiJ-Stock Tea Company all to himself, singing " Te solo 
adoro." 

7 Sir John Newport. 

8 This charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental 
wine is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon 
their Catholic fellow-parishioners by the Irish Protestants. 
IL " The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine." 



562 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



As grafting on the dull Canadians 

That liveliest of earth's contagions, 

The iw^^-pock of Hibernian riot ! 

Come all, in short, ye wond'rous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again ; 

Though short your absence, all deplore it- 
O, come and show, whate'er men say, 
That you can, after April Day, 

Be just as — sapient as hefore it. 



MEMORABILIA OF LAST "WEEK. 

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826. 

The Budget — quite charming and witty — no 
hearing, 
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that 
were in it ; — 
Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't 
cheering , 
That all its gay auditors were, every minute. 

What, stitt more prosperity ! — mercy upon us, 
" This boy '11 be the death of me " — oft as, 
already, 
Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly un- 
done us. 
For Huin made easy there's no one like Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much grave apprehension express'd by the 
Peers, 
Lest — calling to life the old Peachums and 
Lockitts — 
The large stock of gold we're to have in three 
years, 
Should aU find its way into highwaymen's 
pockets ! ! ' 



WEDNESDAY. 

Little doing — for sacred, O Wednesday, thou art 
To the seven-o'clock joys of fuU many a 
table — 
When the Members all meet, to make much of 
that part, 
With which they so rashly fell out, in the 
Fable. 



1 " Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it 
produced a greater number of highway robberies." — jDcftate 
in ikt Lords. 



It appear'd, though, to-night, that — as church- 
wardens, yearly, 
Eat up a small baby — those cormorant sin- 
ners, 
The Bankrupt Commissioners, bolt very nearly 
A mod'rate-sized bankrupt, tout chaud, for 
their dinners ! ^ 

Nota bene — a rumor to-day, in the City, 

"Mr. R — b — ns — n just has resign'd" — wha": 

a pity ! 
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a-sobbing, 
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin ; 
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, 
A murmuring Stock dove breath' d her ditty : — 

Alas, poor Robin he crow'd as long 
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock cotild 
crow ; 
But his note was small, and the goldfi.nc]x's song 
Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. 

Who'll make his shroud ? 

" I," said the Bank, " though he play'd me a 
prank, 
" While I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roU'd 
in't, 
*' With many a pound I'll paper him round, 
"Like a plump rouleau — toithout the gold 
in't." 



ALL m THE FAMILY WAY. 

A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD. 

(StJNO IN THE CHAKACTEK OF EKITANNIA.) 

" The Public Debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and 
resolves itself into a Family Account." — Sir Robert PeelU 
Letter. 

Tune — My banks are all furnish' d with bees. 

My banks are all furnish'd with rags ; 

So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em ; 
I've torn up my old money bags, 

Having little or nought to put in 'em. 
My tradesmen are smashing by dozens. 

But this is all nothing, they say ; 
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cousins, — 

So, it's all in the family way. 



2 Mr. Abercromby's statement o{ the enormous tavern 
bills of the Commissioners of Bankrupts. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 663 


My Debt not a penny takes from me, 


Which is "loeakest" of the two. 


As sages the matter explain ; — 


Cambridge can alone decide. 


Bob owes it to Tom, and then Tommy 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray. 


Just owes it to Bob back again. 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


Since all have thus taken to owing. 




There's nobody left that can pay ; 


G— lb— n of the Pope afraid is, 


And this is the way to keep going, — 


B— kes, as much afraid as he : 


All quite in the family way. 


Never yet did two old ladies 




On this point so weU agree. 


My senators vote away millions. 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray 


To put in Prosperity's budget ; 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


And though it were billions or trillions, 




The generous rogues wouldn't grudge it. 


Each a different mode pursues, 


'Tis all but a family hop. 


Each the same conclusion reaches ; 


'Twas Pitt began dancing the hay ; 


B— kes is foolish in Reviews, 


Hands round ! — why the deuse should we stop ? 


G — lb — n, foolish in his speeches. 


'Tis aU in the family way. 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray. 




Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


My laborers used to eat mutton, 




As any great man of the State does ; 


Each a different foe doth damn, 


And now the poor devils are put on 


When his own affairs have gone ill ; 


Small rations of tea and potatoes. 


B — kes he damneth Buckingham, 


But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddy, 


C— lb— n damneth Dan O'ConneU. 


The King is your father, they say ; 


Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 


So, ev'n if you starve for your Daddy, 


Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


'Tis all in the family way. 






Once, we know, a horse's neigh 


My rich manufacturers tumble. 


Fix'd th' election to a throne. 


My poor ones have nothing to chew ; 


So, whichever first shall bray, 


And, ev'n if themselves do not grumble, 


Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own. 


Their stomachs undoubtedly do. 


Choose him, choose him by his bray. 


But coolly to fast en famille, 


Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 


Is as good for the soul as to pray ; 


June, 1826. 


And famine itself is genteel. 




When one starves in a family way. 




I have found out a secret for Freddy, 


MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 


A secret for next Budget day ; 


1826. 


Though, perhaps, he may know it already. 


TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 


As he, too, 's a sage in his way. 


Sir,— Having just heard of Ihe wonderful resurrection of 


When next for the Treasury scene he 


Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where ha 


Announces "the DevU to pay," 


had remained, bien frappe, it seems, for the last 166 years, I 


Let him write on the bills, " Nota bene, 


hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject. — 


" 'Tis all in the family way." 


Yours, &c. Laudator Temporis Acti. 




What a lucky turn up! — just as Eld— n's 




withdrawing. 


BALLAD POR THE CAMBRIDGE 


To find thus a gentleman, froz'n in the yeai 


ELECTION. 


Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants 


I authorized my Committee to take the step which they 


thawing. 


did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the 


To serve for our times quite as well as the 


understanding that whichever of the two should prove to be 


Peer;- 


the. weakest, sliould give way to tlie other."— Extract /rom 




Mr. W. J. B—kes's Letter to Mr. O—lb—n. 






To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom alone 


B— KES is weak, and G— lb— n too. 


Of our Ancestors, such as 'tis found on oiu 


No one e'er the fact denied ; — 


shelves, 



664 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



But, in perfect condition, full wigg'd and full 
grown, 
To shovel up one of those wise bucks them- 
selves ! 

O thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him safe 
home ! 
Let him learn nothing useful or new on the 
way; 
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let 
him come, 
And our Tories will hail him with " Hear ! " 
and " Hurrah ! " 

What a Godsend to them ! — a good, obsolete 
man, 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a 
reader ; — 
O thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you can, 
And the L — nsd — les and H — rtf— rds shall 
choose him for leader. 

Yes, Sleeper of Ages, thou shalt be their chosen ! 
And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good 
men, 
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert 
frozen. 
So alter' d, thou hardly wilt know it again. 

And Eld — n wiU weep o'er each sad innovation 
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that 
he 
Has been also laid up in a long congelation, 
And is now only thawing, dear Roger, like 
thee. 



COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DESPATCH. 

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STKEPITOSO DIABOLO, 
ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MA- 
JESTY. 

St. James's Street, July 1, 1826. 
3reat Sir, having just had the good luck to 
catch 
An official young Demon, preparing to go, 
Ready booted and spurr'd, with a blackleg de- 
spatch 
From the Hell here, at Cr — ckf — rd's, to our 
Hell, below — 

I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic, 
To say that, first having obey'dyour direc- 
tions, 



And done all the mischief I could in "the 
Panic," 
My next special care was to help the Elec- 
tions. 

"Well knowing how dear were those times to thy 
soul, 
"When ev'ry good Christian tormented his 
brother. 
And caus'd, in thy realm, such a saving of coal, 
From all coming down, ready grill' d by each 
other ; 

Rememb'ring, besides, how it pain'd thee to 
part 
With the Old Penal Code — that chef-d'oeuvre 
of Law, 
In which (though to own it too modest thou 
art) 
We could plainly perceive the fine touch of 
thy claw ; 

I thought, as we ne'er can those good times re- 
vive, 
(Though Eld— n, with help from your High- 
ness would try,) 
'Twould stUl keep a taste for Hell's music 
alive, 
Could we get up a thund'ring No-Popery 
cry ; — 

That yell which, when chorus' d by laics and 
clerics. 
So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone. 
That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, 
To think that Religion should make it her 
own. 

So, having sent down for th' original notes 
Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's 
choir. 
With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats 
Of myself and some others, who sing it " with 
fire," > 

Thought I, "if the MarselUois Hymn could 
command ^ 

"Such audience, though yeU'd by a Sam- 
culotte crew, 
" "What wonders shall toe do, who've men in our 
band, 
" That not only wear breeches, but petticoats 
too." 

1 Confaoco — a music-book direction. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Such then were my hopes ; but, with sorrow, 
your Highness, 
I'm forc'd to confess — be the cause what it 
will, 
Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or 
shyness, — 
Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill. 

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right 
key. 
The Treasury pitch pipe of late is so various ; 
And certain base voices, that look'd for a fee 
At the York music meeting, now think it pre- 
carious. 

Even some of our Reverends might have been 
warmer, — 
Though one or two capital roarers we've had ; 
Doctor Wise ' is, for instance, a charming per- 
former. 
And Huntingdon Maberley's yell was not bad ! 

Altogether, however, the thing was not hearty ; 

Even Eld — n allows we got on but so so ; 
And when next we attempt a No-Popery party, 

We must, please your Highness, recruit from 
below. 

But, hark, the young Blackleg is cracking his 
whip — 
Excuse me, Great Sir — there's no time to be 
civil ; — 
The next opportunity shan't be let slip, 
But, till then, 

I'm, in haste, your most dutiful 

Devil. 
July, 1826. 



1,HE MILLENNIUM. 

SUGGESTED B'< THE LATE WORK OF THE REV- 
EKEND MR. IRV — NO " ON PROPHECY." 

1826. 
A MiLLEN>""M at hand ! — I'm delighted to 
hear it — 
As matt?-"u, both public and private, now go, 

1 This rcvuiend gentleman distinguished himself at the 
Reading elpct.on. 

2 " A me^s J.& of wheat for a penny, and three measures 
of barley for a penny." — Rev. vi. 

3 See the oration of this reverend gentleman, where ho 
describes the connubial joys of Paradise, and paints the an- 
gels hovering round " each happy fair." 

< Whsn Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay 



AVith multitudes round us all starving, or near it, 
A good, rich Millennium will come apiopos 

Only think, Master Fred, what delight +o be- 
hold. 
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags, 
A bran new Jerusalem, built all of gold, 

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to 
the flags — 

A City, where wine and cheap corn" shall 
abound — 
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves 
We may swear the best things of this world wiU 
be found. 
As your Saints seldom fail to take care of 
themselves ! 

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures Elys- 

ian,' 

Divine Squintifobus, who, plac'd within reach 

Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision, 

Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at 

each ; — 

Thanks, thanks for the hope thou afFordest, that 
we 
May, ev'n our own times, a Jubilee share, 
AVhich so long has been promis'd by prophets 
like thee. 
And so often postpon'd, we began to despair. 

There was Whiston,* who learnedly took Prince 
Eugene 
For the man who must bring the ^Millennium 
about ; 
There's Faber, whose pious productions have 
been 
All belied, ere his book's first edition was 
out ; — 

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M. P., 
Who discours'd on the subject with signal 
6cldt, 
And, each day of his life, sat expecting to see 
A Millennium break out in the to^vn of Ar- 
magh ! * 

in which he attempted to connect his victories over (ho 
Turks with Revelation, the Prince is said to have replied, 
that "he was not aware he had ever had the honor of being 
known to St. John." 

5 Mr. Dobbs was a member of the Irish Parliament, and, 
on all other subjects but the Millennium, a very sensible 
person : he chose Armagh as the scene of his Millennium 
on account of the name Armageddon, mentioned in Reve' 
lation. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



There was also — but why should I burden my 
lay 
With your Brotherses, Southcotes, and names 
less deserving, 
When all past Millenniums henceforth must give 
way 
To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv — ng. 

Go on, mighty man, — doom them all to the 
shelf, — 
And when next thou with Prophecy troublest 
thy sconce, 
(> forgot not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself 
Art the Beast (Chapter iv.) that sees nine 
ways at once. 



THE THREE DOCTORS. 

Doctoribua Isetamur tribus. 

182f 
Though many great Doctors there be, 

There are three that all Doctors out-top, 
Doctor Eady, that famous M. D., 
Doctor S — th — y, and dear Doctor Slop.' 

The purger — the proser — the bard — 

AU quacks in a different style ; 
Doctor S — th — y writes books by the yard, 

Doctor Eady writes puffs by the mile ! ^ 

Doctor Slop, in no merit outdone 

By his scribbling or physicking brother, 

Can dose us with stuff like the one. 
Ay, and doze us with stuff like the other. 

Doctor Eady good company keeps 

With " No-Popery " scribes, on the walls ; 

Doctor S — th — y as gloriously sleeps 

With '• No-Popery " scribes, on the stalls. 

Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 
Such bedlamite slaver lets drop. 

That, if Eady should take the mad line, 
He'll be sure of a patient in Slop. 



1 The editor of the Morning Herald, so nicknamed. 

2 Alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in chalk, 
on all the walla round the metropolis. 

3 This seraphic doctor, in the preface to his last work 
(VindicuB Ecclesuc AngVicance), is pleased to anathematize 
not only all Catholics, but all advocates of Catholics : — 
" They have for their immediate allies (he says) every fac- 
tion that is banded against the State, every demagogue, 
every irreligious and seditious journalist, every open and 
wery insidious enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity." 



Seven millions of Pajnsts, no less, 
Doctor S — th — y attacks, like a Turk ; ' 

Doctor Eady, less bold, I confess, 
Attacks but his maid-of-all-work.* 

Doctor S — th — y, for his grand attack. 
Both a laureate and pensioner is ; 

While poor Doctor Eady, alack. 

Has been had up to Bow street, for his ! 

And truly, the law does so blunder. 

That, though little blood has been spilt, he 

May probably suffer as, under 

The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. 

So much for the merits sublime 

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop) 
Of the three greatest lights of our time, 

Doctor Eady, and S — th — y, and Slop ! 

Should you ask me, to which of the three 
Great Doctors the pref rence should fall, 

As a matter of course, I agree 
Doctor Eady must go to the wall. 

But as S — th — y with laurels is crown' d, 
And Slop with a wig and a tail is. 

Let Eady's bright temples be bound 
With a swingeing " Corona Muralis / " * 



EPITAPH ON A TUFT HUNTER 

Lament, lament. Sir Isaac Heard, 

Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, 

For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd 
A Viscount to a Marquis yet. 

Beside him place the God of Wit, 

Before him Beauty's rosiest girls, 
Apollo for a star he'd quit. 

And Love's own sister for an Earl's. 

Did niggard fate no peers afford. 

He took, of course, to peers' relations ; 

< See the late accounts in the newspapers of the ap- 
pearance of this gentleman at one of the Police offices, in 
consequence of an alleged assault on his " maid-ot-all 
work." 

6 A crown granted as a reward among the Romans t( 
persons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon 
vialls, such as scaling them, battering them, &c. — No 
doubt, writing upon them, to the extent Dr. Eady does, 
would equally establish a claim to the honor. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



667 



And, rather than not sport a Lord, 
Put up -with ev'n the last creations. 

Ev'n Irish names, could he hut tag 'em 

With " Lord " and " Duke," were sweet to 
call; 

And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggura 
Was better than no Lord at aU. 

Heav'n grant him now some noble nook, 

For, rest his soul ! he'd rather be 
Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke, 

Than sav'd in vulgar company. 



ODE TO A HAT. 

" altum 

^dificat caput." Juvenal. 

1826. 
Hail, reverend Hat ! — sublime 'mid aU 

The minor felts that round thee grovel ; — 
Thou, that the Gods " a Delta " caU, 

While meaner mortals call thee " shovel." 

When on thy shape (like pyramid, 

Cut horizontally in two ') 
I raptur'd gaze, what dreams, unbid, 

Of stalls and mitres bless my view ! 

That brim of brims, so sleekly good — 
Not flapp'd, like duU Wesley ans', down, 

But looking (as all churchmen's should) 
Devoutly upward — towards the crown, 

Gods ! when I gaze upon that brim, 

So redolent of Church aU over. 
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim, — 
Some pig-tail'd, some like cherubim, 

With ducklings' wings — around it hover ! 
Tenths of all dead and living things, 
That Nature into being brings, 
From calves and corn to chitterlings. 

Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks. 
The very cock most orthodox. 
To which, of all the well-fed throng 
Of Zion,^ joy'st thou to belong? 
Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lees's — no — 

For hats grow like the heads that wear 'em ; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 

Particularly harutn-sca-um. 

i So described by a Reverena Historian of the Church :- 
" A Delta hat, like the horizontal section of a pyramid." - 
Grakt's History of the English Church. 



Who knows but thou mayst deck the pate 
Of that fam'd Doctor Ad— mth — te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind legs in Westmoreland,) 
Who chang'd so quick from blue to yellow. 

And would from yelloio back to blue. 
And back again, convenient fellow. 

If 'twere his interest so to do. 

Or, haply, smartest of triangles, 

Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow — n ; 
The hat that, to his vestry wrangles. 

That venerable priest doth go in, — 
And, then and there, amid the stare 
Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair. 
And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, 

Th' example of his reverend brothers. 
To prove that priests all fleece their flocks, 

And he must fleece as well as others. 

Bless'd Hat ! (whoe'r thy lord may be) 
Thus low I take off" mine to thee. 
The homage of a layman's castor. 
To the spruce delta of his pastor. 
O mayst thou be, as thou proceedest, 

Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the brightei, 
Till, bowing all the way, thou leadest 

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre ! 



NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 

182b. 
Dear Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss 

Draper, 
When Parliament's up, ever take in a paper. 
But trust for your news to such stray odds and 

ends 
As you chance to pick up from political friends 
Being one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down 
To transmit you tlie last newest news that's in 

town. 

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things couldn't 
look better — 
His Lordship (who promises now to fight 
faster) 
Has just taken Rhodes, and despatch'd off a 
letter 
To Daniel O'Connell, to make him Grand 
Master ; 



2 Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church EslaD- 
lishment of Ireland " the little Zion " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Engaging to change the old name, if he can, 
From the Knights of St. John to the Knights 

of St. Dan ; — 
Or, if Dan should prefer (as a still better whim) 
Being made the Colossus, 'tis all one to him. 

From Russia the last accounts are that the Czar, 
Most gen'rous and kind, as aU sovereigns are. 
And Avhose first princely act (as you know, I 

suppose) 
"Was to give away aU his late brother's old 

clothes ' — 
Is now busy collecting, with brotherly care, 
The late Emperor's nightcaps, and thinks of 

bestowing 
One nightcap apiece (if he has them to spare) 

On all the distinguish' d old ladies now going. 
(While I write, an arrival from Riga — the 

" Brothers " — 
Having nightcaps on board for Lord Eld — n and 

others.) 

Last advices from India — Sir Archy, 'tis 

thought. 
Was near catching a Tartar (the first ever caught 
In N. Lat. 21.) — and his Highness Burmese, 
Being very hard press'd to shell out the rupees. 
And not having rhino suificient, they say, meant 
To pawn his august Golden Foot ^ for the pay- 
ment. 
' How lucky for monarchs, that thus, when they 

choose, 
Can establish a running account with the Jews !) 
The security being what Rothschild calls " goot," 
A loan Tvill be shortly, of course, set on foot; 
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co. 
With three other great pawnbrokers ; each takes 

a toe. 
And engages (lest Goldfoot should give us leg 

bail. 
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail. 

This is all for the present — what vile pens and 

paper ! 
Yours truly, dear Cousin — best love to Miss 

Draper. 
September, 1826. 

A VISION. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL. 

*' Up ! " said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray 
One hasty orison, whirl'd me away 

1 A distribution was made of the Emperor Alexander's 
military wardrobe by his successor. 



To a Limbo, lying — I wist not where — 
Above or below, in earth or air ; 
For it glimmer'd o'er with a doubtful light. 
One couldn't say whether 'twas day or night ; 
And 'twas cross' d by many a mazy track, 
One didn't know how to get on or back ; 
And I felt like a needle that's going astray 
(With its one eye out) through a bundle of hay ; 
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whisper'd me, 
" Thou'rt now in the Court of Chancery ! " 

Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms 
Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms ; 
(Like bottled up babes, that grace the room 
Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home) — 
All of them, things half kill'd in rearing ; 
Some were lame — some wanted hearing ; 
Some had through half a century run, 
Though they hadn't a leg to stand upon. 
Others, more merry, as just beginning. 
Around on a point of law were spinning ; 
Or balanc'd aloft, 'twixt Bill and Ansicer, 
Lead at each end, like a tight-rope dancer. 
Some were so o-oss, that nothing could pleas? 

'em ; — 
Some gulp'd down affidavits to ease 'em ; — 
All were in motion, yet never a one. 
Let it move as it might, could ever move on. 
"These," said the Spirit, " you plainly see, 
" Are what they call suits in Chancery ! " 

I heard a loud screaming of old and younp;. 

Like a chorus by fifty VeUutis sung ; 

Or an Irish Dump ("the words by Moore") 

At an amateur concert scream' d in score ; — 

So harsh on my ear that wailing feE 

Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwel' I 

It seem'd like the dismal symphony 

Of the shapes ^neas in hell did see ; 

Or those frogs, whose legs a barbaroug cook 

Cut off, and left the frogs in the brcjk. 

To cry all night, till life's last dregs, — 

" Give us our legs ! — give us oar legs ! " 

Touch'd with the shd and so/ro-,.'ful scene, 

I ask'd what all this yell might mean, — 

When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glet, 

" 'Tis the cry of the Suitors in Chancery ! " 

I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise,^ 
With a wig lOce a cloud before men's eyes. 
In his aged hand he held a wand, 
Wherewith he beckon' d his embryo band, 

- This potentate styles himself the iMonarch of the Golden 
Foot. 
3 The Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



569 



And they mov'd and mov'd, as he wav'd it o'er, 

But they never got on one inch the more. 

And still they kept limping to and fro, 

Like Ariels round old Prospero — 

Saying, " Dear Master, let us go," 

But still old Prospero answer'd " No." 

And I heard, the whUe, that wizard elf 

Muttering, muttering spells to himself. 

While o'er as many old papers he turn'd. 

As Hume o'er mov'd for, or Omar burn'd. 

He talk'd of his virtue — "though some, less 

nice, 
(He own'd -with a sigh) preferr'd his Vice " — 
And he said, " I think " — " I doubt " — "I 

hope," 
CaU'd God to witness, and damn'd the Pope ; 
With many more sleights of tongue and hand 
I couldn't, for the soul of me, understand. 
Amaz'd and pos'd, I was just about 
To ask his name, when the screams without, 
The merciless clack of the imps within, 
And that conjurer's mutte rings made such a din, 
That, startled, I woke — leap'd up in my bed — 
Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjurer fled, 
And bless'd my stars, right pleas'd to see, 
That I wasn't, as yet, in Chancery. 



THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN 
OF IRELAND. 

1826. 

To the people of England, the humble Petition 
Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, show- 
ing— 
That sad, very sad, is our present condition : — 
Our jobbing all gone, and our noble selves 
going ; — 

That, forming one seventh, within a few frac- 
tions. 
Of Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and 
hearts. 
We hold it the basest of all base transactions 
To keep us from murd'ring the other six 
parts ; — 

That, as to laws made for the good of the many, 
We humbly suggest there is nothing less true ; 

As all human laws (and our own, more than 
any) 
Are^ade bij and /or a particular few ; — m. 



1 To such impovtant discussions as these the greater part 
flf Dr Southey'8 Vindicia EcclesicB Jlnglicanm is devoted. 
a Consubstantiation — the true Refurined belief; at least, 

72 



That much it delights ev'ry true Orange brother, 

To see you, in England, such ardor evince. 
In discussing which sect most tormented the 
other. 
And burn'd with most gusto, some hundref^ 
years since ; — 

That we love to behold, while old England grows 
faint, 
Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh comuig to 
blows, 
To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied 
Saint, 
Ever truly and really puU'd the Dev'l's nose ; 

Whether t'other Saint, Dominic, burnt the 
DevTs paw — 
Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old 
mother * — 
And many such points, from which Southey can 
draw 
Conclusions most apt for our hating each 
other. 

That 'tis very well known this devout Irish 
ration 

Has now, for some ages, gone happily on, 
Believing in two kinds of Substantiation, 

One party in Trans and the other in Con ; * 

That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right 
Of the said monosyllable, ravag'd the lands. 
And embezzled the goods, and annoy'd, day and 
night. 
Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for 
Trans ; — 

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such 
sages, 
For keeping us still in the same state of 
mind; 
Pretty much as the world us'd to he in those 
ages, 
When still smaller syllables madden'd man- 
kind; — 

When the words ex and per^ serv'd as well, U 
annoy 
One's neighbors and friends with, as con and 
trans now ; 



the belief of Luther, and, as Moshein. asserts, of Melanc- 
thon also. 
3 When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And Christians, like S— th— y, who stickled 
for oi, 
Cut the throats of all Christians who stickled 
for OM.' 

That, relying on England, whose kindness 
already 
So often has help'd us to play this game o'er, 
\\^e have got oiir red coats and our carabines 
ready. 
And wait but the word to show sport, as be- 
fore. 

That, as to the expense — the few millions, or so, 

Which for all such diversions John Bull has 

to pay — 

'Tis, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to 

know. 

That to Orangemen's pockets 'twill all find its 

way. 
For which your petitioners ever will pray, 
&c. &c. &c. &c. &c. 



COTTON AND CORN. 

A DIALOGUE. 

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day, 

As they met and exchang'd a salute — 

(Squire Corn in his carriage so gay. 
Poor Cotton, half famish'd, on foot) ; 

•• Great Squire, if it isn't uncivil 
" To hint at starvation before you, 

«' Look down on a poor hungry devil, 

•' And give him some bread, I implore you ! " 

Quoth Corn then, in answer to Cotton, 
Perceiving he meant to make free — 

" Low fellow, you've surely forgotten 
" The distance between you and me ! 

" To expect that we. Peers of high birth, 
" Should waste our illustrious acres, 

" For no other purpose on earth 

'♦ Than to fatten curs'd calico makers ! — 

That Bishops to bobbins should bend — 

" Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity. 



nine this dispute between " ex " and " per " was going on), 
he found the Turks, we are tnld, " laughing at the Chris- 
tians for bein^ divided by two such insignificant particles." 



" Great dealers in law7i, to befriend 
•' Such contemptible dealers in dimity ! 

'« No — vile Manufacturer ! ne'er harbor 
" A hope to be fed at our boards ; — 

" Base offspring of Arkwright the barber, 
" What claim canst t/iou have upon Lords ? 

"No — thanks to the taxes and debt, 
" And the triumph of paper o'er guineas, 

" Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet, 

" May defy your whole rabble of Jennys ! " 

So saying — whip, crack, and away 

Went Corn in his chaise through the throng, 
So headlong, I heard them all say, 

" Squire Corn would be down, before long." 



THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT 
B— TT— RW— RTH. 

" A Christian of the best edition." Rabelais. 

Canonize him ! — yea, yerUy, we'U canonize 
him ; 
Though Cant is his hobby, and meddling his 
bliss. 
Though sages may pity, and wits may despise 
him, 
He'U ne'er make a bit the worse Saint for all 
this. 

Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet spread 
The dommion of Humbug o'er laud and o'er 
sea, 

Descend on our B — tt — rw — rth's biblical head, 
Thrice Great, Bibliopohst, Saint, and M. P. 

Come, shade of Joanna, come down from thy 

sphere. 
And bring little Shiloh — if 'tisn't too far — 
Such a sight will to B — tt — rw — rth's bosom be 

dear. 
His conceptions and thiiie being much on a 

par. 

Nor blush, Saint Joanna, once more to behold 
A world thou hast honor'd by cheating so 
many ; 



1 The Arian controversy. — Before that time, says HooK 
er, " in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were 
not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



571 



Thou'lt find still among us one Personage old, 
Who also by tricks and the Seals ' makes a 
penny. 

Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother Lee ! ' 

Thy smiles to beatified B — tt — rw — rth deign ; 

Two "lights of the GentUes" are thou, Anne, 

and he. 

One hallowing Fleet Street, and t'other Toad 

Lane ! ^ 

The Heathen, we know, made their Gods out 
of wood, 
And Saints may be fram'd of as handy ma- 
terials ; — 
Old women and B — tt — rw — rths make just as 
good 
As any the Pope ever book'd as Ethereals. 

Stand forth, Man of Bibles ! — not Mahomet's 

pigeon. 

When, perch'd on the Koran, he dropp'd there, 

they say. 

Strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion 

Such glory as B — tt — rw — rth sheds every day. 

Great Galen of souls, with what vigor he crams 
Down Erin's idolatrous throats, tUl they crack 
again. 
Bolus on bolus, good man ! — and then damns 
Both their stomachs and souls, if they dare 
cast them back again. 

How well might his shop — as a type represent- 
ing 
The creed of himself and his sanctified clan — 
On its counter exhibit " the Art of Tormenting," 
Bound neatly, and letter'd " Whole Duty of 
Man ! " 

Canonize him ! — by Judas, we loill canonize him ; 

For Cant is his hobby, and twaddling his bliss ; 
And, though wise men may pity and wits may 
despise him. 

He'll make but the better shop saint for aU this. 

CaU quickly together the whole tribe of Canters, 
Convoke all the serious Tag-rag of the nation ; 

1 A great part of the income of Joanna Southcott arose 
iom the SeaU of the Lord's protection which she sold to 
per followers. 

2 Mrs. Anne Lee, the "chosen vessel "of the Shakers, 
and " Motlier of all the children of regeneration." 

8 Toad Lane, in Manchester, where Mother Lee was 
bom. In her " Address to Young Believers," she says, that 
■• it is a matter of no importance with them from whence 



Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jumpers and 
Ranters, 
To witness their B — tt — rw — rth's Canoniza- 
tion ! 

Yea, humbly I've ventur'd his merits to paint, 
Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray ; 

And they form a sum total for making a Saint. 
That the Devil's own Advocate could ntjt 
gainsay. 

Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters all roar. 

While B — tt — rw — rth's spirit, uprais'd from 

your eyes. 

Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory shall soar. 

With a long taU of rubbish behind, to tho 

skies ! 



AN INCANTATION. 

SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. 

Air. — Come with me, and we will go 
Where the rocks of coral grow. 

Come with me, and we wiU blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go ; 
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope 
Drew from fancy — or from soap ; 
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent 
From its frothy element ! 
Come with me, and we wiU blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go. 
Mix the lather, Johnny W — Iks, 
Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks ; 
Mix the lather — who can be 
Fitter for such task than thee. 
Great M. P. for Sztrfsbury ? 

Now the frothy charm is ripe, 
Puffing Peter,* bring thy pipe, — 
Thou, whom ancient Coventry 
Once so dearly lov'd, that she 
Knew not which to her was sweeter, 
Peeping Tom or Puffing Petei . 
Puff the bubbles high in air. 
Puff thy best to keep them there. 

the means of their deliverance come, whetlrer from a stabib 
in Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Manchester." 

< Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced 
in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when he 
wrote 

" Sir Edward Sutton, 
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton." 
6 The Member, during a long period, for Coventry. 



672 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Bravo, bravo, Peter M — re ! 
Now the rainbow hunabugs ' soar, 
Glittering all with golden hues. 
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews ; — 
Some, reflecting mines that lie 
Under Chili's glowing sky. 
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 
Cloister'd in the southern deep ; 
Others, as if lent a ray 
From the streaming Milky Way, 
Glistening o'er with curds and whey 
From the cows of Alderney. 

Now's the moment — who shall first 
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst ? 
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, 
Br— gd— n, T— ynh— m, P— Im— t— n ; — 
John W — Iks junior runs beside ye ! 
Take the good the knaves provide ye ! * 
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands, 
Where the Shareman,^ Br — gd — n, stands, 
Gaping for the froth to fall 
Down his gullet — li/e and all. 

See! 

But, hark, my time is out — 
Now, like some great waterspout, 
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder, 
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder ! 

[Here the stafre darktns — a discordant crash is heard from 
the orchestra — the broken bubbles descend in a saponacrous but 
uncleanly mist over the heads of the Dramatis Persona, and 
the scene drops, leaving tlie bubble hunters all in the suds.] 



A DREAM OF TURTLE. 

BY SIR W. CURTIS. 

1826. 

TwAs evening time, in the twilight sweet 
I sail'd along, when — whom should I meet 
But a Turtle journeying o'er the sea, 
" On the service of his Majesty." * 

When spying him first through twilight dim, 
I didn't know what to make of him ; 
"But said to myself, as slow he plied 
His fins, and roU'd from side to side 

1 An humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who, 
in a poem against War, after describing the splendid habili- 
ments of the soldier, thus apostrophizes him — " thou rain- 
bow ruffian ! " 

2 " Lovely Thais sits beside thee : 

Take the good the Gods provide thee." 

3 So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the ch, in 
the word " Chairman." 

< We are told that the passport q' this grand diplomatic 



Conceitedly o'er the waterj-- path — 

" 'Tis my Lord of St — w — 11 taking a bath, 

" And I hear him now, among the fishes, 

" Quoting Vatel and Burgersdicius I " 

But no — 'twas, indeed, a Turtle, wide 

And plump as ever these eyes descried ; 

A Turtle, juicy as ever yet 

Glu'd up the lips of a Baronet ! 

And much did it grieve my soul to see 

That an animal of such dignity. 

Like an absentee abroad should roam. 

When he ou^ht to stay and be ate at home. 

But now " a change came o'er my dream," 

Like the magic lantern's shifting slider ; — 
i look'd, and saw, by the evening beam. 

On the back of that Turtle sat a rider — 
A goodly man, with an eye so merry, 
I knew 'twas our Foreign Secretary,^ 
Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile, 
Like Waterton on his crocodile ; ^ 
Cracking such jokes, at every motion, 

As made the Turtle squeak with glee, 
And own they gave him a lively notion 

Of what his forc'd-meat balls would be. 

So, on the Sec. in his glory went. 

Over that briny element. 

Waving his hand, as he took farewell, 

With graceful air, and bidding me tell 

Inquiring friends that the Turtle and he 

Were gone on a foreign embassy — 

To soften the heart of a Diplo/yiate, 

Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 

And to let admiring Europe see, 

That calipash and calipee 

Are the Enghsh forms of Diplomacy. 



THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIERS. 

A FABLE. 

" fessus jam sudat asellus, 

" Parce illi; vestrum delicium est asinus." 

Virgil. Copa. 



A Donkey, whose talent for burdens was won- 
drous, 
So much that you'd swear he rejoic'd in a load. 

Turtle (sent by the Secretary for Foreign Affairs to a certain 
noble envoy) described him as " on his majesty's service." 

dapibus supremi 

Grata testudo Jovis. 
B Mr. Canning. 

6 fVanderings in South Ameiica. "It was the first and 
last time (says Mr. Waterton) I was ever on a crocodile's 
back." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



673 



One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous, 
That — down the poor Donkey fell smack on 
the road ! 

His owners and drivers stood round in amaze — 
What ! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous 
Neddy, 

So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways. 
For every description of job work so ready ! 

One driver (whom Ned might have "hail'd" as 
a " brother " ') 
Had just been proclaiming his Donkey's re- 
nown 
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other — 
When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donkey came 
down ! 

But, how to upraise him ? — one shouts, t'other 
whistles. 
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all. 
Declared that an " overproduction of thistles ^ — 
(Here Ned gave a stare) — was the cause of 
his fall." 

Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes — 
" There, let him alone, and the fit will soon 
cease ; 
•' The beast has been fighting with other jack- 
asses, 
" And this is his mode of ' transition to peace.' " 

Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learned 
grimaces, 
Pronounc'd that too long without shoes he 
he had gone — 
" Let the blacksmith provide him a soimd metal 
basis 
(The wiseacres said), *' and he's sure to jog 
on." 

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear, 
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan ; 

And — Avhat was still dolefuller — leading an ear 
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his 
own. 

At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far 
As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he 
pass'd — 

1 Alluding to an early poem of Mr. Coleridge's, addressed 
to an Ass, and beginning, " I hail thee, btotner ! " 

2 A certain country gentleman having said in the House, 
"that we must return at last to the food of our ancestors," 
somebody asked Mr. T. " what food the gentleman meant? " 
— " Thistles, I suppose," answered Mr. T. 



' Quick — off with the panniers, all dolts as ye 
are, 
" Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick 

his last ! " 
October, 1826. 



ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 

1826, 
Great Sultan, how wise are thy state composi- 
tions ! 
And O, above all, I admire that Decree, 
In which thou command'st, that all she politi- 
cians 
Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the 



'Tis my fortune to know a lean Benthamite spin- 
ster — 
A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy puts ; 
Who talks, with a lisp, of " the last new West- 
minster," 
And hopes you're delighted with " Mill upon 
Gluts ; " 

Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun-blank is, 
How charming his Articles 'gainst the Nobil- 
ity 5 - 

And assures you that even a gentleman's rank is, 
In Jeremy's school, of no sort of utility. 

To see her, ye Gods, a new Number perusing — 
Akt. 1. — "On the Needle's variations," by 
PI— e : » 
Art. 2. — By her fav'rite Fun-blank * — "so 
amusing ! 
•' Dear man ! he makes Poetry quite a Law 
case." 

Art. 3. — *' Upon Fallacies," Jeremy's own — 
(Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find read- 
ers) ; — 
Art. 4. — " Upon Honesty," author unknown ; 

Art. 5. — (by the young Mr. M ) " Hints 

to Breeders." 

O, Sultan, O, Sultan, though oft for the bag 
And the bowstring, like thee, I am tempted to 
call — 

3 A celebrated political tailor. 

* This painstaking gentleman has been at the trouble of 
counting, with the assistance of Cocker, the number of met- 
aphors in Moore's "Life of Sheridan," and has found them 
to amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235 — and son e frc^ 
tions. 



674 SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Though drowning's too good for each blue- 


Oft, too, the Corn grows animate. 


stocking hag, 


And a whole crop of heads appears. 


I would bag this she Benthamite first of them 


Like Papists, bearding Church and State — 


all! 


Themselves, together by the ears ! 


And, lest she should ever again lift her head 


In short, these torments never cease ; 


From the watery bottom, her clack to re- 


And oft I wish myself transferr'd off 


new — 


To some far, lonely land of peace. 


As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, 


Where Corn or Papists ne'er Avere heard of, 


I would hang round her neck her own dar- 




ling Review. 


Yes, waft me. Parry, to the Pole ; 




For — if my fate is to be chosen 





'Twixt bores and icebergs — on my soul, 




I'd rather, of the two, be frozen ! 


CORN AND CATHOLICS. 




Utrum horum 


A CASE OF LIBEL. 


Dirius borum 7 Incerti Auctoris. 




What ! still those two infernal questions, 


" The greater the truth, the worse the libel." 


That with our meals, our slumbers mix — 


A CERTAIN Sprite, who dwells below, 


That spoil our tempers and digestions — 


('Twere a libel, perhaps, to mention where,) 


Eternal Corn and Catholics ! 


Came up incog., some years ago. 




To try, for a change, the London air. 


Gods ! were there ever two such bores ? 




Nothing else talk'd of night or mom — 


So weU he look'd and dress'd and talk'd. 


Nothing in doors, or out of doors. 


And hid his tail and horns so handy, 


But endless Catholics and Corn ! 


You'd hardly have known him as he walk'd, 




From C e, or any other Dandy. 


Never was such a brace of pests — 




While Ministers, still worse than either, 


(His horns, it seems, are made t' unscrew ; 


Skill'd but in leathering their nests. 


So, he has but to take them out of the socket. 


Plague us with both, and settle neither. 


And — just as some fine husbands do — 




Conveniently clap them into his pocket.) 


So addled in my cranium meet 




Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt. 


In short, he look'd extremely natty, 


Whether, this year, 'twas bonded Wheat, 


And ev'n contriv'd — to his own great won- 


Or bonded Papists, they let out. 


der- 




By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, 


Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you. 


To keep the sulphurous hogo under. 


Arm'd with aU rubbish they can rake up ; 




Prices and Texts at once assail you — 


And so mj' gentleman hoof d about. 


From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.' 


Unknown to all but a chosen few 




At White's and Crockford's, where, no dotibl; 


A nd when you sleep, with head still torn 


He had many post-obits falling due. 


Between the two, their shapes you mix, 




Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn — 


Alike a gamester and a wit, 


Then Corn again seems Catholics. 


At night he was seen with Crockford's crew 




At morn with learned dames would sit — 


Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats — 


So pass'd his time 'twixt black and blue. 


Now, Jesuits from California — 




Now Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats, 


Some wish'd to make him an M. P., 


Comes dancing through the " Porta Cornea." * 


But finding W — Iks was also one, he 


1 Author of the late Report on Foreign Com. 


all true dreams (such as those of the Popish Plot, &;c.) to 


« The Horn Gate, through which the ancients supposed 


pass. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



675 



Swore, in a rage, " he'd be d d, if he 

" Would ever sit in one house with Johnny." 

At lengtli, as secrets travel fast, 

And devils, whether he or she, 
Are sure to be found out at last. 

The affair got wind most rapidly. 

The Press, the impartial Press, that snubs 
Alike a fiend's or an angel's capers — 

Miss Paton's soon as Beelzebub's — 

Fir'd off a squib in the morning papers : 

" We warn good men to keep aloof 
" From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 

" With a fire-proof wig, and a cloven hoof 
" Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking out." 

Now, — the Devil being a gentleman. 

Who piques himself on well-bred dealings, — 

You may guess, when o'er these lines he ran. 
How much they hurt and shock'd his feel- 
ings. 

Away he posts to a Man of Law, 

And 'twould make j'ou laugh could you have 
seen 'em. 
As paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, 
And 'twas "hail, good fellow, well met," be- 
tween 'em. 

Straight an indictment was preferr'd — 
And much the Devil enjoy'd the jest. 

When, asking about the Bench, he heard 
That, of all the Judges, his own was Best.^ 

In vain Defendant proffer'd proof 

That Plaintiff's self was the Father of Evil — 
Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the hoof. 

And Stultz to speak to the tail of the Devil. 

The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 

And readers of virtuous Sunday papers) 

Found for the Plaintiff — on hearing which 
The Devil gave one of his loftiest capers. 

For 0, 'twas nuts to the Father of Lies 
(As this wily fiend is nam'd in the Bible) 

To find it settled by laws so wise, 

That the greater the truth, the worse the 
libel ! 



1 A celebrated Judge, so named. 

* T.'iis lady also favors us, in her Memoirs, with the ad- 
ress of those apothecaries, who have, from time to time. 



LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT. 

Wanted — Authors of all work, to job for the 
season, 
No matter which party, so faithful to neither ; 
Good hacks, who, if pos'd for a rhyme or a 
reason, 
Can manage, like ******, to do without 
either. 

If in jail, all the better for out-o'-door topics : 
Your jail is for Trav'llers a charming retreat ; 
They can take a day's rule for a trip to the 
Trojjics, 
And sail round the world, at their ease, in the 
Fleet. 

For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of schools — 
He can study high life in the King's Bench 
community ; • 
Aristotle could scarce keep him more within 
rules, 
And of place he, at least, must adhere to the 
unit!/. 

Any lady or gentleman, come to an age 
To have good " Reminiscences " (threescore 
or higher), 
Will meet with encouragement — so much, per 
page. 
And the spelling and grammar both fcUT^d by 
the buyer. 

No matter with what their remembrance is 
stock'd, 
So they'll only remember the quanhim desir'd ; 
Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes, oct., 
Price twenty-four shillings, is all that's re- 
quir'd. 

They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeu- 
d'esprits, 
Like Dibdin, may tell of each farcical frolic ; 
Or kindly inform us, like Madame GenHs,' 
That gingerbread cakes always give them the 
colic. 

Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets on Com, 
By " Farmers " and " Landholders " — (wor- 
thies whose lands 



given her pills that agreed with her ; always desiruig that 
the pills should be ordered "eommepour tile." 



576 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Enclos'd all in bow pots, their attics adorn, 
Or, whose share of the soil may be seen on 
their hands). 

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein, 
Sure of a market ; — shovdd they, too, who 
pen 'em, 

i)fc renegade Papists, like Murtagh O'S-U-v-n,' 
Something extra allow'd for th' additional 



Funds, Physic, Com, Poetry, Boxing, Romance, 
All excellent subjects for turning a penny ; — 

To write upon all is an author's sole chance 
For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of 
any. 

Nine times out of ten, if his title is good, 

The material within of small consequence is ; — 

Let him only write fine, and, if not understood, 
Why — that's the concern of the reader, not 
his. 

Islota Bene — an Essay, now printing, to show, 
That Horace (as clearly as words could ex- 
press it) 
Was for taxing the Fundholders, ages ago, 
When he wrote thus — " Quodcunque in Fund 
it assess it." ' 



THE IRISH SLAVE.3 

1827. 
I HEARD, as I lay, a wailing sound, 

" He is dead — he is dead," the rumor flew ; 
And I rais'd my chain, and turn'd me round. 
And ask'd, through the dungeon window, 
"W^ho?" 

I saw my livid tormentors pass ; 

Their grief 'twas Miss to hear and see ! 
For, never came joy to them, alas. 

That didn't bring deadly bane to me. 

Eager I look'd through the mist of night. 

And ask'd, " What foe of my race hath died ? 

" Is it he — that Doubter of law and right, 
" Whom nothing but wrong could e'er de- 
cide — 



1 A gentleman, who distinguished himself by his evidence 
before tlie Irish Committees. 

2 Acfordhig to the common reading, " quodcunque in- 
Rrndis, acescit." 



" Who, long as he sees but wealth to win, 
" Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt 

" What suitors for justice he'd keep in, 

" Or what suitors for freedom he'd shut out — 

" Who, a clog forever on Truth's advance, 
" Hangs round her (like the Old Man of the 
Sea 

" Round Sinbad's neck *), nor leaves a chance 
" Of shaking him off — is't he ? is't he ? " 

Ghastly my grim tormentors smil'd, 
And thrusting me back to my den of woe, 

With a laughter even more fierce and wild 
Than their funeral howling, answer'd "No." 

But the cry still pierc'd my prison gate. 

And again I ask'd, "What scourge is gone ? 

" Is it he — that Chief, so coldly great, 

" Whom Fame unwillingly shines upon : — 

" Whose name is one of th' iU-omen'd words 
" They link with hate, on his native plains , 

" And why ? — they lent him hearts and swords^ 
" And he, in return, gave scoffs and chains ! 

•' Is it he ? is it he ? " I loud inquir'd. 

When, hark ! — there sounded a Royal kneU ; 

And I knew what spirit had just expir'd, 
And, slave as I was, my triumph fell. 

He had pledg'd a hate unto me and mine. 
He had left to the future nor hope nor choice. 

But seal'd that hate with a Name Divine, 

And he now was dead, and — I couldn't re • 
joice ! 

He had fann'd afresh the burning brands 
Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim ; 

He had arm'd anew my torturers' hands, 
And them did I curse — but sigh'd for him. 

For, his was the error of head, not heart ; 

And — O, how beyond the ambush'd foe, 
Who to enmity adds the traitor's part. 

And carries a smile, with a curse below ! 

If ever a heart made bright amends 
For the fatal fault of an erring head — 

Go, learn his fame from the lips of friends, 
In the orphan's tear be his glory read. 

3 Written on the death of the Duke of York. 

* "You fell, said they, into the hands of the Old Man ;f 
the Sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling bv his 
malicious ixicks." — Story qf Sutbad. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 677 


A Prince without pride, a man without guile> 


And has pass'd her life in frolics 


To the last unchanging, warm, sincere, 


Worthy of your Apostolics. 


For Worth he had ever a hand and smile, 


Choose, in dressing this old flirt, 


And for Misery ever his purse and tear. 


Something that won't show the dirt, 




As, from habit, every minute 


Fouch'd to the heart by that solemn toll. 


Goody W— stm— 1— d is in it. 


I calmly sunk in my chains again ; 




WTiilc, still as I said " Heaven rest his soul ! " 


This is all I now shaU ask, 


My mates of the dungeon sigh'd " Amen ! " 


Hie thee, monarch to thy task ; 


January, 1827. 


Finish Eld— n s frills and borders, 




Then return for further orders. 


ODE TO FERDINAND. 


O what progress for our sake, 


1827. 


Kings in millinery make ! 


Quit the sword, thou King of men, 


Ribbons, garters, and such things, 


Grasp the needle once again ; 


Are supplied by other Kings — 


Making petticoats is far 


Ferdinand his rank denotes 


Safer sport than making war ; 


By providing petticoats. 


Trimming is a better thing. 




Than the bei?)r/ trimm'd, King ! 




Grasp the needle bright with which 




Thou didst for the Virgin stitch 


HAT VERSUS WI(j. 


Garment, such as ne'er before 


1827. 


Monarch stitch'd or Virgin wore. 


« At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord E!d— n, in 


Not for her, seamster nimble ! 


order to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon 


Do I now invoke thy thimble ; 


his hat during the whole of the ceremony." 


Not for her thy wanted aid is. 


metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 


But for certain grave old ladies, 


Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avarL 


Who now sit in England's cabinet, 


'TwixT Eld— n's Hat and Eld— n's Wig 


Waiting to be clothed in tabbinet, 


There lately rose an altercation, — 


Or whatever choice 6toffe is 


Each with its own importance big. 


Fit for Dowagers in office. 


Disputing which most serves the nation. 


First, thy care, King, devote 




To Dame Eld— n's petticoat. 


Quoth Wig, with consequential air, 


Make it of that silk, whose dye 


" Pooh ! pooh ! you surely can't design. 


Shifts forever to the eye. 


" My worthy beaver, to compare 


Just as if it hardly knew 


" Your station in the state with mine. 


Whether to be pink or blue. 




Or — material fitter yet — 


«« Who meets the learned legal crew ? 


If thou couldst a remnant get 


" Who fronts the lordly Senate's pride ? 


Of that stuff", with which, of old, 


"The Wig, the Wig, my friend —while you 


Sage Penelope, we're told, 


" Hang dangling on some peg outside. 


Still by doing and undoing, 




Kept her suitors always wooing — 


" 0, 'tis the Wig, that rules, like Love, 


That's the stuff" which I pronounce, is 


" Senate and Court, with like 6cldt — 


Fittest for Dame Eld — n's flounces. 


" And wards below, and lords al'ove, 




" For Law is Wig and Wig is Law ! ' 


After this, we'll try thy hand. 




Mantua-making Ferdinand, 


" Who tried the long, Long W -n — sl— T suit. 


For old Goody W— stm— 1— d ; 


" Which tried one's patience, in return ? 


One who loves, like Mother Cole, 


" Not thou, Hat ! — though, coiddst thou do't, 


Church and State with all her soul ; 


" Of other brims ^ than thuae thou'dst learn. 


1 " Love rules the court, the camp, tlie grove. 


2 "Brim — a, naughty woman." — Grose. 


And men below and gods above. 




For Love is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love." — Scott. 
1 73 





678 SATIRICAL AND HUTMOROUS POEMS. 


" 'Twas mine our master's toil to share ; 


.. ! ! ! " 


" When, like 'Truepenny,' in the play,' 




" He, every minute, cried out ' Swear,' 


At this " ! ! ! " The Times 


" And merrily to swear went they ; ' — 


Reporter 




Was taken poorly, and retir'd ; 


" When, loath poor W— ll— sl— t to condemn, 


Which made him cut Hat's rhetoric shorter 


he 


Than justice to the case requir'd. 


" With nice driscrimination weigh' d, 




" Whether 'twas only ' Hell and Jemmy,' 


On his return, he found these shocks 


•' Or ' HeU and Tommy ' that he play'd. 


Of eloquence all ended quite ; 




And Wig lay snoring in his box. 


" No, no, my worthy beaver, no — 


And Hat was — hung up for the night. 


'• Though cheapen'd at the cheapest hatter's, 




" And smart enough, as beavers go, 




" Thou ne'er wert made for public matters." 




Here W^ig concluded his oration, 


THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS 


Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise ; 




While thus, full cock'd for declamation, 


A SALMAGUNDIAN HTMN. 


The veteran Hat enrag'd replies : — 


"To Panurge was assigned the Lairdship of Salmagundi, 




which was yearly worth 6,789,106,789 reals, besides the 


" Ha ! dost thou then so soon forget 


revenue of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting on» 


" What thou, what England owes to me ? 


year with anotlier to the value of 2,435,7GS," &.C. &c.— 
Rabelais. 


" Ungrateful Wig ! — when will a debt, 




" So deep, so vast, be owed to thee ? 


«' Hurrah ! hurrah ! " I heard them say. 




And they cheer'd and shouted aU the way, 


"Think of that night, that fearful night, 


As the Laird of Salmagundi went, 


" When, through the steaming vault below, 


To open in state his Parhament. 


♦' Our master dar'd, in gout's despite. 




" To venture liis podagric toe ! 


The Salmagundians once were rich. 




Or thought they were — no matter which 


" Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 


For, every year, the Revenue ' 


" When thou hadst to thy box sneak'd off. 


From their Periwinkles larger grcAV ; 


" Beneath his feet protecting lay, 


And their rulers, skill' d in all the trick 


" And sav'd him from a mortal cough ? 


And legerdemain of arithmetic, 




Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4, 


" Think, if Catarrh had quench'd that sun. 


5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 


" How blank this world had been to thee ! 


Such various ways, behind, before. 


'' Without that head to shine upon. 


That they make a unit seem a score. 


" Wig, where would thy glory be ? 


And prov'd themselves most wealthy hhv. 




So, on they went, a prosperous crew, 


" You, too, ye Britons, — had this hope 


The people wise, the rulers clever — 


" Of Church and state been ravish'd from ye. 


And God help those, like me and you, 


" think, how Canning and the Pope 


Who dar'd to doubt (as some now do) 


•' Would then have play'd up ' HeU and 


That the Periwinkle Revenue 


Tommy ! ' 


Would thus go flourishing on forever. 


" At sea, there's but a plank, they say, 


" Hurrah ! hurrah ! " I heard them say, 


"'Twixt seamen and annihilation ; 


And they cheer'd and shouted all the way 


" A Hat, that awful moment, lay 


As the Great Panurge in glory went 


" 'Twixt England and Emancipation ! 


To open his own dear Parliament. 


1 " Ohost [beneathj. — Swear ! 


2 His Lordship's demand for fresh affidavits wa ,.m 


"jEfamief.— Ha, ha! say'st thou so? Art thou there, 


sant. 


Truepenny ? Come on." 


3 Accented as in Swift's line — 




" Not so a nation's revenues are paid." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 



679 



But folks at length began to doubt 

What all this conjuring was about ; 

For, every day, more deep in debt 

They saw their wealthy rulers get : — 

•' Let's look (said they) the items through, 

" And see if what we're told be true 

" Of our Periwinkle Revenue." 

But, lord ! they found there wasn't a tittle 

Of truth in aught they heard before ; 
For, they gain'd by Periwinkles little. 

And lost by Locusts ten times more ! 
These Locusts are a lordly breed 
Some Salmagundians love to feed. 
Of all the beasts that ever were born, 
Your Locust most delights in corn ; 
And, though his body be but small. 
To fatten him takes the dev'l and all ! 
" O fie ! O fie ! " was now the cry, 
As they saw the gaudy show go by, 
And the Laird of Salmagundi went 
To open his Locust Parliament ! 



NEW CREATION OF PEERS. 

BATCH THE FIRST. 

" His 'prentice han' 

He tried on man, 

And then he made the lasses." 

1827. 
" And now," quoth the Minister, (eas'd of his 
panics. 
And ripe for each pastime the summer affords,) 
•* Having had our full swing at destroying me- 
chanics, 
" By way of set-off, let us make a few Lords. 

" 'Tis pleasant — while nothing but mercantile 
fractures, 
" Some simple, some compound, is dinn'd in 
our ears — 
•' To think that, though robb'd of all coarse 
manufactures, 
" We still have our fine manufacture of 
Peers ; — 

" Thos» Gobelin productions, which Kings take 
a pride 
" In engrossing the whole fabrication and 
trade of ; 
" Choice tapestry things, very grand on one side, 
'• But showing, on t'other, what rags they are 
made of." 



The plan being fix'd, raw material was sought, - • 
No matter how middling, if Tory the creed 
be; 

And first, to begin with. Squire W , 'twas 

thought. 
For a Lord was as raw a material as need be. 

Next came, with his penchant for painting and 

pelf. 

The tasteful Sir Charles,' so renown'd, far and 

near. 

For purchasing pictures, and selling himself — 

And both (as the public well knows) very dear. 

Beside him Sir John comes, with equal 6cl&t, 
in ; — 
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for titles wo 
measure ye ; 
Both connoisseur baronets, both fond of drawing, 
Sir John, after nature. Sir Charles, on the 
Treasury. 

But, bless us ! — behold a new candidate come — 
In his hand he upholds a prescription, new 
written ; 
He poiseth a pill box 'twixt finger and thumb. 
And he asketh a seat 'mong the Peers of Great 
Britain ! ! 

" Forbid it," cried Jenky, " ye Viscounts, ye 
Earls ! — 
" O Rank, how thy glories would fall disen- 
chanted, 
" If coronets glisten'd with pills 'stead of pearls, 
" And the strawberry leaves were by rhubarb 
supplanted ! 

" No — ask it not, ask it not, dear Doctor H — 1- 
f— rd — 
" If nought but a Peerage can gladden thy 
hfe, 
" And young Master H — If— rd as yet is too 
small for't, 
" Sweet Doctor, we'll make a she Peer of thy 
wife. 

" Next to bearing a coronet on our own brows, 
" Is to bask in its light from the brows of 
another ; 
" And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy 
spouse, 
" As o'er V— y F — tz— d 'twill shine through 
his mother." ' 

1 Created Lord F— mb— gh. 

2 Among tlie persons mentioned as likely to be raised Ui 
the Peerage are the mother of Air V— y F— tz— d, &;a 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Thus ended the First Batch — and Jenky, much 
tir'd 
(It being no joke to make Lords by the heap), 
Took a large dram of ether — the same that in- 
spir'd 
His speech 'gainst the Papists — and pros'd 
oif to sleep. 



SPEECH ON THE UMBRELLA* 
QUESTION. 

BY LORD ELD — N. 

" Vos inumbrelUs video." 2 — Ez JiivenU. Georqii 
Canningii. 

1827. 

My Lords, I'm accus'd of a trick that, God 

knows, is 

The last into which, at my age, I could fall — 

Of leading this grave House of Peers, by their 

noses, 

Wherever I choose, princes, bishops, and all. 

My Lords, on the question before us at present. 

No doubt I shall hear, " 'Tis that cursed old 

fellow, 

" That bugbear of all that is lib'ral and pleasant, 

" Who won't let the Lords give the man his 

umbrella ! " 

«iod forbid that your Lordships should knuckle 

to me ; 

I am ancient — but were I as old as King 

Priam, 

Not much, I confess, to j'our credit 'twould be, 

To mind such a twaddling old Trojan as I am. 

I own, of our Protestant laws I am jealous, 
And, long as God spares me, will always main- 
tain, 
That, once having taken men's rights, or um- 
brellas, 
We ne'er should consent to restore them again. 

WTiat security have you, ye Bishops and Peers, 

If thus you give back Mr. Bell's paraplme, 
ITiat he majTi't, with its stick, come about all 
your ears, 
And then — where would your Protestant per- 
iwigs be ? 

1 A case which interested the public veiy much at this 
period. A gentleman, of the name of Bell, having left his 
umbrella behind him in the House of Lords, tlie doorkeep- 
ers (standing, no doubt, on the privileges of that noble body) 
refused to restore it to him ; and the above speech, which 



No, heav'n be my judge, were I dying to-day, 
Ere I dropp'd in the grave, like a medlar that's 
mellow, 
" For God's sake " — at that awful moment I'd 
say — 
" For God's sake, do7i't give Mr. Bell his um- 
brella." 

[" This address," says a ministerial journal, " delivered 
with amazing emphasis and earnestness, occasioned an 
extraordinary sensation in the House. Nothing since the 
memorable address of the Duke of York has produced so r»- 
markable an impression."] 



A PASTORAL BALLAD. 

BY JOHN BULL. 

Dublin, March 12, 1837. — Friday, after the arrival of the 
packet bringing the account of the defeat of the Catholic 
Question, in the House of Commons, orders were sent to 
the Pigeon House to forward 5,000,000 rounds of musket 
ball cartridge to the different garrisons round the coun- 
try. — Freeman''s Journal 

I HAVE found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that will surely content her ; — 

Sweet pledge of a love so endearing ! 
Five milHons of buUets I've sent her. 

She ask'd me for Freedom and Right, 
But ill she her wants understood ; — 

Ball cartridges, morning and night. 
Is a dose that will do her more good. 

There is hardly a day of our Hves 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 

How husbands make love to their wives 
Through the medium of hemp and of vials. 

One thinks, with his mistress or mate 

A good halter is sure to agree — 
That love knot, which, early and late, 

1 have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 

While another, whom HjTuen has bless'd 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest. 
With a dose of the best Prussic acid. 

Thus, Erin ! my love do I show — 
Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed ! 

may be considered as a pendant to that of the Leame>i Ear 
on the Catholic question, arose out of the transaction. 

2 From Mr. Canning's translation of Jekyl's — 

"I say, my good fellows. 
As you've no umbrellas." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 681 


And, as poison and hemp are too slow, 


•'Why are chancery suitors like bathers?" — 


Do thy business with bullets instead. 


" Because 




Their suits are put off, tiU — they haven't a 


Should thy faith in my medicine be shaken, 


rag on." 


Ask R — d— n, that mUdest of saints ; 




He'll teU thee, lead, inwardly taken, 


Thus on he went chatting — but, lo, while he 


Alone can remove thy complaints ; — 


chats, 




With a face full of wonder around him he 


That, blest as thou art in thy lot. 


looks ; 


Nothing's wanted to make it more pleasant 


For he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats, 


But being hang'd, tortur'd, and shot. 


Who used to flock round him at Swanage like 


Much oft'ner than thou art at present. 


rooks. 


Even W— 11— t— n's self hath averr'd 


"How is this, Lady Bags? — to this region 


Thou art j^et but half sabred and hung, 


aquatic 


And I lov'd him the more when I heard 


" Last year they came swarming, to make me 


Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 


their bow. 




<' As thick as Burke's cloud o'er the vales of 


So take the five millions of pills. 


Carnatic, 


Dear partner, I herewith enclose ; 


"Deans, Rectors, D. D.'s — where the dev'l 


'Tis the cure that aU quacks for thy ills, 


are they now ? " 


From Cromwell to Eld— n, propose. 






" My dearest Lord Bags ! " saith his dame, "can 


And you, ye brave bullets that go. 


you doubt ? 


How I wish that, before you set out. 


" I am loath to remind you of things so un- 


The Devil of the Freischutz could know 


pleasant ; 


The good work you are going about. 


" But don't you perceive, dear, the Church have 




found out 


For he'd charm ye, in spite of your lead, 


" That you're one of the people call'd Ex's, at 


Into such supernatural wit. 


present ? " 


That you'd all of you know, as you sped. 




Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 


" Ah, true — you have hit it — I am, indeed, one 




" Of those ill-fated Ex's (his Lordship replies). 




" And, with tears, I confess — God forgive me 




the pun ! — 


A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE.» 


" We X's have proved ourselves not to be Y's." 


Kegnis ex-su1 ademtis, Virg. 





1827. 


WOE ! WOE ! » 


To Swanage — that neat little town, in whose bay 


Woe, woe unto him who would check or dis- 


Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver slip- 


turb it — 


pers- 


That beautiful Light, which is now on its way ; 


Lord Bags " took his annual trip t'other day, 


Which, beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of Bel- 


To taste the sea breezes, and chat with the 


turbet. 


dippers. 


Now brightens sweet Ballinafad with its ray ! 


There — learn'd as he is in conundrums and 


F— mh — m, Saint F— rnh— m, how much do 


laws — 


we owe thee ! 


Quoth he to his dame (whom he oft plays the 


How form'd to all tastes are thy various em- 


wag on). 


ploys ! 


1 A small bathing place on the coast of Dorsetshire, long 


3 Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of Ch— st— r on the 


a favorite summer resort of the ex-nobleman in question, 


subject of the New Reformation in Ireland, in which his 


and, till this season, much frequented also by gentlemen of 


Lordship denounced "Woe! Woe! Woe!" pretty abun- 


the cluirch. 


dantly on all those who dared to interfere with its prog- 


» The Lord Chancelloi Eld— n. 


ress. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



The old, as a catcher of Catholics, know thee, 
The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. 

"Woe, woe to the man, who such doings wo\ild 
smother ! — 
On, Luther of Cavan ! On, Saint of Kilgrog- 

gy! 

With whip in one hand, and with Bible in t'other. 
Like Mungo's tormentor, both " preachee and 
floggee." 

Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his 
way ; 
Come, L — rt — n, who, scorning profane eru- 
dition, 
Popp'd Shakspeare, they say, in the river, one 
daj', 
Though 'twas only old Bowdler's Velluti edi- 
tion. 

Come, R — den, who doubtest — so mild are thy 
views — 
Whether Bibles or bullets are best for the 
nation ; 
Who leav'st to poor Paddy no medium to 
choose, 
'Twixt good old Rebellion and neio Reforma- 
tion. 

WTiat more from her Saints can Hibernia re- 
quire ? 
St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful daughter. 
Supplied her, 'tis said, with perpetual fire,' 
And Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot 
water. 

Woe, woe to the man, who would check their 
career. 
Or stop the Millennium, that's sure to await 
us, 
When, bless'd with an orthodox crop every year. 
We shall learn to raise Protestants, fast as 
potatoes. 

In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know. 

Had been trying their talent for many a day ; 
Till F — rnh — m, when all had been tried, came 
to show, 
Like the German fleacatcher, "anoder goot 
way." 



1 The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare. 
s Whiskey. 

5 " We understand that several applications have lately 
been made to the Protestant clergymen of this town by fel- 



And nothing's more simple than F — rnh — m's 
receipt ; — 
"Catch your Catholic, first — soak him well 
in poteen ^ — 
" Add salary sauce,' and the thing is complete. 
" You may serve up your Protestant, smok- 
ing and clean." 

"Woe, woe to the wag, who would laugh at 
such cookery ! " 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow * 
Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery 

Open'd their bills, and re-echo'd " Woe ! 



TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. 

" If, in China or among the natives of Tndia, we claimed 
civil advantages which were connected with religious 
usages, little as we might value those forms in our hearts, 
we should think common decency required us to abstain 
from treating them with otfensive contumely ; and, though 
unable to consider them sacred, we would not sneer at 
the name of Fot, or laugh at the imputed divinity of VistK- 
nou." — Courier, Tuesday, Jan. 16. 

1827. 
Come, take my advice, never trouble your cra- 
nium. 
When " civil advantages" are to be gain'd, 
What god or what goddess may help to obtain 
you 'em, 
Hindoo or Chinese, so they're only obtain' d. 

In this world (let me hint in your organ auric- 
ular) 

All the good things to good hypocrites fall ; 
And he, who in swallowing creeds is particular, 

Soon. will have nothing to swallow at all. 

place me where Fo (or, as some call him, Fot) 
Is the god, from whom " civil advantages " 

flow, 
And you'll find, if there's any thing snug to be 
got, 
I shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. 

Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, 
Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, 

1 own I should feel it unchristian and odd 
Not to find myself also in Vishnu's good graces. 



lows, inquiring ' What are they giving a head for con 
verts ? ' " — Wexford Post. 

4 Of the rook species — Corvus frugilegus, i. e. a great 
consumer of corn. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



683 



For, among all the gods that humanely attend 
To our wants in this planet, the gods to my 
wishes 
Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend 
In the form, so attractive, of loaves and of 
fishes ! » 

So take my advice — for if even the devil 
Should tempt men again as an idol to try him, 

'Twere best for us Tories, even then, to be civil. 
As nobody doubts we should get something 
by him. 

ENIGMA. 

Monstrum nulla virtute redemptum. 

Come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree. 
And tell me what my name may be. 
I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, 
And therefore no chicken, as you may sup- 
pose ; — 
Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses 
have told), 
I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my 
clothes ; 
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, 
That, if folks were to furnish me now Avith a 
suit. 
It would take every morsel of scrip in the land 
But t<? measure my bulk from the head to the 
foot. 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of 
my stature. 
To cover me nothing but rarjs will supply ; 
And the doctors declare that, in due course of 
nature. 
About the year 30 in rags I shall die. 
Meanwhile, I stalk hungry and bloated around, 

An object of interest, most painful, to all; 
In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I'm 
found. 
Holding citizen, peasant, and king in my 
thrall. 

Then riddle-me-ree, O riddle-me-ree. 
Come, tell me what my name may be. 

When the lord of the counting house bends o'er 
his book. 
Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, 
O'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs I 
look, 
And down drops the pen from his paralyz'd 
paw ! 

1 Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) " a piscifonn 
god," — his first Avatar being in the shape of a fish. 



When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Wa- 
terloo, 
And expects through atioVier to caper and 
prank it. 
You'd laugh did you see, when I bellow out 
"Boo!" 
How he hides his brave Waterloo head in i\\< 
blanket. 
When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall 
His cup, full of gout, to the Gaul's overthrow, 
Lo, " Eight Hundred Millions " I write on the 
wall. 
And the cup falls to earth and — the gout to 
his toe ! 
But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram 
My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's 
acres. 
And, knowing who made me the thing that I am, 
Like the monster of Frankenstein, worry my 
makers. 

Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me- 
ree. 
And tell, if thou know'st, who /may bo. 



DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. 

KY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. 

" Vox clamantis in deserto." 

1827. 
Said Malthus, one day, to a clown 

Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the sun, — 

" What's the number of souls in this town ? " — 

" The number ! Lord bless you, there's none. 

" We have nothing but dabs in this place, 
" Of them a great plenty there are ! — 

«' But the soles, please your rev'rence and grace 
" Are all t'other side of the bar." 

And so 'tis in London just now, 

Not a soul to be seen, up or down ; — 

Of dabs a great glut, I allow. 

But your soles, every one, out of town. 

East or west, nothing wondrous or new ; 

No courtship or scandal, worth knowing , 
Mrs. B , and a Mermaid '■' or two, 

Are the only loose fish that are going. 

Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, 
That, some weeks ago, kept us merry ? 

2 One of the shows of London 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Where, Eld — n.'art thou, -with thy tears ? 
And thou, with thy sense, L — d — d — y ? 

Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, 
In the dog days, with thee must be puzzled ! — 

It being his task to take care 

That such animals shan't go unmuzzled. 

Thou, too, whose political toUs 

Are so worthy a captain of horse — 

Whose amendments ' (like honest Sir Boyle's) 
Are " amendments, that make matters woise; " ' 

Great Chieftain, who takest such pains 
To prove — what is granted, 7iem. con. — 

With how mod'rate a portion of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 

And, thou, too, my E. — d — sd — e, ah, where 
Is the peer, with a star at his button, 

Whose quarters could ever compare 

With K — d — sd — e's five quarters of mutton ? ' 

Why, why have ye taken your flight, 

Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 
How iU do three farces a night. 

At the Haymarket, pay us for you ! 

For, what is Bombastes to thee. 

My ELI — nbro', when thou look'st big ! 

Or, Where's the burletta can be 

Like L — d — rd — le's wit, and his wig ? 

1 doubt if ev'n Griflinhoof * could 

(Though Griffin's a comical lad) 
Invent any joke half so good 

As that precious one, '• This is too bad ! " 

Then conie again, come again, Spring ! 

O haste thee, with Fun in thy train ; 
And — of all things the funniest — bring 

These exalted Grimaldis agaiii ! 



THE "LIVING DOG" AND "THE 
DEAD LION." 

1828. 

Wexx week will be publish'd (as " Lives " are 
the rage) 
The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and 
strange, 

iflore particularly his Grace's celebrated amendment to 
tlie Com Bill ; for which, and the circumstances connected 
witli it, see Annual Register for a. d. 1827. 

2 From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish House 
of Commons. 



Of a small puppy dog, that liv'd once in the 
cage 
Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. 

Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 
"sad," 
'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pre- 
tends ; 
And few dogs have such opportunities had 
Of knowing how Lions behave — among 
friends ; 

How that animal eats, how he snores, how he 
drinks. 
Is all noted down by this Boswell so small ; 
And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy 
dog thinks 
That the Lion was no such great things aftei 
all. 

Though he roar'd pretty well — this the puppy 
allows — 
It was aU, he says, borrow'd — all second- 
hand roar ; 
And he vastly prefers his own little bow wows 
To the loftiest war note the Lion could pour. 

'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cyclic could ask, 
To see how this cockney-bred setter of rab- 
bits 

Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, 
And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. 

Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark 
case) 
With sops every day from the Lion's own 
pan, 
He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, 
And — does all a dog, so diminutive, can. 

However, the book's a good book, being rich in 

Examples and warnings to lions high bred. 
How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their 
kitchen. 
Who'll feed on them living, and foul them 
when dead. 

T. PiDCOCK- 

Exelcr 'Change. 



3 The learning his Lordship displayed, on the subject ot 
the butcher's "fifth quarter" of mutton, will not speedily 
be forgotten. 

4 The nom de guerre under which Colman lias written 
some of his best farces. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



oHn 



ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 

Ettu, Brute t 

1828.1 

What ? Miguel, not patriotic ? O, fie ! 
After so much good teaching 'tis quite a take- 
171, Sir ; — 
Fi'jst school'd, as you were, under Metternich's 
eye, 
And then (as young misses say) " fiiiish'd " at 
Windsor ! * 

I ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder ; 
Such feasts as you had, when you made us a 
call! 
Three courses each day from his Majesty's 
larder, — 
And now, to turn absolute Don, after all ! ! 

Some authors, like Bayes, to the style and the 
matter 
Of each thing they write suit the way that 
they ditie, 
Roast sirloin for Epic, broil'd devils for Satire, 
And hotchpotch and trijle for rhymes such as 
mine. 

That Rulers should feed the same way, I've no 
doubt ; — 
Great Despots on bouilli serv'd up d la Russe,^ 
Your small German Princes on frogs and sour- 
crout. 
And your Viceroy of Hanover always on 
goose. 

Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may 
be fable) 
A dish rather dear, if, in cooking, they blun- 
der it ; — 
Not content with the common hot meat on a 
table. 
They're partial (eh, Mig?) to a dish of cold 
under it ! * 

No wonder a Don of such appetites found 
Even Windsor's collations plebeianly plain ; 

Where the dishes most high that my Lady sends 
round 
Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup d la Eeine. 



1 At the commencement of this year, the designs of Don 
Miguel and his parti.sans against the constitution established 
by his brother had begun more openly to declare tlieniselves. 

2 Don INlifniel Iiad paid a visit to the English court, at the 
close of the year 1827. 

8 Dtessea with a pint of the strongest spirits — a favorite 
74 



Alas ! that a youth with such charming begin- 
nings. 
Should sink, all at once, to so sad a conclusion, 
And, what is still worse, throw the losings and 
winnings 
Of worthies on 'Change into so much confu 
sion ! 

The Bulls, in hysterics — the Bears just as bad — 
The few men who have, and the many who've 
not tick. 

All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, 
Prince Metternich's pupil, is — not patriotic ! 



THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOV- 
ERNMENT OF IRELAND. 

1828. 
Oft have I seen, Ln gay, equestrian pride. 
Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus 

ride 
Two stately steeds — standing, with graceful 

straddle. 
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle, 
While to soft tunes — some jigs, and some an- 
dantes — 
He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes. 

So rides along, with canter smooth and plaasant. 
That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present ; 
Papist and Protestant the coursers twain, 
That lend their necks to his impartial rein. 
And round the ring — each honor'd, as they go, 
With equal pressure from his gracious toe — 
To the old medley tune, half " Patrick's Day " 
And half " Boyne Water," take their cantering 

way. 
While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks 
His long-lash' d whip, to cheer the doubtful 

hacks. 
Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! 
How bless'd, if neither steed would bolt or 

start ; — 
If Protestant's old restive tricks were gone, 
And Papist's winkers could be stiU kept on ! 
But no, false hopes — not ev'n the great Du- 

crow 
'Twixt two such steeds could 'scape an over- 
throw : 



dish of the Great Frederic of Prussia, and which he perse- 
vered in eating even on his death bed, much to the horror 
of his physician Zimmerman. 

* This quiet case of murder, with all its particulars — the 
hiding the body under the dinner table, &c. &c. — is, no 
doubt, well known to the reader 



SATmiCAIi AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



If solar hacks play'd Phaeton a trick, 
What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic ? 

If once my Lord his graceful balance loses, 
Or faUs to keep each foot -where each horse 

chooses ; 
If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip 
To Papist's tail or Protestant's ear tip — 
That instant ends their glorious horemanship ! 
Off bolt the sever' d steeds, for mischief free. 
And down, between them, plumps Lord An- 

glesea ! 



THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS. 



■ Cio che si perde qui, li si raguna." Ariosto. 
" a valley, where he sees 



Things that on earth were lost." 



Milton. 



Know'st thou not him ^ the poet sings. 

Who flew to the moon's serene domain. 
And saw that valley, where all the things, 

That vanish on earth, are found again — 
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age. 
The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage. 
The golden visions of mining cits. 

The promises great men strew about them ; 
Ajid, pack'd in compass small, the wits 

Of monarchs, who rule as well without them ! 
Like him, but diving with Aving profound, 
I have been to a Limbo under ground. 
Where characters lost on earth, (and cried, 
In vain, like H — rr — s's, far and wide,) 
In heaps, like yesterday's orts, are thrown, 
And there, so worthless and fly-blown, 
That even the imps would not purloin them. 
Lie, till their worthy owners join them. 

Curious it was to see this mass 

Of lost and torn-uj) reputations ; — 
Some of them female wares, alas, 
"Mislaid at innocent assignations ; 
Some, that had sigh'd their last amen 

From the canting Hps of saints that would be ; 
And some once own'd by " the best of men," 
Who had prov'd — no better than they 
should be. 
Mong others, a poet's fame I spied. 

Once shining fair, now soak'd and black — 
• No wonder " (an imp at my elbow cried), 
" For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack ! " 



Just then a yell was heard o'erhead. 

Like a chimney sweeper's lofty summons ; 
And lo ! a dev'l right downward sped, 
Bringing, within his claws so red. 
Two statesmen's characters, found, he said. 

Last night, on the floor of the House of Com- 
mons ; 
The which, with black official grin, 
He now to the Chief Imp handed in ; — 
Both these articles much the worse 

For their journey down, as you may suppose ; 
But one so devilish rank — " Odd's curse ! " 

Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held his nose. 

" Ho, ho ! " quoth he, " I know fuU well 

" From whom these two stray matters fell ; " — 

Then, casting away, with loathful shrug, 

Th' uncleaner waif (as he would a drug 

Th' Invisible's own dark hand had mix'd), 

His gaze on the other ' firm he fix'd. 

And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye, 

To be moral, because of the young imps by, 

" What a pity ! " he cried — "so fresh its gloss, 

" So long preserv'd — 'tis a public loss ! 

" This comes of a man, the careless blockhead, 

" Keeping his character in his pocket ; 

" And there — without considering whether 

" There's room for that and his gains together — 

" Cramming, and cramming, and cramming away, 

" TiU — out slips character some fine day ! 

" However " — and here he view'd it round — 

" This article still may pass for sound. 

" Some flaws, soon patch' d, some stains are all 

" The harm it has had in its luckless fall. 

" Here, Puck ! " — and he call'd to one of hia 

train — 
" The owner may have this back again. 
" Though damag'd forever, if us'd with skill, 
" It may serve, perhaps, to trade on still ; 
" Though the gem can never, as once, be set, 
'< It will do for a Tory Cabinet." 



HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. 

Qui facit per alium facit per se. 

'MoNG our neighbors, the French, in the gooa 
olden time 
When Nobility flourish' d, great Barons anq 
Dukes 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



687 



Often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme, 
But ne'er took the trouble to write their own 
books. 

Poor devils were found to do this for their bet- 
ters ; — 
And, one day, a Bishop, addressing a Blue, 
Said, " Ma'am, have you read my new Pastoral 
Letters ? " 
To which the Blue answer'd — " No, Bishop, 
have you?" 

The same is now done by our privileg'd class ; 

And, to show you how simple the process it 
needs, 
If a great Major General ' wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus he proceeds : — 

First, scribbling his own stock of notions as well 
As he can, with a goose quill that claims him 
as kin. 
He settles his neckcloth — takes snuff — rings 
the bell, 
And yawningly orders a Subaltern in. 

The Subaltern comes — sees his General seated. 

In all the self-glory of authorship swelling ; — 

«« There, look," saith his Lordship, "my work 

is completed, — 

" It wants nothing now, but the grammar and 

spelling." 

Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dreads 
Awkward breaches of syntax a hundred times 
more ; 
And, though often condemn'd to see breaking 
of heads. 
He had ne'er seen such breaking of Priscian's 
before. 

However, the job's sure to pay — that's enough — 
So, to it he sets with his tinkering hammer, 

Convinc'd that there never was job half so tough 
As the mending a great Major General's 
grammar. 

But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to view — 
New toil for the Sub. — for the Lord new ex- 
pense : 
Tis discover'd that mending his grammar won't 
do. 
As the Subaltern also must find him in sense ! 



1 Or Lieutenant General, as it may happen to be. 
* The classical term for money. 



At last — even this is achieved by his aid ; 
Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and — the 
story ; 
Drums beat — the new Grand March of Intel- 
lect's play'd — 
And off struts my Lord, the Historian, in glory ! 



IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF 
DANTE. 

" Cosi quel fiato gli spiriti raali 
Di qui, di 14, di giu, di su gli mena." 

Inferno, canto 5. 

I turn'd my steps, and lo, a shadowy throng 
Of ghosts came fluttering towards me — blown 

along. 
Like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, 
By many a fitful gust that through their forms 
Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy puff. 
And puff'd as — though they'd never puff 

enough. 

" Whence and what are ye ? " pitying I inquir'd 
Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter' d, toss'd, and 

tir'd 
With such eternal pufiing, scarce could stand 
On their lean legs while answering my demand. 
'♦ We once were authors " — thus the Sprite, 

who led 
This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said — 
"Authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, 
" Who, early smit with love of praise and • 

pewter,^ 
" On C — lb — n's ' shelves first saw the light oi 

day, 

" In 's puffs exhal'd our lives away — 

" Like summer windmills, doom'd to dusty peace, 
" When the brisk gales, that lent them ■motion, 

cease. 
" Ah, little knew we then what ills await 
" Much-lauded scribblers in their after state ; 
" Bepuff'd on earth — how loudly Str — t can 

tell — 
" And, dire reward, now doubly puff'd in heU ! " 

Touch'd with compassion for this ghastly 
crew. 
Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind sung 
through 

3 The reader may fill up this gap with any one of tlie d»>- 
syllabic publishers of London that occurs to him. 



588 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



In mournful prose, — such prose as Rosa's ' 

ghost 
Still, at th' accustom'd hour of eggs and toast, 
Sighs through the columns of the M — rn — g 

P—t,— 
Pensive I turn'd to weep, when he, who stood 
Foremost of all that flatulential brood, 
Singling a she-^host from the party, said, 
'♦ Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z.,^ 
" One of our letter' d nymphs — excuse the pun — 
" Who gain'd a name on earth by — having 

none ; 
" And whose initials would immortal be, 
" Had she but leam'd those plain ones, A. B. C. 

" Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and 

neat, 
" Wrapp'd in his own dead rhymes — fit wind- 
ing sheet — 
" Still marvels much that not a soul should 

care 
" One single pin to know who wrote < May 

Fair ; ' — 
" While this young gentleman," (here forth he 

drew 
A dandy spectre, puff'd quite through and 

through. 
As though his ribs were an iEolian lyre 
For the whole Row's soft trade winds to inspire, ) 
" This modest genius breath'd one wish alone, 
" To have his volume read, himself unknown ; 
" But different far the course his glory took, 
" All knew the author, and — none read the 

book. 

" Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, 
" Who rides the blast. Sir J — n — h B — rr — t — n ; 
" In tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, 
' And now the wind returns the compliment. 

*' This lady here, the Earl of 's sister, 

" Is a dead novelist ; and this is Mister — 
" Beg pardon — Honorable Mister L — st — r, 
" A gentleman who, some weeks since, came 

over 
" In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. 
" Yonder behind us limps youg Vivian Grey, 
" Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown 

away — 
" Like a torn paper kite, on which the wind 
• No further purchase for a puff can find." 

1 Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the 
political articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit 
etill seems to preside — " regnat Rosa" — over its pages. 

a JVot the charming L. E. L., and still less, Mrs. F. H., 
whose poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. 



And thou, thyself" — here, anxious, I ex- 

claim'd — 
Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art 

named." 
Me, Sir ! " he blushing cried — " Ah, there's 

the rub — 
Know, then — a waiter once at Brooks's Club, 
A waiter still I might have long remain'd, 
And long the club-room's jokes and glasses 

drain' d ; 
But ah, in luckless hour, this last December, 
I wrote a book,^ and Colburn dubb'd me 

* Member ' — 
' Member of Brooks's ! " — O Promethean puff, 
To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen stuff ! 
With crums of gossip, caught from dining 

wits, 
And half-heard jokes, bequeath'd like half- 

chew'd bits. 
To be, each night, the waiter's perquisites ; • 
With such ingredients, serv'd up oft before, 
But with fresh fudge and fiction garnish'd o'er, 
I manag'd, for some weeks, to dose the town, 
Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down ; 
And, ready still even waiters' souls to damn, 
The Devil but rang his bell, and — here I 

am ; — 
Yes — ' Coming up, Sir,' once my favorite cry, 
Exchang'd for ' Coming doion, Sir,' here am I ! " 

Scarce had the Spectre's lips these words let drop, 

When lo, a breeze — such as from 's shop 

Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs prevail. 
And speeds the sheets and swells the lagging 

sale — 
Took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, 
And, whirling him and all his grisly group 
Of literary ghosts — Miss X. Y. Z. — 
The nameless author, better known than read — 
Sir Jo. — the Honorable Mr. L — st — r. 
And, last, not least. Lord Nobody's twin sister — 
Blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and 

rhymes 
And sins about them, far into those climes 
"Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat "'' in old 

times. 
Leaving me much in doubt, as on I press'd. 
With my great master, through this realm un- 

bless'd. 
Whether Old Nick or C— lb— n puffs the best. 

3 " History of the Clubs of London," announced as by "a 
Member of Brooks's." 

* A Dantesqiie allusion to the old saying, " Nine miles be 
yond H— 11, where Peter pitched his waistcoat." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD 
B— TH— ST'S TAIL.' 

All in again — unlook'd-for bliss ! 

Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss ; — 

One tender tie, attach'd so long 

To the same head, through right and -wrong. 

Why, B — th — st, why didst thou cut off 

That memorable tail of thine ? 
Why — as if one was not enough — 

Thy pigtie with thy place resign, 
And thus, at once, both cut and run ; 
Alas, my Lord, 'twas not well done, 
Twas not, indeed — though sad at heart, 
From office and its sweets to part, 
Yet hopes of coming in again, 
Sweet Tory hopes ! beguil'd our pain ; 
But thus to miss that tail of thine, 
Through long, long years our rallj'ing sign — 
As if the State and all its powers 
By tenancy in tail were ours — 
To see it thus by scissors fall, 
This was *' th' unkindest cut of all ! " 
It seem'd as though th' ascendant day 
Of Toryism had pass'd away. 
And, proving Samson's story true, 
She lost her vigor with her cue. 

Parties are much like fish, 'tis said — 
The tail directs them, not the head ; 
Then, how could any party fail, 
That steer'd its course by B — th — st's tail ? 
Not Murat's plume, through Wagram's fight, 

E'er shed such guiding glories from it, 
As erst, in all true Tories' sight, 

Blaz'd from our old Colonial comet ! 
If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, 

(As W — 11 — gt — n wiU be anon) 
Thou mightst have had a tail to spare ; 

But no, alas, thou hadst but one. 

And that — like Troy, cr Babylon, 

A tale of other times — is gone ! 
Yet — weep ye not, ye Tories true — 

Fate has not yet of all bereft us ; 
Though thus depriv'd of B — th — st's cue, 

We've E — b — h's curls still left us ; — 
Sweet curls, from which young Love, so vicious. 
His shots, as from ninepounders, issues ; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, 
Surcharg'd with all a nation's fate. 



i The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off this much- 
respected appendage, on his retirement from office some 
laonths since. 



His Lordship shakes, as Homer's God did,* 

And oft in thundering talk comes near him ; — 
Except that, there, the speaker nodded, 

And, here, 'tis only those who hear him. 
Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 

Of that fat cranium may ye floturish. 
With plenty of Macassar oil. 

Through many a year your growth to nourish 
And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath 

His barbarous shears such locks to sever, 
Still dear to Tories, even in death. 
Their last, lov'd relics we'll bequeath, 

A hair-looTo. to our sons forever. 



THE CHERRIES. 

A PARABLE.' 

1828. 

See those cherries, how they cover 

Yonder sunny garden wall ; — 
Had they not that network over, 

Thieving birds would eat them all. 

So, to guard our posts and pensions. 

Ancient sages wove a net, 
Through whose holes, of small dimensions, 

Only certain knaves can get. 

Shall we then this network widen ? 

Shall we stretch these sacred holes. 
Through which, ev'n ali-eady, slide iu 

Lots of small dissenting souls ? 

" God forbid ! " old Testy crieth ; 

" God forbid ! " so echo I : 
Every ravenous bird that fiieth 

Then would at our cherries fly. 

Ope but half an inch or so, 

And, behold, what bevies break in ; — 
Here, some curs' d old Popish crow 

Pops his long and lickerish beak in ; 

Here, sly Arians flock unnumber'd. 

And Socinians, slim and spare. 
Who, with small belief encumber' d. 

Slip in easy any where ; — 

Methodists, of birds the aptest, 
Where there's pecking going on ; 

2 "Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod." 

Pope's Hornet. 

3 Written during the late discussion or the Test and C<>r 
poration Acts. 



590 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And that water fowl, the Baptist — 
AU would share our fruits anon ; 

Ev'ry bird, of ev'ry city, 

That, for years, with ceaseless dii:^ 
Hath revers'd the starling's ditty, 

Singing out " I can't get in." 

♦' God forbid ! " old Testy snivels ; 

" God forbid ! " I echo too ; 
Rather may ten thousand d-v-ls 

Seize the whole voracious crew ! 

If less costly fruit won't suit 'em, 
Hips and haws and such like berries, 

Curse the corm'rants ! stone 'em, shoot 'em, 
Any thing — to save our cherries. 



STANZAS WTIITTEN IN ANTICIPATION 

OF DEFEAT.' 

1828. 

Go seek for some abler defenders of vnrong, 
If we m^lst run the gantlet through blood and 
expense ; 
Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude strong. 
Be content with success, and pretend not to 
sense. 

If the words of the wise and the gen'rous are 
vain, 
If Truth by the bowstring must yield up her 
breath, 
Let Mutes do the office — and spare her the pain 
Of an In— gl— s or T— nd— 1 to talk her to 
death. 

Chain, persecute, plunder — do all that you 
wiU — 

But save us, at least, the old womanly lore 
Of a F — st — r, who, dully prophetic of ill, 

Is, at once, the tioo instruments, augur * and 



Bring legions of Squires — if they'll only be 
mute — 
And array their thick heads against reason 
and right. 
Like the Roman of old, of historic repute,' 
Who with droves of dumb animals carried the 
fight; 

1 During the discussion of the Catholic question in the 
House of Commons last session. 

a This rhvme is more for the ear than the eye, as the car- 
penter's tool is spelt muger. 



Pour out, from each corner and hole of ths 
Court, 
Your Bed-chamber lordlings, your salaried 
slaves, 
Who, ripe for ai- job work, no matter what sort 
Have their consciences tack'd to their patents 
and staves. 

Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal sings, 
Are the Treasury's creatures, wherever they 
swim ; * 
With all the base, time-serving toadies of Kings, 
Who, if Punch were the monarch, would 
worship ev'n him ; 

And while, on the one side, each name of re- 
nown, 
That illumines and blesses our age is com- 
bin'd ; 
While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the Cannings 
look down, 
And drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of 
Mind; 

Let bold Paddy H — Imes show his troops on the 
other. 
And, counting of noses the quantum desir'd, 
Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi's fam'd 
mother, 
'< Come forward, my jewels " — 'tis all that's 
requLr'd. 

And thus let your farce be enacted hereafter — 
Thus honestly persecute, outlaw, and chain ; 

But spare ev'n your victims the torture of 
laughter, 
And never, O never, try reasoning again ! 



PREFACE 

TO THE NINTH VOLUME. 

In one of those Notices, no less friendly than 
they are able and spirited, which this new Edi- 
tion of my Poetical Works has called forth from 
a leading political journal, I find, in reference to 
the numerous satirical pieces contained in these 
volumes, the following suggestion : ^ — "It is 

3 Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against the enemy 

4 Res Fisci est, ubicumque natat. — Juvenal 

5 The Times, Jan. 9, 1841. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



591 



now more than a quarter of a century since this 
bundle of political pasquinades set the British 
public in a roar ; and, though the events to 
which they allude may be "well known to every 
reader, 

' Cujus octavum trepidavit aetas 
Claudere lustrum,' 

there are many persons, now forming a part of 
the Iiierary public, who have come into existence 
since they happened, and who cannot be expected, 
even if they had the leisure and opportunity to 
rummage the files of our old newspapers for a his- 
tory of the perishable facts, on which Mr. Moore 
has so often rested the flying artillery of his wit. 
Many of those facts will be considered beneath 
the notice of the grave historian ; and it is, there- 
fore, incumbent on Mr. Moore — if he wishes his 
political squibs, imbued as they are with a wit 
and humor quite Aristophanic, to be relished, as 
they deserve to be relished, by our great-grand- 
children — to preface them with a rapid sum- 
mary of the events which gave them birth." 

Without pausing here to say how gratifying 
it is to me to find my long course of Anti-Tory 
warfare thus tolerantly, and even generously 
spoken of, and by so distinguished an organ of 
public opinion, I shall as briefly as I can, advert 
to the writer's friendly suggestion, and then 
mention some of those reasons which have in- 
duced me not to adopt it. That I was disposed, 
at first, to annex some such commentary to this 
series of squibs, may have been collected from 
the concluding sentences of my last Preface ; 
but a little further consideration has led me to 
abandon this intention. 

To that kind of satire which deals only with 
the lighter follies of social life, with the passing 
modes, whims, and scandal of the day, such il- 
lustrative comments become, after a short time, 
necessary. But the true preserving salt of po- 
litical satire is its applicability to future times 
and generations, as well as to those which had 
first called it forth ; its power of transmitting 
the scourge of ridicule through succeeding pe- 
riods, with a lash still fresh for the back of the 
bigot and the oppressor, under whatever new 
shapes they may present themselves. I can 
hardly flatter myself with the persuasion that 
any one of the satirical pieces contained in this 
Volume is likely to possess this principle of 
vitality ; but I feel quite certain that, without it, 
not all the notes and illustrations in which even 
the industry of Dutch commentatorship could 
embalm them would insure to these trifles a life 
m")ch beyond the present hour. 



Already, to many of them, that sort of relish 
— by far the least worthy source of their suc- 
cess — which the names of living victims lend 
to such sallies, has become, in the course of 
time, wanting. But, as far as their appositenesa 
to the passing political events of the day has yet 
been tried — and the dates of these satires range 
over a period of nearly thirty years — their rid- 
icule, thanks to the undying nature of human 
absurdity, appears to have lost, as yet, but little 
of the original freshness of its first application 
Nor is this owing to any peculiar felicity of aim, 
in the satire itself, but to the sameness, through- 
out that period, of all its original objects ; — the 
unchangeable nature of that spirit of Monopolj 
by which, under all its various impersonations, 
commercial, religious, and political, these satires 
had been fii-st provoked. To refer but to one 
instance, the Corn Question, — assuredly, the 
entire appositeness, at this very moment, of such 
versicles as the following, redounds far less to 
the credit of poesy than to the disgrace of legis- 
lation : — 

How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all 
The Peers of the realm about cheap'ning their com, 

When you know if one hasn't a very high rental, 
'Tis hardly worth while to be very high born. 

That, being by nature so little prone to spleen 
or bitterness, I should yet have frequented so 
much the thorny paths of satire, has always, to 
myself and those best acquainted with me, been 
a matter of some surprise. By supposing the 
imagination, however, to be, in such cases, the 
sole or chief prompter of the satire — which, in 
my own instance, I must say, it has generally 
been — an easy solution is found for the diffi- 
culty. The same readiness of fancy which, with 
but little help from reality, can deck out '♦ the 
Cynthia of the minute " with all possible at- 
tractions, will likewise be able, when in the 
vein, to shower ridicule on a political adver- 
sary, without allowing a single feeling of real 
bitterness to mix itself with the operation. 
Even that sternest of all satirists, Dante, who, 
not content with the penal fire of the pen, kept 
an Inferno ever ready to receive the victims of 
his wrath, — even Dante, on becoming acquaint- 
ed with some of the persons whom he had thus 
doomed, not only revoked their awful sentence, 
but even honored them ^vith warm praise ; ' and 
probably, on a little further acquaintance, would 
have admitted them into his Paradiso. When 

1 In his Convito he praises very warmly some persons 
whom he had before abu.sed. — See Foscolo, Discord sul 
Tcsto di Dante. 



592 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



thus loosely and sliaUowly even the sublime 
satire of Dante could strike its roots in his own 
heart and memory, it is easy to conceive how 
light and passing may be the feeling of hostility 
with which a partisan in the field of satire plies 
his laughing warfare ; and how often it may 
happen that even the pride of hitting his mark 
hardly outlives the flight of the shaft. 

I cannot dismiss from my hands tbeso politi- 
cal trifles, — 

" This swarm of themes that settled on my pen, 
Which I, lilce summer flies, shake ofl" again," — 

without venturing to add that I have now to 
comiect with them one mournful recollection — 
one loss from among the circle of those I have 
longest looked up to with affiection and admira- 
tion — which I little thought, when I began this 
series of prefatory sketches, I should have to 
mourn before their close. I need hardly add, 
that, in thus alluding to a great light of the 
social and political world recently gone out, I 
mean the late Lord Holland. 

It may be recollected, perhaps, that, in men- 
tioning some particulars respecting an early squib 
of mine, — the Parody on the Prince Regent's 
Letter, — I spoke of a dinner at v/hich. I was 
present, on the very day of the first publication 
of that Parody, when it was the subject of much 
conversation at table, and none of the party, 
except our host, had any suspicion that I was 
the author of it. This host was Lord Holland ; 
and as such a name coiild not but lend value to 
any anecdote connected with literature, I only 
forebore the pleasure of adding such an orna- 
ment to my page, from knowing that Lord Hol- 
land had long viewed with disapprobation and 
regret much of that conduct of the "Whig party 
towards the Regent, in 1812-13,' of the history 
of which this squib, and the welcome reception 
it met with, forms a humble episode. 

Lord Holland himself, in addition to his higher 
intellectual accomplishments, possessed in no 
ordinary degree the talent of writing easy and 
playful ve)-s de socUtd ; and, among the instances 
I could give of the lightness of his hand at such 
trifles, there is one no less characteristic of his 
good nature than his wit, as it accompanied a 
copy of the octavo edition of Bayle,^ which, on 
hearing me rejoice one daj'' that so agreeable an 
author had been at last made portable, he kindly 
ordered tor me from Paris. 

1 Tliis will be seen whenever those valuable papers come 
j3 bo published, which Lord Holland left behind him, con- 



So late, indeed, as only a mc ith or t\\'0 before 
his lordship's death, he was employing himself, 
with aU his usual cheerful eagerness, in trans- 
lating some verses of Metastasio ; and occa- 
sionally consulted both Mr. Rogers and myself 
as to diff"erent readings of some of the lines. 
In one of the letters which I received from him 
while thus occupied, I find the following post- 
script : — 

" 'Tis thus I turn th' Italian's song, 
Nor deem I read his meaning wrong. 
But witli rough English to combine 
The sweetness that's in every line. 
Asks for your Muse, and net for mine. 
Sense only will not quit the fcore ; 
We must have that, and — little More. 

He then adds, " I send you, too, a melancholy 
Epigram of mine, of which I have seen many, 
alas, witness the truth : — 

" A minister's answer is always so kind ! 
I starve, and he tells me he'll keep me in miiid. 
Half his promise, God knows, would my spirits restore . 
Let him keep me — and, faith, I will ask for no more." 

The only portion of the mass of trifles con- 
tained in this volume, that first found its way 
to the public eye through any more responsible 
channel than a newspaper, was the Letters of 
the Fudge Family in England, — a work which 
was sure, from its very nature, to encounter thk 
double risk of being thought duU as a mere se- 
quel, and light and unsafe as touching on follies 
connected with the name of Religion. Into the 
question of the comparative dulness of any of 
my productions, it is not for me, of course, to 
enter ; but to the charge of treating religious 
subjects irreverently, I shall content myself 
with replying in the words of Pascal, — "II y 
a bien de la diff"erence entre rire de la religion 
et rire de ceux qui la profanent par leurs opi« 
nions extravasantes." 



ODE TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS. 

BY ONE OF THE BOAKD. 

1828 
Let other bards to groves repair. 

Where linnets strain their tuneful throats. 
Mine be the Woods and Forests, where 

The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. 

taining Memoirs of his own times and of those immediately 
preceding them. 
2 In sbiteen volumes, published at Paris, by Desoer. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



593 



No whispering winds have charms for me, 
Nor zephyr's balmy sighs I ask ; 

To raise the wind for Royalty 
Be all our Sylvan zephyr's task ! 

And, 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, 
And all such vulgur irrigation. 

Let Gallic rhino through our Woods 
Divert its " course of liquid-ation." 

Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well 

What Woods and Forests ought to be, 

When, sly, he introduc'd in hell 

His guinea plant, his bullion tree : ' — 

Nor see I why, some future day. 

When short of cash, we should not send 

Our H — rr — s down — he knows the way — 
To see if Woods in hell will lend. 

Long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts, 
Beneath whose " branches of expense " 

Our gracious K g gets all he wants, — 

Except a little taste and sense. 

Long, in your golden shade reclin'd, 
Like him of fair Armida's bowers, 

May W — 11 — n some wood nymph find, 
To cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours ; 

To rest from toil the Great Untaught, 
And soothe the pangs his warlike brain 

Must suffer, when unus'd to thought, 
It tries to think, and — tries in vain. 

long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserved in all their teeming graces. 

To shelter Tory bards, like me, 

Who take delight in Sylvan jjlaces ! • 



STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF THE 

SHANNON-^* 

182a 
" Take back the virgin page." 

Moore's Irish Melodies. 

No longer, dear V — sey, feel hurt and uneasy 
At hearing it said by thy Treasury brother, 

rhat thou art a sheet of blank paper, my V — sey. 
And he, the dear, innocent placeman, another.* 



1 Called by Virgil, botanically, " species auri frondentis." 

2 Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca 

Ovid. 

s These verses were suggested by the result of the Clare 
election, in the year 1823, when tlic Right lljnorable VV. i of amusement 



For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have done 
thee ; — 
Thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more ; 
By St. Patrick, we've scrawl'd such a lesson 
upon thee 
As never was scrawl'd upon foolscap before. 

Come — on Avith your spectacles, noble Lord 
Duke, 
(Or O'Connell has (/reeti ones he haply would 
lend you,) 
Read V — sey all o'er (as you can't read a book) 
And improve by the lesson we, bogtrotters, 
send you ; 

A lesson, in large Roman characters trac'd. 
Whose awful impressions from you and your 
kin 

Of blank-sheeted statesmen wiU ne'er be eff"ac'd, 
Unless, 'stead of paper, you're mere asses' skin. 

Shall I help you to construe it ? ay, by the Gods, 
Could I risk a translation, you should have a 
rare one ; 
But pen against sabre is desperate odds. 

And you, my Lord Duke (as you hinted once), 
wear one. 

Again and again I say, read V — sey o'er ; — 
You will find him worth aU the old scrolls of 
papyrus. 
That Egypt e'er fill'd with nonsensical lore, 
Or the learned Champollion e're wrote of, to 
tire us. 

All blank as he was, we've return'd him on hand. 
Scribbled o'er with a warning to Princes and 
Dukes, 
Whose plain, simple drift if they won't under- 
stand. 
Though caress'd at St. James's, they're fit for 
St. Luke's. 

Talk of leaves of the Sibyls ! — more meaning 
convey'd is 
In one single leaf such as now we have spell'd 
on, 
Than e'er hath been utter'd by all the old ladies 
That ever yet spoke, from the Sibyls to 
Eld— n. 



Vesey Fitzgerald was rejected, and Mr. O'Connell re- 
turned. 

* Some expressions to this purport, in a published letter 
of one of these gentlemen, had then produced a g(ii>d deal 



694 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



THE ANNUAL PILL. 

Supposed to he siingby Old Pbosy, the Jew, in the 
character of Major C — ktw — cht. 

ViLL nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 

Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? 
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let ma say vat 
I vill, 
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I 
say ! 
'Tis so pretty a bolus ! — just down let it go, 
And, at vonce, such a radical shange you viU 
see, 
Dat I'd not be surprish'd, like de horse in de 
show, 
If your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh 
ought to be ! 
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, &c. 

'Twill cure all Electors, and purge away clear 
Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir 
hands — 
'Twill cure, too, all Statesmen, of dulness, ma tear. 
Though the case vas as desperate as poor 
Mister Van's. 
Dere is noting at all vat dls Pill vill not reach — 
Give the Sinecure Shentleman von little 
grain, 
Pless ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de 
leech. 
And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and 
pence, up again ! 
Vill nobodies try my nice Annical Pill, &c. 

'Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to 
paint — 
But, among oder Xinq^s fundamentally wrong, 
It vill cure de Proad Pottom ' — a common com- 
plaint 
Among M. P.'s and weavers — from sitting 
too long. 
Should symptoms of speeching preak out on a 
dunce 
(Vat is often de case), it vill stop de disease. 
And pring avay all de long speeches at vonce, 
Dat else vould, like tapeworms, come by de- 
grees ! 

Vill nobodies try my nice Anmial Pill, 
Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay ? 

1 Meaning, I presume, Coalitinn Administrations. 
9 Written after hearing a celebrated speech in the House 
»f Lords, June 10, 1828, when the motion in favor of Caiho- 



Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat 
I viU, 
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat 
I say ! 

"IF" AND "PERHAPS."'' 

O TIDINGS of freedom ! O accents of hope ! 
Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue 
sea. 
And refresh with their sounds every son of th*> 
Pope, 
From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. 

" If mutely the slave will endure and obey, 
" Nor clanking his fetters nor breathing hi«< 
pains, 
" His masters, perhaps, at some far-distant day, 
" May think (tender tyrants !) of loosening 
his chains." 

Wise "if" and "perhaps!" — precious salvo 
for our wounds. 
If he, who would rule thus o'er manacled 
mutes, 
Could check the free springtide of Mind, that 
resounds. 
Even now, at his feet, like the sea at Canute's. 

But, no, 'tis in vain — the grand impulse is 
given — 
Man knows his high Charter, and knowing 
will claim ; 
And if ruin must follow where fetters are riven, 
Be theirs, who have forg'd them, the guilt and 
the shame. 

"If the slave will be silent ! " — vain Soldier, 
beware — 
There is a dead silence the wrong'd may as- 
sume, 
'^Vhen the feeling, sent back from the lips in 
despair. 
But clings round the heart with a deadlier 
gloom ; — 

When the blush, that long burn'd on the sup- 
pliant's cheek, 
Gives place to th' avenger's pale, resolute hue ; 
And the tongue, that once threaten' d, disdain- 
ing to speak. 
Consigns to the arm the high office — to do. 

lie Emancipation, brought forward bj' the Marquis of Lana 
downe, was rejected by the House of Lords. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



591 



If men, in that silence, should think of the hour. 
When proudly their fathers in panoply stood, 

Presenting, alike, a bold frontwork of power 
To the despot on land and the foe on the 
flood : — 

That hour, when a Voice had come forth from 
the west. 
To the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant 



And a lesson, long look'd for, was taught the 
oppress'd, 
That kings are as dust before freemen in arms ! 

If, awfuUer still, the mute slave should recall 
That dream of his boyhood, when Freedom's 
sweet day 
At length seem'd to break through a long night 
of thrall, 
And Union and Hope went abroad in its 
ray; — 

Jf Fancy should tell him, that Dayspring of 
Good, 
Though swiftly its light died away from his 
chain. 
Though darkly it set in a nation's best blood, 
Now wants but invoking to shine out again ; — 

If— if I say — breathings like these should 
come o'er 
The chords of remembrance, and thrill, as 
they come. 
Then, perhaps — ay, perhaps — but I dare not 
say more ; 
Thou hast Avill'd that thy slaves should be 
mute — I am dumb. 



WRITE ON, WRITE ON. 



Air. — " Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear." 

Salvfite, fratres Asini. St. Francis. 

Write on, write on, ye Barons dear, 

Ye Dukes, write hard and fast ; 
The good we've sought for many a year 

Your quills will bring at last. 
One letter more, N — wc — stle, pen. 

To match Lord K — nj- — n's two. 
And more than Ireland's host of men, 

One brace of Peers will do. 

Write on, ^^Trite on, &c. 



Sure, never, since the precious use 

Of pen and ink began. 
Did letters, writ by fools, produce 

Such signal good to man. 
While intellect, 'mong high and low, 

Is marching on, they say, 
Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, 

Like crabs, the other way. 

Write on, write on, &c. 

Ev'n now I feel the coming light — 

Ev'n now, could Folly lure 
My Lord M — ntc — sh — 1, too, to wTite, 

Emancipation's sure. 
By geese (we read in history). 

Old Rome was sav'd from ill ; 
And now, to qtiills of geese, we see 

Old Rome indebted still. 

Write on, write on, &c. 

Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to style, 

Nor beat for sense about — 
Things, little worth a Noble's while, 

You're better far without. 
O ne'er, since asses spoke of yore. 

Such miracles were done ; 
For, write but four such letters more, 

And Freedom's cause is won ! 



SONG OF THE DEPARTING SPIRIT 
OF TITHE. 

" The parting Genius is with sighing sent." 

MiLTOJL 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er ; 

I hear a Voice, from shore to shore, 

From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore, 

And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone, 

•' Great Tithe and Small are dead and gone ! " 

Even now, I behold your vanishing wings. 

Ye Tenths of all conceivable things. 

Which Adam first, as Doctors deem, 

Saw, in a sort of nightmare dream,' 

After the feast of fruit abhorr'd — 

First indigestion on record ! — 

Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks. 

Ye pigs which, though }-e be Catholics, 

Or of Calvin's most select deprav'd, 

In the Church must have your bacon sav'd ; — 

1 A reverend prebendary of Hereford, in an Essay on th« 
Revenues of the Church of England, has assigned the origin 
of Tithes to "some unrecorded revelation made to Adam.* 



f96 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Ye fields, where Labor counts his sheaves, 
And, whatsoever himself believes, 
Must bow to th' Establish'd Church belief. 
That the tenth is always a Protestant sheaf; — 
Ye calves, of which the man of Heaven 
Takes Irish tithe, one calf in seven ; ' 
Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, 
I Eggs,' timber, milk, fish, and beeswax ; 
All things, in short, since earth's creation, 
Doom'd, by the Church's dispensation, 
To suffer eternal decimation — 
Leaving the whole lay world, since then, 
Reduc'd to nine parts out of ten ; 
Or — as we calculate thefts and arsons — 
Just te7i per cent, the worse for Parsons ! 

Alas, and is all this wise device 

For the saving of souls thus gone in a trice ? - 

The whole put down, in the simplest way, 

By the souls resolving 7iot to pay ! 

And even the Papists, thankless race. 

Who have had so much the easiest case — 

To pay for our sermons doom'd, 'tis true. 

But not condemn'd to hear them, too — 

(Our holy business being, 'tis known, 

With the ears of their barley, not their own,) 

Even they object to let us pillage, 

By right divine, their tenth of tillage. 

And, horror of horrors, even decline 

To find us in sacramental wine ! ' 

It is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er. 

Ah, never shall rosy Rector more, 

Like the shepherds of Israel, idly eat, 

And make of his flock " a prey and meat." * 

No more shall be his the pastoral sport 

Of suing his flock in the Bishop's Court, 

Through various steps. Citation, Libel — 

Scriptures all, but 7iot the Bible ; 

Working the Law's whole apparatus. 

To get at a few predoom'd potatoes. 

And summoning all the powers of wig. 

To settle the fraction of a pig ! — 

Till, parson and all committed deep 

In the case of " Shepherds versus Sheep," 

The Law usurps the Gospel's place. 

And, on Sundays, meeting face to face, 

1 " The tenth calf is due to the parson of common right ; 
and if there are seven he shall have one." — Rees's Cyclo- 
fadia, art. " Tithes." 

2 Chaucer's Ploughman complains of the parish rectors, 

that 

" For the tithing of a duck. 
Or an apple, or an aye (egg). 
They make him swear upon a boke ; 
Thus they foulen Christ's fay." 



WTiile Plaintiff fiUs the preacher's station, 
Defendants form the congregation. 

So lives he, Mammon's priest, not Heaven's, 

For tenths thus all at sixes and sevetis, 

Seeking what parsons love no less 

Than tragic poets — a good distress. 

Instead of studying St. Augustin, 

Gregory Nyss., or old St. Justin 

(Books fit only to hoard dust in). 

His reverence stints his evening readings 

To learn'd Reports of Tithe Proceedings, 

Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy. 

Which forms his only ancient study ; — 

Port so old, you'd swear its tartar 

Was of the age of Justin Martyr, 

And, had he sipp'd of such, no doubt 

His martyrdom would have been — to gout. 

Is all then lost ? alas, too true — 

Ye Tenths belov'd, adieu, adieu ! 

My reign is o'er, my reign is o'er — 

Like old Thumb's ghost, " I can no more " 



THE EUTHANASIA OF VAN. 

" We are told that the bigots are growing old and fadt 
wearing out. If it be so, why not let us die in peace?'' 
Lord Bexley's Letter to the Freeholders of Kent. 

Stop, Intellect, in mercy stop, 
Y"e curs'd improvements, cease ; 

And let poor Nick V — ns — tt — t drop 
Into his grave in peace. 

Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun, 
Young Freedom, veil thy head ; 

Let nothing good be thought or done, 
Till Nick V— ns— tt— t's dead ! 

Take pity on a dotard's fears, 

Who much doth light detest ; 
And let his last few drivelling years 

Be dark as were the rest. 

You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, 
Speed not so fast away — 

s Among the specimens laid before Parliament of the sort 
of Church rates levied upon Catholics in Ireland, was a 
charge of two pipes of port for sacramental wine. 

* Ezekiel, xxxiv. 10. — "Neither shall the shepherds feed 
themselves any more ; for I will deliver my flock from theil 
moutl), that they may not be meat for them ' 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



o97 



Ye rags, on which old Nickj' gloats, 
A few months longer stay.' 

Together soon, or much I err. 
You both from life may go — 

The notes unto the scavenger. 
And Nick — to Nick below. 

\''e Liberals, what'er your plan, 
Be all reforms suspended ; 

In compliment to dear old Van, 
Let nothing bad be mended. 

Y''e Papists, whom oppression wrings, 

Your cry politely cease. 
And fret your hearts to fiddle strings 

That Van may die in peace. 

So shall he win a fame sublime 
By few old rag men gain'd ; 

Since aU shall own, in Nicky's time, 
Nor sense, nor justice reign' d. 

So shall his name through ages past, 

And dolts ungotten yet. 
Date from " the days of Nicholas," 

With fond and sad regret ; — 

And sighing, say, " Alas, had he 
" Been spar'd from Pluto's bowers, 

'* The blessed reign of Bigotry 
" And Rags might stUl be ours ! " 



TO THE REVEREND 



ONE OF THE SIXTEEN REQUISITIONISTS OF NOT- 
TINGHAM. 

1828. 

What, yo%i, too, my ******, in hashes so 
knowing, 

Of sauces and soups Aristarchus profess'd ! 
Are you, too, my savory Brunswicker, going 

To make an old fool of yourself with the rest ? 

Far better to stick to your kitchen receipts ; 
And — if you want samething to tease — for 
variety. 
Go study how Ude, in his " Cookery," treats 
Live eels, when he fits them for polish'd so- 
ciety. 



1 Periturae parcere chartte. 

2 The only way, Monsieur Ude assures us, to get rid of 
the oil so objectionable in this fish. 



Just snuggling them in, 'tvvixt the bars of the 
fire. 
He leaves them to wriggle and writhe on the 
coals,* 
In a manner that H — rn — r himself would ad- 
mire, 
And wish, 'stead of eeh, they were Catholic 
souls. 

Ude tells us, the fish little suffering feels ; 

"While Papists, of late, have more sensitive 
grown ; 
So, take my advice, try your hand at live eels, 

And, for omcc, let the other poor devils alone. 

I have ev'n a still better receipt for your cook — 
How to make a goose die of confirm'd hepa- 
titis ; ^ 

And, if you'll, for once, /e^^oji>-feelings o'erlook, 
A well-tortur'd goose a most capital sight is. 

First, catch him, alive — make a good steady 
fire — 
Set your victim before it, both legs being 
tied, 
(As, if left to himself, he might wsh to retire,) 
And place a large bowl of rich cream by his 
side. 

There roasting by inches, dry, fever'd, and faint, 
Having drunk all the cream, you so civilly 
laid, off. 

He dies of as charming a liver complaint 

As ever sleek parson could wish a pie made of. 

Besides, only think, my dear one of Sixteen, 
What an emblem this bird, for the epicure's 
use meant. 

Presents of the mode in which Ireland has been 

Made a tidbit for yours and your brethren's 

amusement : 
<• 

Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, as they 
quiver, 
A slow fire of tyranny wastes by degrees — 
No wonder disease should have swell'd up her 
liver, 
No wonder you, Gourmands, should love her 
dii 



s A liver complaint. The process by which the livers of 
geese are enlarged for the famous Pates defuie d^oie. 



698 



SATIRICAL AND IIUMOllOUS POEMS. 



IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 

According to some Icarn'd oiiinions 
The Irish once were Carthaginians ; 
But, trusting more to late descriptions, 
I'd rather say they were Egyptians. 
My reason's this : — the Priests of Isis, 

When forth they march'd in long array, 
Employ'd, 'mong other grave devices, 

A Sacred Ass to lead the way ; ' 
And still thf\ antiquarian traces 

'Mong Irish Lords this Pagan plan. 
For still, in all religious cases, 

They put Lord R — d — n in the van. 



A CURIOUS FACT. 

T.iE present Lord K — ny — n (the Peer who 

writes letters, 
For which the waste-paper folks much are his 

debtors) 
Hath one little oddity, well worth reciting, 
Which puzzleth observers, ev'n more than his 

writing. 
Whenever Lord K — ny — n doth chance to be- 
hold 
A cold Apple pie — mind, the pie must be cold. 
His Lordship looks solemn (few people know 

why). 
And he makes a low bow to the said apple pie. 
This idolatrous act, in so " vital " a Peer, 
Is, by most serious Protestants, thought rather 

queer — 
Pie worship, they hold, coming under the head 
(Vide Crustium, chap, iv.) of the Worship of 

Bread. 
Some think 'tis a tribute, as author, he owes 
For the service that pie crust hath done to his 

prose ; — 
The only good things in his pages, they swear, 
Being those that the pastry cook sometimes puts 

there. 
Others say, 'tis a homage, through pie crust con- 

vey'd. 
To our Glorious Deliverer's much-honor'd 

shade ; 



1 Tu this practice the ancient adage alludes, " Asinua 
portans mysteria." 

2 See the anecdote, which the Duchess of Marlborough 
relates in her Memoirs, of this polite hero appropriating to 
himself one day, at dinner, a whole dish of green peas — 
t' ■■ first of the season — while the poor Princess Anne, who 



As that Protestant Hero (or Saint, if you 

please) 
Was as fond of cold pie as he was of green peas,' 
And 'tis solely in loyal remembrance of that. 
My Lord K — ny — n to apple pie takes off his 

hat. 
While others account for this kind salutation 
By what Tony Lumpkin calls " concatenation ; " 
A certain good will that, from sympathy's lies, 
'Twi.\t old Apple women and Orange men lies. 

But 'tis needless to add, these are all vague sur- 
mises, 
For thus, we're assur d, the whole matter arises : 
Lord K — ny — n's respected old father (like 

many 
Respected old fathers) was fond of a penny ; 
And lov'd so to save,' that — there's not tho 

least question — 
His death was brought on by a bad indigestion. 
From cold apple pie crust his Lordship would 

stuff in. 
At breakfast, to save the expense of hot muffin. 
Hence it is, and hence only, that cold apple pies 
Are beheld by his Heir with such reverent eyes, 
Just as honest King Stephen his beaver might 

doff 
To the fishes that carried his kind uncle off — 
And wliile Jilial piety urges so many on, 
'Tis pure apple pie-ty moves my Lord K — n- 
y-n. 

NEW-FASHIONED ECHOES. 

Sir, 
Most of your readers are, no doubt, acquainted with the 
anecdote told of a certain, not overwise, judge, who, when 
in the act of delivering a charge in some country court 
house, was Interrupted by the braying of an ass at the door. 
" What noise is that? " asked the angry judge. "Only an 
extraordinary eclio there is in court, my Lord," answered 
one of the counsel. 

As there are a number of such " extraordinary echoes " 
abroad just now, you will not, perhaps, be unwilling, .Mr. 
Editor, to receive the following few lines suggested by them 
Yours, &c. S. 

Hue coeamus,^ ait; nuUique libentius unquam 
Responsura sono, Coeamus, retulit echo. Ovid 

There are echoes, wo know, of all sorts. 
From the echo, that " dies in the dale," 

was then in a longing condition, sat by, vainly entreating, 
with her eyes, for a share. 

8 The same prudent propensity characterizes his descend- 
ant, who (as is well knuwn) would not even go to the ex- 
pense of a dipthong on his father's monument, but had the 
inscription spelled, economically, thus: — '^Jilonjaiiva vita.' 

* " Let us form Clubs." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 599 


To the " airy-tongu'd babbler," that sports 


But no — for so humble a bard 


Up the tide of the torrent her " tale." 


'Tis a subject too trying to touch on ; 




Such noblemen's names are too hard, 


There are echoes that bore us, like Blues, 


And their noddles too soft to dwell much on. 


"With the latest smart mot they have heard ; 




There are echoes, extremely like shrews, 


Echo, sweet nymph of the hill, 


Leiting nobody have the last word. 


Of the dell, and the deep-sounding shelves ; 




If, in spite of Narcissus, you still 


In the bogs of old Paddy-land, too. 


Take to fools who are charm'd with them- 


Certain "talented" echoes' there dwell. 


selves, 


Who, on being ask'd, "How do you do?" 




Politely reply, "Pretty well." 


Who knows but, some morning retiring, 




To walk by the Trent's wooded side. 


But why should I talk any more 


You may meet with N— wc— stle, admiring 


Of such old-fashion' d echoes as these, 


His own lengthen'd ears in the tide ! 


When Britain has new ones in store, 




That transcend them by many degrees ? 


Or, on into Cambria straying. 




Find K— ny— n, that double-tongu'd elf. 


For, of all repercussions of sound, 


In his love of ass-cendency, braying 


Concerning which bards make a pother, 


A Brunswick duet with himself ! 


There's none like that hai)py rebound 




When one blockhead echoes another ; — 




When K — ny — n commences the bray. 


INCANTATION. 


And the Borough Duke follows his track ; 




And loudly from Dublin's sweet bay. 


FROM THE NEW TKAGEDY OF " THE BRUNSWICKEUS. 


R— thd — ne brays, with Interest, back ; — 


1828. 




SCENE. — Penenden Plain. In the middle, a caldron boiling. 


And while, of most echoes the sound 


Thunder. — Enter three Brunswickers. 


On our ear by reflection doth fall. 




These Brunswickers ^ pass the bray round, 


1st Brmis.— Thrice hath scribbling K— ny— a 


Without any reflection at all. 


scrawl'd, 




2d Brims. — Once hath fool N— wc— stle 


Scott, were I gifted like you, 


bawl'd, 


Who can name all the echoes there are 


2d Bruiis. — B — xl — y snores : — 'tis time, 'tis 


From Benvoirlich to bold Ben-venue, 


time. 


From Benledi to wild Uamvar ; 


Ut Bruns. — Round about the caldron go ; 




In the pois'nous nonsense throw. 


I might track, through each hard Irish name, 


Bigot spite, that long hath grown, 


The rebounds of this asinine strain, 


Like a toad within a stone. 


Till from Neddy to Neddy, it came 


Sweltering in the heart of Sc— tt, 


To the chief Neddy, K — ny— n, again ; 


Boil we in the Brunswick pot. 




All. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, 


Might tell how it roar'd in R— thd— ne. 


Eld— n, talk, and K— ny— n, scribble. 


How from D— ws— n it died off genteelly — 


2d Bruns. — Slaver from N — ^vc— stle's quiU 


How hollow it rung from the crown 


In the noisome mess distil, 


Of the fat-pated Marquis of E— y ; 


Brimming high our Brunswick broth 




Both with venom and with froth. 


How, on hearing my Lord of G e, 


Mix the brains (though apt to hash ill. 


Thir,tle eaters, the stoutest, gave way. 


Being scant) of Lord M — ntc— shel, 


Outdone, in their own special line. 


With that malty stuff" which Ch — nd — s 


By the forty-ass power of his bray ! 


Drivels as no other man does. 


1 Commonly called " Paddy Blake's Echoes." 


Clubs, were at this time becoming numeDus both in Eng. 


a Anti-Catholic associations, under the title of Brunswick 


land and Irfiland. 



600 SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Catch (i. e. if catch you can) 




One idea, spick and span, 


HOW TO MAKE A GOOD POLITICIAN. 


From my Lord of S— 1— sb— y, — 




One idea, thoiigh it be 


Whene'er you're in doubt, said a Sage I once 


Smaller than the " happy flea," 


knew. 


Which his sire, in sonnet terse, 


'Twixt two lines of conduct which course to 


Wedded to immortal verse.' 


pursue. 


Though to rob the son is sin, 


Ask a woman's advice, and, whate'er she advise. 


Put his one idea in ; 


Do the very reverse, and you're sure to be wise. 


And, to keep it company, 




Let that conjurer W— nch— Is— a 


Of the same use as guides, are the Brunswicker 


Drop but half another there, 


throng ; 


If he hath so much to spare. 


In their thoughts, words, and deeds, so in- 


Dreams of murders and of arsons, 


stinctively wrong. 


Hatch'd in heads of Irish parsons. 


That, whatever they counsel, act, talk, or indite. 


13ring from every hole and corner, 


Take the opposite course, and you're sure to be 


Where ferocious priests, like H — rn — r, 


right. 


Purely for religious good, 




Cry aloud for Papists' blood, 


So golden this rule, that, had nature denied 


Blood for W — Us, and such old women. 


you 


At their ease to wade and swim in. 


The use of that finger post, Reason, to guide 


All. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble. 


you — 


B — xl— y, talk, and K— ny— n, scribble. 


Were you even more doltish than any giv'n 


3fi Bruns. — Now the charm begin to brew ; 


man is. 


Sisters, sisters, add thereto 


More soft than N — wc— stle, more twaddling 


Scraps of L — thbr — dge's old speeches, 


than Van is, 


Mix'd with leather from his breeches. 


I'd stake my repute, on the following conditions, 


Rinsings of old B — xl — y's brains, 


To make you the soundest of sound politicians. 


Thicken'd (if you'll take the pains) 


Place yourself near the skirts of some high- 


With that pulp which rags create, 


flying Tory — 


In their middle, nympha state. 


Some Brunswicker parson, of port-drinking 


Ere, like insects frail and sunny. 


glory, — 


Forth they wing abroad as money. 


Watch well how he dines, during any great 


There — the Hell broth we've enchanted — 


Question — 


Now but one thing more is wanted. 


What makes him feed gayly, what spoils his 


Squeeze o'er all that Orange juice, 


digestion — 


C keeps cork'd for use. 


And always feel sure that his joy o'er a stew 


Which, to work the better spell, is 


Portends a clear case of dyspepsia to you. 


Color'd deep with blood of , 


Read him backwards, like Hebrew — whatevei 


Blood, of powers far more various, 


he wishes. 


Ev'n than that Januarius, 


Or praises, note down as absurd, or pernicious. 


Since so great a charm hangs o'er it. 


Like the folks of a weather house, shifting 


England's parsons bow before it ! 


about, 


yi;/. — Dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, 


When he's out, be an la — when he's in, be an 


B — xl — y, talk, and K — ny — n, scribble. 


Out. 


•2d Bruns. — Cool it now with 's blood, 


Keep him always revers'd in your thoughts. 


So the charm is firm and good. [Exeunt. 


night and day, 




Like an Irish barometer turn'd the wrong 




way: 


1 Alliidinft to a well-known lyric composition of the late 




Marquis, wliicli, vvitli a slight alteration, might be addressed 


" O, happy, happy, happy flea, 


eitlicr to a flea or a fly. For instance : — 


If I were you, or you were mt ; 




But since, alas ! that cannot be, 


" O, happy, happy, happy fly, 


I must remain Lord S y." 


If I were you, or you were I." 





SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



60 1 



If he's vp, you may swear that foul weather is 

nigh ; 
If he's down, you may look for a bit of blue sky. 
Never mind what debaters or journalists say, 
Duly ask what he thinks, and then think t'other 

way. 
Does he hate the Small-note Bill ? then firmly 

rely 
The Small-note Bill's a blessing, though you 

don't know why. 
Is Brougham his aversion ? then Harry's your 

man. 
Does he quake at O'Connell? take doubly to 

Dan. 
Is he all for the Turks ? then, at once, take the 

whole 
Russian Empire (Czar, Cossacks, and all) to 

your soul. 
In short, whatsoever he talks, thinks, or is, 
Be your thoughts, words, and essence, the con- 
trast of his. 
Nay, as Siamese ladies — at least the polite 

ones — 
All paint their teeth black, 'cause the devil has 

white ones — 
If ev'n, by the chances of time or of tide. 
Your Tory, for once, should have sense on his 

side, 
Even then stand aloof — for, be sure that Old 

Nick, 
When a Tory talks sensibly, means you some 

trick. 

Such my recipe is — and, in one single verse, 
I shall now, in conclusion, its substance rehearse. 
Be all that a Brunswicker is not, nor could be. 
And then — you'll be all that an honest man 
should be. 

EPISTLE OF CONDOLENCE, 

FROM A SLAVE LORD, TO A COTTON LORD. 

Alas ! my dear friend, what a state of affairs. 
How unjustly we both are despoil'd of our 
rights ! 
Not a pound of black flesh shall I leave to my 
heirs. 
Nor must you any more work to death little 
whites. 

Both forc'd to submit to that general controller 
Of King, Lords, and cotton mills. Public 
Opinion, 
No more shall you beat with a big billy roller. 
Nor / with the cart whip assert my dominion. 
76 



"Whereas, were we suffer'd to do as we please 
With our Blacks and our Whites, as of yore 
we were let. 
We might range them alternate, like harpsichord 
keys. 
And between us thump out a good piebald 
duet. 

But this fun is all over ; — farewell to the zest 
Which Slav'ry now lends to each teacup we 
sip ; 
Which makes still the cruellest coffee the best. 
And that sugar the sweetest which smacks of 
the whip. 

Farewell, too, the Factory's white picaninnies — 

Small, living machines, which, if iiogg'd to 

their tasks, 

Mix so well with their namesakes, the " Billies " 

and " Jennies," 

That which have get souls in 'em nobody 



Little !Maids of the Mill, who, themselves but 
ill fed, 
Are oblig'd, 'mong their other benevolent 
cares. 
To " keep feeding the scribblers," ' — and bet- 
ter, 'tis said, 
Than old Blackwood or Fraser have ever fed 
theirs. 

All this is now o'er, and so dismal my loss is, 
So hard 'tis to part from the smack of the 
thong. 
That I mean (from pure love for the old whip- 
ping process). 
To take to whipp'd syllabub all my life long. 



THE GHOST OF MILTIADES. 

All quotics dubius ScripXis e.xarsit amator ! 

Ovid. 

The Ghost of Miltiades came at night. 
And he stood by the bed of the Benthamite, 
And he said, in a voice that thriU'd the frame. 
" If ever the sound of Marathon's name 
" Hath fir'd thy blood or flush'd thy brow, 
♦' Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now ! " 

The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed — 
Away to the Stock Exchange he sped, 

1 One of the operations in cotton mills usually porformei 
by children. 



602 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And he found the Scrip of Greece so high, 

That it fir'd his blood, it flush'd his eye, 

And O, 'twas a sight for the Ghost to see, 

For never wis Greek more Greek than lie ! 

And still as the premium higher went, 

His ecstasy rose — so much per cent. 

(As we see in a glass, that tells the weather. 

The heat and the silver rise together,) 

And Liberty sung from the patriot's lip, 

"While a voice from his pocket whisper'd " Scrip!" 

The Ghost of Miltiades came again ; — 

He smil'd, as the pale moon smiles through rain. 

For his soul was glad at that patriot strain ; 

(And poor, dear ghost — how little he knew 

The jobs and the tricks of the Philhollene 

crew !) 
" Blessings and thanks ! " was all he said. 
Then, melting away, like a nightdream, fled ! 

The Benthamite hears — amaz'd that ghosts 

Could be such fools — and away he posts, 

A patriot still ? Ah no, ah no — 

Goddess of Freedom, thy Scrip is low. 

And, warm and fond as thy lovers are. 

Thou triest their passion, when under par. 

The Benthamite's ardor fast decays, 

By turns he weeps, and swears, and prays. 

And wishes the d — 1 had Crescent and Cross, 

Ere he had been forc'd to sell at a loss. 

They quote him the Stock of various nations. 

But, spite of his classic associations, 

Lord, how he loathes the Greek quotations ! 

•' Who'll buy my Scrip ? Who'll buy my Scrip ?" 

Is now the theme of the patriot's lip, 

As he runs to tell how hard his lot is 

To Messrs. Orlando and Luriottis, 

And says, ♦' O Greece, for Liberty's sake, 

" Do buy my Scrip, and I vow to break 

" Those dark, unholy bonds of thine — 

" If you'll only consent to oay up mine .'" 

The Ghost of Miltiades came once more ; — 

Ills brow, like the night, was lowering o'er. 

And he said, with a look that flash'd dismay, 

" Of Liberty's foes the worst are they, 

" Who turn to a trade her cause divine, 

" And gamble for gold on Freedom's shrine ! " 

Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his flight. 

Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite, 

Which sent him, whimpering, off" to Jerry — 

And vanish'd away to the Stygian ferry ! 



1 " That dark diseased ichor which colored liis efTu- 
lions." — Galt's Life of Bijron. 
* " That gelatinous character of llieir effusions." — Ibid. 



ALARMIXG INTELLIGENCE. — REVOLU- 
TION IN THE DICTIONARY. — ONE 
GALT AT THE HEAD OF IT. 

GoD preserve us ! — there's nothing now safe 
from assault ; — 
Thrones toppling around, churches brought 
to the hammer ; 
And accounts have just reach'd us that one Mr. 
Gait 
Has declar'd open war against English and 
Grammar ! 

He had long been suspected of some such design, 
And, the better his Avicked intents to arrive at, 

Had lately 'mong C — lb — n's troops of the line 
(The i^enny-a-line men) enlisted as private. 

There school' d, with a rabble of words at com- 
mand, 
Scotch, English, and slang, in promiscuous 
alliance. 
He, at length, against Syntax has taken his stand, 
And sets all the Nine Parts of Speech at do- 
fiance. 

Next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford ; 
In the mean time the danger most imminent 
grows. 
He has taken the Life of one eminent Lord, 
And whom he'll next murder the Lord only 
knows. 

Wednesday cveniii/^ 
Since our last, matters, luckily, look more se- 
rene ; 
Tliough the rebel, 'tis stated, to aid his de- 
fection, 
Has seized a great Powder — no. Puff Magazine, 
And th' explosions are dreadful in every di- 
rection. 

What his meaning exactly is, nobody knows, 
As he talks (in a strain of intense botheration) 

Of lyrical " ichor," ' " gelatinous " prose,- 
And a mixture cjJl'd amber immortalization.' 

Nou), he raves of a bard he once happen'd to 
meet. 
Seated high " among rattlings," and churning 
a soiuiet ; * 



3 " The poetical embalmment, or rather, amber iiimiortai- 
izatioii." — /iia. 

* " Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlii gs, churnuig an 
inarticulate melody." — Jbid. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Kow, talks of a mystery, wrapp'd in a sheet, 
With a halo (by way of a nightcap) upon it ! ' 

We shudder in tracing these terrible lines ; 
Something bad they must mean, though we 
can't make it out ; 
For, whate'er may be guess'd of Gait's secret 
designs. 
That they're all ^«<t-English no Christian can 
doubt. 



RESOLUTIONS 

PASSED AT A LATE MEETING OP 

REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVERENDS. 

1831. 
Resolv'd — to stick to ev'ry particle 
Of ev'ry Creed and ev'ry Article ; 
Reforming nought, or great or little. 
We'll stanchly stand by every tittle,* 
And scorn the swallow of tliat soul 
Which cannot boldly bolt the whole. 

Resolv'd, that, though St. Athanasius 
In damning souls is rather spacious — 
Though wide and far his curses fall, 
Our Church " hath stomach for them all ; " 
And those who're not content with such, 
May e'en be d — d ten times as much. 

Resolv'd — such liberal souls are we — 
Though hating Nonconformity, 
We yet believe the cash no worse is 
That comes from Nonconformist purses. 
Indifferent lohence the money reaches 
The pockets of our reverend breeches. 
To us the Jumper's jinglinfi penny 
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any ; 
And ev'n our old friends Yea and Nay 
May through the nose forever pray. 
If also through the nose they'll pay. 

Resolv'd, that Hooper,' Latimer,* 
And Cranmcr,* all extremely err, 

1 " He was a mystery in a winding slieet, crowned with 
I halo." — Oa/t'i Life of Byron. 

2 One <if the qiiestiiins propounded to the Puritans in 1573 
was — " Wlietlier the Book of Service was good and godly, 
every tittle grounded on the Holy Scripture?" On vvliicli 
an honest Dissenter remarks — "Surely they liad a wonder- 
ful opinion of their Service Book that there was not a titlU 
amiss in it." 

3 " They," the Bishops, " know that the primitive 
Ch irch had no such Bishops. If the fourth part of the bish- 



In taking such a low-bred view 

Of what Lords Spiritual ought to do : — 

All owing to the fact, poor men, 

That Mother Church was modest then, 

Nor knew what golden eggs her goose. 

The Public, would in time produce. 

One Pisgah peep at modern Durham 

To far more lordly thoughts would stir 'em. 

Resolv'd, that when we. Spiritual Lords, 

Whose income just enough affords 

To keep our Spiritual Lordships cosy, 

Are told, by Antiquarians prosy. 

How ancient Bishops cut up theirs. 

Giving the poor the largest shares — 

Our answer is, in one short word. 

We think it pious, but absurd. 

Those good men made the world their debtor, 

But we, the Church rcform'd, know better; 

And, taking all that all can pay. 

Balance th' account the other way. 

Resolv'd, our thanks profoundly due ar» 
To last month's Quarterly Reviewer, 
Who proves (by arguments so clear 
One sees how much he holds per year) 
That England's Church, though out of date, 
Must still be left to lie in state, 
As dead, as rotten, and as grand as 
The mummy of King Osyinandyas, 
All pickled snug — the brains drawn out*- 
With costly cerements swathed about, — 
And " Touch me not," those words terrific, 
Scrawl'd o'er her in good hieroglyphic. 



SIR ANDREW'S DREAM. 

1834. 
" Nee tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis • 
Cum pia venerunt somnia, pondiis liahent." 

Propert. lib. iv. eleg. 7 

As snug, on a Sunday eve, of late. 
In his easy chair Sir Andrew sate. 
Being much too pious, as every one knows. 
To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but doze, 

oi)ric remained unto the Bishop, it were suflicient." — On 
the Commandments, p. 72. 

* " Since the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the 
plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve " 
— Lat. Sorm. 

6 " Of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, 
and pomps into the Church. But 1 would that I, and all 
my brethren, the Bishops, would leave all our styles, and 
write the styles of our offices," &c. —Life uf Cranmer, if 
Strype, Jippendiz. 

6 Part of the process of embalmment 



604 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



He dreamt a dream, dear, holy man, 

And I'll tell you his dream as well as I can. 

He found himself, to his great amaze, 

In Charles the First's high Tory days. 

And just at the time that gravest of Courts 

Had publish'd its Book of Sunday Sports.' — 

Sunrhnj Sports ! what a thing for the ear 

Of Andrew, even in sleep, to hear ! — 

It chanc'd to be, too, a Sabbath day. 

When the people from church were coming 

away ; 
And Andrew with horror heard this song, 
As the smiling sinners fiock'd along : — 
" Long life to the Bishops, hurrah ! hurrah ! 
" For a week of work and a Sunday of play 
" Make the poor man's life run merry away." 

" Tlie Bishops ! " quoth Andrew, '♦ Popish, I 

guess," 
And he grinned with conscious holiness. 
But the song went on, and, to brim the cup 
Of poor Andy's grief, the fiddles struck up ! 

" Come, take out the lasses — let's have a 
dance — 
" For the Bishops allow us to skip our fill, 
'* Well knowing that no one's the more in ad- 
vance 
" On the road to heaven, for standing still. 
" O, it never was meant that grim grimaces 
" Should sour the cream of a creed of 
love; 
" Or that fellows with long, disastrous faces, 
" Alone should sit among cherubs above. 

" Then hurrah for the Bishops, &c. 

" For Sunday fun we never can fail, 

" When the Church herself each sport points 
out ; — 
" There's May games, archery, Whitsun ale, 

" And a May pole high to dance about. 
'• Or, should we be for a pole hard driven, 

" Some lengthy saint, of aspect fell, 
" With his pockets on earth, and his nose in 
heaven, 

'• Will do for a May pole just as well. 
" Then hurrah for the Bishops, hurrah ! hurrah ! 
" A week of work and a Sabbath of play 
" Make the poor man's life run merry away." 

1 T.'ic Book of Sports drawn up by Bi^liop Moreton was 
f.rst put forth in the reign of James 1., I6I8, anil afterwards 
republished, at the advice of Land, by Charles I., 1C33, with 
an injunction that it should be " made public by order from 
the Bishops." We find it tlierein declared, that " for his 
good people's recreation, his Majesty's pleasure was, that 



To Andj-, who doesn't much deal in history, 
This Sunday scene was a downright mystery : 
And God knows where might have ended tho 

joke, 
But, in trying to stop the fiddles, he woke. 
And the odd thing is (as the rumor goes) 
That since that dream — which, one would sup- 
pose, 
Should have made his godly stomach rise, 
Even more than ever, 'gainst Sunday pies — 
He has view'd things quite with different eyes ; 
Is beginning to take, on matters divine. 
Like Charles and his Bishops, the sporting line — 
Is all for Christians jigging in pairs. 
As an interlude 'twixt Sunday prayers ; — 
Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H — 1 — y 
To bring in a Bill, enacting duljs 
That all good Protestants, from this date, 
May, freely and lawfully, recreate. 
Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody. 
With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and Judy. 



A BLUE LOVE SONG. 



Air. — "Come live with vie and be my love." 

1833. 
Come wed with me, and we will write, 
My Blue of Blues, from morn till night. 
Chased from our classic souls shall be 
All thoughts of vulgar progeny ; 
And thou shalt walk through smiling rows 
Of chubby duodecimoes, 
W'hile I, to match thy products nearly, 
Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly. 
'Tis true, ev'n books entail some trouble ; 
But live productions give one double. 
Correcting children is such bother, — 
While printers' dev'ls correct the other. 
Just think, my own Malthusian dear, 
How much more decent 'tis to hear 
From male or female — as it may be — 
" How is your book ? " than " How's yom- baby ? " 
And, whereas physic and wet nurses 
Do much exhaust paternal purses, 
Our books, if rickety, may go 
And be well dry nurs'd in the Roto ; 

after the end of divine service they should not be disturbed, 
letted, or discouraged from any lawful recreations, such as 
dancing, either of men or women, archery for men, leapmg, 
vaulting, or any such harmless recreations, nor having of 
May games, Whitsun ales, or Morris dances, or setting up 
of May poles, or other sports tlierewith used," &c. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



605 



And, when God wills to take them hence, 
Are buried at the Bow's expense. 

Besides, (as 'tis well proved by thee, 

In thy own Works, vol. 93,) 

The march, just now, of population 

So much outstrips all moderation. 

That ev'n prolific herring shoals 

Keep pace not with our erring souls.' 

O far more proper and well bred 

To stick to writing books instead ; 

And show the world how two Blue lovers 

Can coalesce, like two book covers, 

(Sheepskin, or calf, or such wise leather,) 

Letter'd at back, and stitch'd together, 

Fondly as first the binder fix'd 'em, 

With nought but — literature betwixt 'em. 



SUNDAY ETHICS. 

A SCOTCH ODE. 

PuiR, profligate Londoners, having heard tell 
That the De'il's got amang ye, and fearing 
'tis true. 
We ha' sent ye a mon wha's a match for his 

spell, 
A chiel o' our ain, that the De'il himsel 

WiU be glad to keep clear of, one Andrew 
Agnew. 

So, at least, ye may reckon, for ane day entire 

In ilka lang week ye'U be tranquil eneugh, 

As Auld Nick, do him justice, abhors a Scotch 

squire. 
An' would sooner gae roast by his ain kitchen 
fire 
Than pass a hale Sunday wi' Andrew Agnew. 

For, bless the gude mon, gin he had his ain way, 

He'd na let a cat on the Sabbath say " mew ; " 

Nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie maun play. 

An' Phoebus himsel could na travel that day. 

As he'd find a new Joshua in Andie Agnew. 

Only hear, in your Senate, how awfu' he cries, 
" Wae, wae to a' sinners who boil an' who 
stew ! 

1 See «*ElIa of Garveloch." — Garveloch being a place 
where there was a large herring fishery, but where, as we 
are told by the author, " the people increased much faster 
than the produce." 



•' Wae, wae to a' eaters o' Sabbath-bak'd pies, 
" For as surely again shall the crust thereof rise 
"In judgment against ye," saith Andrew 
Agnew ! 

Ye may think, from a' this, that our Andic's the 
lad 
To ca' o'er the coals your nobeelity, too ; 
That their di-ives, o' a Sunday, wi' flunkies,^ a' 

clad 
Like Shawmen, behind 'em, would mak the mon 
mad — 
But he's nae sic a noodle, our Andie Agnew. 

If Lairds an' fine Ladies, on Sunday, think right 

To gang to the deevil — as maist o' em do — 

To stop them our Andie would think na polite ; 

And 'tis odds (if the chiel could get ony thing 

by't) 

But he'd follow 'em, booing,' would Andrew 

Agnew. 



AWFUL EVENT. 

Yes, W — nch — Is — a (I tremble while I pen it), 
W — nch — Is — a's Earl hath cut the British Sen- 
ate — 
Hath said to England's Peers, in accent gruff, 
" That iov ye all" [snapping his fingers], and 
exit, in a huff .' 

Disastrous news ! — like that of old, which 

spread 
From shore to shore, " our mighty Pan is dead," 
O'er the cross benches (cross from beinff cross'd) 
Sounds the loud waU, " Our W — nch — Is — a is 

lost ! " 

Which of ye. Lords, that heard him, can forget 
The deep impression of that awful threat, 
'« I quit your house ! ! " — 'midst all that his- 
tories tell, 
I know but one event that's parallel : — 

It chanc'd at Drury Lane, one Easter night, 
W^hen the gay gods, too blest to be polite, 
Gods at their ease, like those of learn'd Lu- 
cretius, 
Laugh'd, whistled, groan'd, uproariously face 
tious — 



2 Servants in livery. 

3 For the " gude effects and uteehtv ol booing ' see tne 
JMan uf the World. 



C06 SATIKKjAL and HUMOROUS POEMS. 


A well-dress'd member of the middle gallery, 


Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses, 


Whose " ears polite " disdain'd such low ca- 


Flock round when the harvest's in play, 


naillerie, 


And, not minding the farmer's distresses. 


Rose ill his place — so grand, j'ou'd almost swear 


Like devils in grain peck away. 


Lord W — nch — Is — a himself stood towering 




there — 


Go, number the locusts in heaven,* 


And like that Lord of dignity and nous, 


On their way to some titheable shore ; 


Said, " Silence, fellows, or — I'll leave the 


And when so many Parsons you've given, 


house ! ! " 


We still shall be craving for more. 


How brook'd the gods this speech ? Ah well- 


Then, unless ye the Church would submerge, ye 


aday, 


Must leave us in peace to augment. 


That speech so fine should be so thrown away ! 


For the wretch who could number i;he Clergy, 


In vain did this mid gallery grandee 


With lew will be ever content * 


Assert his own two-shilling dignity — 




In vain he menac'd to withdraw the ray 




Of his own full-price countenance away — 




Fun against Dignity is fearful odds. 




And as the Lords laugh note, so giggled ihe7i the 


A SAD CASE. 


gods! 


]8.'54 




" If it be the undergraduate season at which this rabies re- 




ligiosa is to be so fearful, what security has Mr. G— lb— n 




against it at this moment, when his son is actually ex- 




posed to the full venom of an association with Pissent- 


THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY. 


ers?" — r/i« Times, March 25. 


PAEODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS'S 


How sad a case ! — just think of it — 


FAMOUS ODE, 


If G— lb— n junior should be bit 




By some insane Dissenter, roaming 


"COME, CLOE, AND OIVB ME SIVEET KISSES." 






Through Granta's halls, at large and foaming, 


" We want more Churclies and more Clergj'men." 


And with that aspect, uHra crabbed 


Bishop of London's late Charge. 


Which marks Dissenters when they're rabid I 


" Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, augent." 


God only knows what mischiefs might 


Claudian in Eutrop. 


Result from this one single bite, 


Come, give us more Livings and Rectors, 


Or how the venom, once suck'd in, 


For, richer no realm ever gave ; 


Might spread and rage through kith and kin 


But why, ye unchristian objectors, 


Mad folks, of all denominations, 


Do ye ask us how many we crave ? ' 


First turn upon their own relations : 




So that 07te G— lb— n, fairly bit, 


0, there can't be too many rich Livings 


Might end in maddening the whole' kit, 


For souls of the Pluralist kind. 


Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue 


^Yho, despising old Cocker's misgivings. 


Our G — lb — n senior bitten too ; 


To numbers can ne'er be confin'd. ^ 


The Hychurchphobia in those veins, 




Where Tory blood now redly reigns ; ■ • 


Count the cormorants hovering about,' 


And that dear man, who now perceives 


At the time their fish season sets in, 


Salvation only in lawn sleeves. 


When these models of keen diners-out 


Might, tainted by such coarse infection. 


Are preparing their beaks to begin. 


Run mad in th' opposite direction. 


' Come, Cloe, and give me sweet kisses, 


4 Go number the stars in the heaven, 


For sweeter sure never girl gave ; 


Count how many sands on -.he shore; 


But why, in the midst of my blisses, 


When so many kisses you've given. 


Do you ask me how many I'd liave? 


I still shall be craving for more. 


« For wliilst I love thee above measure, 




To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd. 


» But the wretch who can number liis kisses, 


I Count the bees that on Hybla are playing. 


With few will be ever contenu 


0<'iint the flowers that enamel its fields, 




Count the flocks, &c. 





SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



607 



And think, poor man, 'tis only given 
To linsey -vvoolsey to reach Heaven ! 

Just fancy what a shock 'twould be 
Our G — lb — n in his fits to see. 
Tearing into a thousand particles 
His once-lov'd Nine and Thirty Articles; 
(Those Articles his friend, the Duke,' 
For Gospel, t'other night, mistook ;) 
Cursing cathedrals, deans, and singers — 
"Wishing the ropes might hang the ringers — 
Pi'lting the church with blasphemies, 
Even worse than Parson B — v — rl — y's ; — 
And ripe for severing Church and State, 
Like any creedless reprobate. 
Or like that class of Methodists 
Prince Waterloo styles •• Atheists ! " 

But 'tis too much — the Muse turns pale, 
And o'er the picture drops a veil, 
Praying, God save the G — lb — rns all 
From mad Dissenters, great and small ! 



A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN. 
risum teneatis, amici. 

" The longer one lives, the more one learns," 

Said I, as off to sleep I went, 
Bomus'd with thinking of Tithe concerns, . . • 
And reading a book, by the Bishop of Ferns, ^ 

On the Irish Church Establishment. 
But, lo, in sleep, not long I laj', 

Wlien Fancy her iisual tricks began. 
And I found myself bewitch'd away 

To a goodly city in Hindostan — 
A city, where he, who dares to dine 

On aught but rice, is deem'd a sinner ; 
Where sheep and kine are held divine, 

And, accordingly — never dress'd for dinner. 

" But how is this ? " I wondering cried — 
As I walk'd that city, fair and wide. 
And saw, m every marble street, 

A row of beautiful butchers' shops — 
" What means, for men Avho don't eat meat, 

•• This grand display of loins and chops ? " 
In vain I ask'd — 'twas plain to see 
That nobody dar'd to answer me. 
So, on, from street to street I strode ; 
And you can't conceive how vastly odd 



1 The Duke of Well! 
cles of Cliristianity." 



gton, who styled them " the Arti- 



The butchers look'd — a roseate crew, 
Enshrin'd in stalls, with nought to do ; 
While some on a bench, half dozing, sat. 
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat 

Still pos'd to think, what all this scene 

Of sinecure trade was meant to mean, 

" And, pray," ask'd I — " by whom is paid 

The expense of this strange masquerade ? " — 

" Th' expense ! — O, that's of course defray'd 

(Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers) 

" By yonder rascally rice consumers." 

" What ! thet/, who mustn't eat meat ! " — 

" No matter 
(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew fatter,) 
" The rogues may munch their Paddi/ crop, 
" But the rogues must still support our shop. 
" And, depend upon it, the way to treat 

" Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, 
" Is to burden all that won't eat meat, 

" With a costly Meat Establishment." 

On hearing these words so gravely said. 

With a volley of laughter loud I shook ; 
And my slumber fled, and my dream was sped, 
And I found I was lying snug in bed. 

With my nose in the Bishop of Fekns's book. 



THE BRUNSWICK CLUB. 

A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished per- 
sonage, requesting him to become the Patron of thia 
Orange Club, a polite answer was fortliwith returned, of 
wliich we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy. 

Brimstone Hall, September 1. 1828 
Private. — Loud Belzebub presents 
To the Brunswick Club his compliments, 
And much regrets to say that he 
Cannot, at present, their Patron be. 
In stating this, Lord Belzebub 
Assures, on his honor, the Brunswick Club, 
That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack 
Of zeal or fire he thus holds back — 
As ev'n Lord Coal ^ himself is not 
For the Orange party more red hot : 
But the truth is, till their Club affords 
A somewhat decenter show of Lords, 
And on its list of members gets 
A few less rubbishy Baronets, 
Lord Belzebub must beg lb be 
Excused from keeping such company. 



2 An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholic pamphlets 

3 Usually written " Cole." 



SATIRICAL. AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Who the devil, he humbly begs to know, 

Are Lord Gl — ud — ne, and Lord D — nlo ? 

Or who, with a grain of sense, would go 

To sit and be bored bj' Lord M — yo ? 

"What living creature — except his nurse — 

For Lord M — ntc — sh — 1 cares a curse, 

Or thinks 'twould matter if Lord M— sk — rry 

Were t'other side of the Stygian ferry ? 

Breathes there a man in Dublin town, 

Who'd give but half of half a crown 

To save from drowning my Lord R — thd — ne, 

Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in 

Lords II — d — n, B — nd — n, C — le, and J — c — 

1— n? 
In short, though, from his tenderest years, 
Accustom'd to all sorts of Peers, 
Lord Belzebub much questions whether 
He ever yet saw, mix'd together, 
As 'twere in one capacious tub. 
Such a mess of noble silly-bub 
As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club. 
'Tis therefore impossible that Lord B. 
Could stoop to such society, 
Thinking, he owns (though no great prig), 
For one in his station 'twere infra dig. 
But he begs to propose, in the interim 
(Till they find some prop'rer Peers for him). 
His Highness of C — mb — d, as Sub, 
To take his place at the Brunswick Club — 
Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub 
Their obedient servant, Belzebub. 

It luckily happens, the R — y — 1 Duke 

Resembles so much, in air and look. 

The head of the Belzebub family. 

That few can any difference see ; 

Which makes him, of course, the better suit 

To serve as Lord B.'s substitute. 



PROPOSALS FOR A GYN^COCRACY. 

ADDRESSED TO A LATE EADICAL MEETING. 

1834. 
- " Q.uas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla 
Delegit pacisque bonas bellique ministras." 

VlBGIL. 

As Whig Reform has had its range. 

And none of us are yet content. 
Suppose, my friends, by way of change. 

We try a Female rSrliament ; 
And since, of late, with he M. P.'s 
We've fared so badly, take to she's — 
Petticoat patriots, fiounc'd John Russells, 
Burdetts in blonde, and Broughams in bustles. 



The plan is startling, I confess — 
But 'tis but an affair of dress ; 
Nor sec I much there is to choose 

'Twixt Ladies (so they're thorough-bred ones) 
In ribbons of all sorts of hues, 

Or Lords in only blue or red ones. 

At least, the fiddlers will be winners, 

Whatever other trade advances ; 
As then, instead of Cabinet dinners, 

We'll have, at Almack's, Cabinet dances ; 
Nor let this world's important questions 
Depend on Ministers' digestions. 

If Ude's receipts have done things ill, 

To Weippert's band they may go better ; 
There's Lady * *, in one quadrille. 

Would settle Europe, if you'd let her : 
And who the dense or asks, or cares, 

When Whigs or Tories have undone 'em. 
Whether they've danc'd through State affairs. 

Or simply, dully, diii'd upon 'em ? 

Hurrah then for the Petticoats ! 

To them we pledge our free-born votes ; 

We'U have all she, and only she — 

Pert blues shall act as " best debaters" 
Old dowagers our Bishops be. 

And termagants our Agitators. 

If Vestris, to oblige the nation. 

Her own Olympus will abandon. 
And help to prop th' Administration, 

It can't have better legs to stand on. 
The fam'd Macaulay (Miss) shall show, 

Each evening, forth in learn'd oration , 
Shall move (midst general cries of " O ! ") 

For full returns of population : 
And, finally, to crown the whole. 
The Princess Olive,' Royal soul. 
Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, 
Descend, to bless her faithful lieges. 
And, mid our Union's loyal chorus, 
Reign jollily forever o'er us. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * * 
Sir, 
Having heard some rumors respecting the strange and 
awful visitation under which Lord H — nl— y has for some 
time past been suffering, in consequence of his declared hog- 

1 A personage, so styling herself, who attained considera 
ble notoriety at that period. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



lility to " anthems, solos, duets," i &c., 1 took the liberty 
of making inquiries at his Lordship's house this morning, 
and lose no time in transmitting to you such particulars as 1 
could collect. It is said that the screams of his Lordship, 
under the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, no 
doubt, some trick of the Radicals,) may be heard all over 
the neighborhood. The female who personates St. Cecilia 
is supposed to be the same that, last year, appeared in the 
character of Isis, at the Rotunda. How the cherubs are 
managed, I have not yet ascertained. 

Yours, &c. P. P. 



LORD II— NL— Y AND ST. CECILIA. 



HORAT. 

■ 1833. 



in Metii descendat Judicis aures. 

As snug in his bed Lord H — nl — y lay, 
Revolving much his own renown, 

And hoping to add thereto a ray, 
By putting duets and anthems down, 



Sudden a strain of choral sounds 

Mellifluous o'er his senses stole ; 
Whereat the Reformer mutter'd, " Zounds ! " 

For he loath' d sweet music with all his soul. 

Then, starting up, he saw a sight 

That well might shock so learn'd a snorer — 
Saint Cecilia, rob'd in light, 

With a portable organ slung before her. 

And round were Cherubs, on rainbow wings, 
Who, his Lordship fear'd, might tire of flitting. 

So begg'd they'd sit — but ah ! poor things. 
They'd, none of them, got the means of sitting.^ 

" Having heard," said the Saint, " you're fond 
of hymns, 

" And indeed, that musical snore betray'd you, 
" Myself, and my choir of cherubims, 

" Are come, for a while, to serenade you." 

In vain did the horrified H — nl — y say 

" 'Twas all a mistake " — " she was misdi- 
rected ; " 

And point to a concert, over the way. 

Where fiddlers and angels were expected. 

In vain — the Saint could see in his looks 
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore ; 

So, at once, all open'd their music books, 

And herself and her Cherubs set off at score. 

1 In a work, on Church Reform, published by his Lord- 
ship in 1832. 

2 " Asseyez-vous, mes enfans." — "II n'y a pas de quoi, 
nion Seigneur." 

2 Written at that memorable crisis when a distinguished 
77 



All night duets, terzets, quartets, 

Nay, long quintets most dire to hear ; 

Ay, and old motets, and canzonets, 
And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear. 

He tried to sleep — but it wouldn't do ; 

So loud they squall'd, he must attend to 'em , 
Though Cherubs' songs, to his cost he knew, 

Were like themselves, and had no end to 'em. 

O judgment dire on judges bold, 

AVho meddle with music's sacred strains ! 

Judge Midas tried the same of old. 

And was punish' d, like H — nl — y, for his 
pains. 

But worse on the modern judge, alas ! 

Is the sentence launch'd from Apollo's throne ; 
For Midas was given the ears of an ass. 

While H — nl — y is doom'd to keep his own ! 



ADVERTISEMENT.' 

1830. 
Missing or lost, last Sunday night, 

A Waterloo coin, whereon was trac'd 
Th' inscription, " Courage ! " in letters bright, 
Though a little by rust of years defac'd. 

The metal thereof is rough and hard. 

And ('tis thought of late) mix'd up with brass ; 

But it bears the stamp of Fame's award, 
And through all Posterity's hands Avill pass. 

Hoio it was lost, God only knows, 
But certain City thieves, they say, 

Broke in on the owner's evening dose. 
And filch'd this " gift of gods " away ! 

One ne'er could, of course, the Cits suspect, 
If we hadn't, that evening, chanc'd to see, 

At the robb'd man's door, a Mare elect. 
With an ass to keep her company. 

Whosoe'er of this lost treasure knows, 
Is begg'd to state all facts about it, 

As the owner can't well face his foes, 

Nor ev'n his friends, just now, without it. 

Duke, then Prime Minister, acting under the ins-pirations 
of Sir CI— d — s H — nt — r and other City wortliies, advised 
his Majesty to give up his aimouuced intention of dining 
with the Lord Mayor. 



510 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And if Sir Clod will bring it back, 
Like a trusty Baronet, wise and able, 

He shall have a ride on the whitest haok 
That's left in old King George's stable. 



MISSING. 

Carlton Terrace, 1832. 
Wheueas, Lord ****««de ******* 
Left his home last Saturday, 
And, though inquir'd for, round and round, 
Through certain purlieus, can't be found ; 
And whereas, none can solve our queries 
As to where this virtuous Peer is. 
Notice is hereby giv'n, that all 
^lay forthwith to inquiring fall, 
As, once the things well sot about. 
No doubt but we shall hunt him out. 

His Lordship's mind, of late, they say, 

Hath been in an uneasy way. 

Himself and colleagues not being let 

To climb into the Cabinet, 

To settle England's state affairs. 

Hath much, it seems, t»isettlcd theirs; 

And chief to this stray Plenipo 

Hath been a most distressing blow. 

Already, — certain to receive a 

"Well-paid mission to the Neva, 

And be the bearer of kind words 

To tyrant Nick from Tory Ijords, — 

To fit himself for free discussion. 

His Lordship had been learning Russian ; 

And all so natural to him were 

The accents of the Northern bear, 

That, while his tones were in your ear, you 

^Might swear you were in sweet Siberia. 

And still, poor Peer, to old and young. 

He goes on raving in that tongue ; 

Tells you how much you would enjoy a 

Trip to Dalnodoubrowskoya ; " 

Talks of such places, by the score, on 

As Oulisftiirmchinagoboron,' 

And swears (for he at nothing sticks) 

That Russia swarms with Raskol-niks,* 

Though one such Nick, God knows, must be, 

A more than ample quantity. 

1 Among otiier remarkable attributes by which Sir 
01— (I — a distinguished himself, the dazzling whiteness of 
Ills favorite steed was not the least conspicuous. 

- In the Government of Perm. 

3 Territory belonging to the mines of Kolivano-Kosskres- 
Eense. 

< The name of a religious sect in Russia. " II existo en 
Russia plusif-uri «9Ctes ; la plus nombreuse est celle des Ras- 



Such are the marks by which to know 
This stray' d or stolen Plenipo ; 
And whosoever brings or sends 
The unhappy statesman to his friends. 
On Carlton Terrace, shall have thanks. 
And — any paper but the Bank's. 

P. S. — Some think, the disappearance 
Of this our diplomatic Peer hence 
Is for the purpose of reviewing. 
In person, what dear Mig is doing. 
So as to 'scape all telltale letters 
'Bout B — s— d, and such abetters, — 
The only •' wretches " for whose aid* 
Letters seem not to have been made. 



THE DANCE OF BISHOPS; 

OH, THE EPISCOPAL QUADIULLE.* 



1833. 
" Solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, 
admitted among the primitive Christians, in which even 
the Bishops and dignified Clergy were performers. Scai- 
iger says, that the first Bishops were called Prasules'' for 
no other reason than that they led off these dances." — 
Cijclop<Bdia, art. Dances. 

I've had such a dream — a frightful dream — 
Though funny, mayhap, to wags 'twill seem, 
By all who regard the Church, like us, 
'Twill be thought exceedingly ominous ! 

As reading in bed I lay last night — 
Which (being insured) is my delight — 
I happen'd to doze off just as I got to 
The singular fact which forms my motto. 
Only think, thought I, as I doz'd away. 
Of a party of Churchmen dancing the hay ! 
Clerks, curates, and rectors, capering all. 
With a neat-legg'd Bishop to open the ball ! 

Scarce had my eyelids time to close, 

When the scene I had fancied before me rose — 

An Episcopal Hop, on a scale so grand 

As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. 

For, Britain and Erin clubb'd their Sees 

To make it a Dance of Dignities, 

And I saw — O brightest of Church events ! 

A quadrille of the two Establishments, 

kol-niks, ou vrai-croyants."— Gamba, Voyage dans la Rus- 
sie JUcridionale, 

6 " Ileav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid." Pope. 

8 Written on the passing of the menir able Bill, in the 
year 1833, for the abolition often Irish Bishoprics. 
' Literally, First Dancers, 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Bishop to Bishop vis-d.-vis, 
Footing away prodigiously. 

There -was Bristol capering up to Derry, 

And Cork with London making merry ; 

While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so, 

Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe. 

There was Chester, hatch'd by woman's smile, 

Performing a chatne des Dames in style ; 

While he who, whene'er the Lords' House dozes, 

Can waken them up by citing Moses,' 

The portly Tuam, was all in a hurry 

To set, e/i avant, to Canterbury. 

Meantime, while pamphlets stuff d his pockets, 

(All out of date, like spent sky rockets,) 

Our Exeter stood forth to caper, 

As high on the floor as he doth on paper — 

Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise, 

Who pirouettes his whole church service — 

Performing, 'midst those reverend souls, 

Such entrechats, such cabrloles, 

Such baloimds,^ such — rigmaroles, 

Now high, now low, now this, now that. 

That none could guess what the dev'l he'd be at ; 

Though, watching his various steps, some 

thought 
That a step in the Church was all he sought. 

But alas, alas ! while thus so gay. 

These rev'rend dancers frisk'd away, 

Nor Paul himself (not the saint, but he 

Of the Opera house) could brisker be. 

There gathered a gloom around their glee — 

A shadow, which came and went so fast. 

That ere one could say " 'Tis there," 'twas past, 

And, lo, when the scene again was clcar'd. 

Ten of the dancers had disappear' d ! 

Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept 

From the hallow'd floor where late they stepp'd. 

While twelve was all that footed it stiU, 

On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille ! 

Nor this the worst : — still danc'd they on, 
But the pomp was sadden'd, the smile was gone ; 
And again, from time to time, the same 
Ill-omened darkness round them came — 
While still, as the light broke out anew, 
Their ranks look'd less by a dozen or two ; 
Till ah ! at last there were only found 
Just Bishops enough for a four-hands-round; 

1 "And what does Moses say?" — One of the ejacula- 
tions with wh.ch this eminent prelate enlivened his famous 
speech on the <Jath<ilic question. 

2 A description of the method of executing this step may 
Ve useful to future performers in the same line : — " Ce pas 



And when I awoke, impatient getting, 
I left the last holy pair iMmsetting ! 

N. B. — As ladies in years, it seems. 
Have the happiest knack at solving dreams, 
I shall leave to my ancient feminine friends 
Of the Standard to say what this portends. 



DICK * * * *. 

A CHARACTER. 

Of various scraps and fragments built, 

Borrow'd alike from fools and wits, 
Dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt, 

Made up of new, old, motley bits — 
Where, if the Co. call'd in their shares, 

If petticoats their quota got. 
And gowns were all refunded theirs. 

The quilt would look but shy, God wot. 

And thus he still, new plagiaries seeking, 

Revers'd ventriloquism's trick. 
For, 'stead of Dick through others speaking, 

'Twas others we heard speak through Dick. 
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding. 

Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats ; 
One day, with Malthus, foe to breeding. 

The next, with Sadler, all for brats. 

Poor Dick ! — and how else could it be ? 

With notions aU at random caught, 
A sort of mental fricassee, 

Made up of legs and wings of thought — 
The leavings of the last Debate, or 

A dinner, yesterday, of wits. 
Where Dick sate by and, like a waiter, 

Had the scraps for perquisites. 



A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME LATE 
SPEECHES. 

" Then I heard one saint speaking, and another saint said 
unto that saint." 

1834. 
St. S — NCL — R rose and declar'd in sooth, 
That he wouldn't give sixpence to Maynooth. 
He had hated priests the whole of his life. 
For a priest was a man who had no wife.' 

est compose de deux mouvemens differens, savoir, pKer, et 
sauter sur tin pied, et se rejeter sur Vautre." — Dkiioimairt 
de Danse, art. Contre-temps. 

3 " He objected to the maintenance and education of a 
clergy bound by the particular vows of celibaeij, which, as u 



612 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And, having no wife, the Church was his 

mother, 
The Church was his father, sister, and brother. 
This being the case, he was sorry to say, 
That a gulf 'twixt Papist and Protestant lay,* 
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it 
To say even " how d'ye do ? " across it : 
And though your Liberals, nimble as fleas, 
Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 
'Twas a jump that nought on earth could make 
Your j)roper, heavy-built Christian take. 
No, no, — if a Dance of Sects must be, 
He would set to the Baptist willingly,'' 
At the Independent deign to smirk. 
And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk ; 
Nay ev'n, for once, if needs must be. 
He'd take hands round with all the three ; 
But, as to a jig with Popery, no, — 
To the Harlot ne'er would he point his toe. 

St. M — nd — V — le was the next that rose, — 
A Saint who round, as pedler, goes, 
With his pack of piety and prose, 
Heavy and hot enough, God knows, — 
And he said that Papists were much inclin'd 
To extirpate all of Protestant kind. 
Which he couldn't, in truth, so much con- 
demn, 
Having rather a wish to extirpate them ; 
That is, — to guard against mistake, — 
To extirpate them for their doctrine's sake ; 
A distinction Churchmen always make, — 
Insomuch that, when they've prime control. 
Though sometimes roasting heretics whole, 
They but cook the body for sake of the soul. 

Next jump'd St. J — hnst — n jollily forth. 
The spiritual Dogberry of the North, ^ 
A right " wise fellow, and, what's more. 
An officer," * like his type of yore ; 
And he ask'd, if we grant such toleration, 
Pray, what's the use of our Reformation ? * 
What is the use of our Church and State ? 
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe, and Rate ? 
And, still as he yell'd out " what's the use ? " 
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse 

were, gave them the church as their only family, making it Jill 
the places of father and mother and brother." — Debate on the 
Grant to Maynooth College, The Times, April 19. 

1 " It had always appeared to him that between the Catho- 
lic and Protestant a great gulf intervened, which rendered 
it impossible," &c. 

2 " The Baptist might acceptably extend tlie offices of re- 
ligion to the Presbyterian and tlie Independent, or the mem- 
ber of the Churcli of England to any of the other three ; but 
the Catholic," &c. 



Where they'd for centuries slept, broke 
Yelling responsive, " What's the usef " 



MORAL POSITIONS. 

A DREAM. 

" His Lordship said that it took a long time for a moral po- 
silion to find its way across the Atlantic. He was very 
sorry that its voyage had been so long," &c. — Speech 
of Lord Dudley and Ward on Colonial Slavery, March 8. 

T'other night, after hearing Lord Dudley's ora- 
tion, 
(A treat that comes once a year as May day 
does), 
I dreamt that I saw — what a strange operation ! 
A " moral position " shipp'd off for Barbadoes ! 

The whole Bench of Bishops stood by in grave 
attitudes, 
Packing the article tidy and neat ; — 
As their Rev'rences know, that in southerly 
latitudes 
" Moral positions " don't keep very sweet. 

There was B — th — st arranging the custom-house 
pass; 
And, to guard the frail package from tousing 
and routing. 
There stood my Lord Eld — n, indorsing it 
" Glass," 
Though as to which side should lie upper- 
most, doubting. 

The freight was, however, stow'd safe in the 
hold; 
The winds were polite, and the moon look'd 
romantic, 
AVhile off in the good ship " The Truth " we 
were roU'd, 
With our ethical cargo, across the Atlantic. 

Long, dolefully long, seem'd the voyage we 
made ; 
For "The Truth," at all times but a very 
slow sailer, 

3 " Could he then, holding as he did a spiritual office in 
the Church of Scotland, (cries of hear, and laughter,) with 
any consistency give his consent to a grant of money ' " 
&c. 

< " I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an officer." 
Much Ado about J^othing. 

5 " What, he asked, was the use of the Reformations 
What was the use of the Articles of the (Church of England, 
or of the Church of Scotland ? " &c. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



6i; 



By friends, near as much as by foes, is delay' d, 
And few come aboard her, though so many 
hail her. 

At length, safe arrived, I went through " tare 
and tret," 
Deliver'd my goods in the primest condition. 
And next morning read, in the Bridgetown Ga- 
zette, 
" Just arrived by ' The Truth,' a new moral 
position. 

»The Captain" — here, startled to find myself 
nam'd 
As " the Captain " — (a thing which, I own 
it with pain, 
I through life have avoided,) I woke — look'd 
asham'd. 
Found I wasn't a captain, and doz'd off again. 



THE MAD TORY AND THE COMET. 

FOUNDED ox A LATE DISTRESSING INCIDENT. 



" Mutantem regna coinetem. 



LUCAN.I 



' Though all the pet mischiefs we count upon, 
fail, 
" Though Cholera, hurricanes, Wellington 
leave us, 
" We've still in reserve, mighty Comet, thy 
tail ; — 
" Last hope of the Tories, wilt thou too de- 
ceive us ? 

'♦No — 'tis coming, 'tis coming, th' avenger is 
nigh ; 
"Heed, hoed not, ye placemen, how Herapath 
flatters ; 
" One whisk from that tail, as it passes us by, 
" Will settle, at once, all political matters ; — 

« The East India Question, the Bank, the Five 
Powers, 
(" Now turn'd into two) with their rigmarole 
Protocols ; * — 



1 Eclipses and comets have been always looked to as 
great changers of administrations. Thus Miltun, speaking 
of tlie former : — 

" With fear of change 
Perplexing monarchs." 
ind in Statins we And, 

" Mutant quae sceptra comets." 



" Ha ! ha ! ye gods, how this new friend of ours 
" Will knock, right and left, aU diplomacy's 
what-d'ye-calls ! 

" Yes, rather than Whigs at our downfall should 
mock, 
" Meet planets, and suns, in one general hus- 
tle ! 
"While, happy in vengeance, wo welcome the 
shock 
" That shall jerk from their places. Grey, Al- 
thorp, and Russell." 

Thus spoke a mad Lord, as, with telescope rais'd. 

His wild Tory eye on the heavens he set; 
And, though nothing destructive appear'd as he 
gaz'd, 
Much hop'd that there would, before Parlia- 
ment met. 

And still, as odd shapes seem'd to flit through 
his glass, 
'< Ha ! there it is now," the poor maniac cries , 
While his fancy with forms but too monstrous, 
alas ! 
From his own Tory zodiac, peoples the skies : 

" Now I spy a big body, good heavens, how big ! 
"Whether Bucky"" or Taurus I cannot weU 
say : — 
" And, yonder, there's Eld — n's old Chancery 
wig, 
" In its dust)' aphelion fast fading away. 

" I see, 'mong those fatuous meteors behind, 

" L — nd — nd — ry, in vacuo, flaring about ; — 
" While that dim double star, of the nebulous 
kind, 
«' Is the Gemini, R — den and L — rt — n, no 
doubt. 

" Ah, El — b'r — h ! 'faith, I first thought 'twas 
the Comet ; 
" So like that in Milton, it made me quite pale , 
" The head with the same ' horrid hair ' * com- 
ing from it, 
" And plenty of vapor, but — where is tha 
taU?" 



2 See, for some of these Protocols, the Annual Register 
for the year 1833. 

3 TheD-eofB— ck— m. 

* " And from his horrid hair 

Shakes pestilence and war " 



;i4 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS 



Just then, up aloft jump'd the gazer elated — 
For, lo, his bright glass a phenomenon show'd, 

Which he took to be C — mb — rl — d, tipwards 
translated, 
Instead of his natural course, t'other road ! 

But too awful that sight for a spirit so shaken, — 
Down dropp'd the poor Torj- in fits and gri- 
maces, 
Ihen off to the Bedlam in Charles Street was 
taken. 
And is now one of Halford's most favorite 
cases. 



FROM THE HON. HENRY 
LADY EMMA 



-, TO 



Paris, March 30, 1832. 
You bid me explain, my dear angry Ma'amselle, 
How I came thus to bolt without saying farewell ; 
And the truth is, — as truth you ivill have, my 
sweet railer, — 
There are two worthy persons I always feel 
loath 
To take leave of at starting, — my mistress and 
tailor, — 
As somehow one always has scenes with them 
both; 
The Snip in ill humor, the Siren in tears, 

She calling on Heaven, and he on th' attor- 
ney, — 
Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his 
dears, 
A young gentleman risks being stopp'd in his 
journey. 

But, to come to the point, — though j^ou think, 

I dare say, 
That 'tis debt or the Cholera drives me away. 
Ton honor you're wrong ; — such a mere baga- 
telle 
As a pestilence, nobody, nowadays, fears ; 
And the fact is, my love, I'm thus bolting, pell- 
mell. 
To get out of the way of these horrid new- 
Peers ; ' 
This deluge of coronets, frightful to think of, 
"Which England is now, for her sins, on the brink 

of; 
This coinage of nobles, — coin'd, all of 'em, badly. 
And sure to bring Counts to a discount most 
sadly. 

1 A new cieation of Peers was generally expected at this 



Only think, to have Lords overrunning the na- 
tion. 

As plenty as frogs in a Dutch inundation ; 

No shelter from Barons, from Earls no protec- 
tion. 

And tadpole young Lords, too, in every direc- 
tion, — 

Things created in haste, just to make a CouU 
list of, 

Two legs and a coronet all they consist ot ; 

The prospect's quite frightful, and what Sii 
George R — se 
(My particular friend) says is perfectly true, 

That, so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 
'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's 
to do ; 

And Sir George even doubts, — could he choose 
his disorder, — 

'Twixt coffin and coronet, which he would order. 

This being the case, why, I thought, my dear 

Emma, 
'Twere best to fight shy of so curs'd a dilemma ; 
And though I confess myself somewhat a villain, 

To've left idol mio without an addio. 
Console your sweet heart, and, a week hence, 
from Milan 
I'll send you — some news of Bellini's last 
trio. 

N. B. — Have just pack'd up my travelling set 
out, 

Things a tourist in Italy can't go without — 

Viz., a pair of gants gras, from old Houbigant's 
shop, 

Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might 
chap. 

Small presents for ladies, — and nothing so whee- 
dles 

The creatures abroad as your golden-ey'd nee- 
dles. 

A neat pocket Horace, by which folks are coz- 
en'd 

To think one knows Latin, when — one, perhaps, 
doesn't ; 

With some little book about heathen mythology, 

Just large enough to refresh one's theology ; 

Nothing on earth being half such a bore as 

Not knowing the diff'rence 'twixt Virgins and 
Floras. 

Once more, love, farewell, best regards to the 
girls. 

And mind you beware of damp feet and new 
Earls. 

Henkt. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



6U 



TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY. 

* College. — We announced, in our last, that Lefroy and 
Pliaw were returned. They were chaired yesterday ; the 
Students of the College determined, it would seem, to im- 
itate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the 
car, and the Masters of Arts hearing Orange flags and 
bludgeons before, beside, and behind the car." 

Dublin Evening' Post, Dec. 20, 1832. 

Ay, yoke ye to the bigot's car, 

Ye chos'n of Alma Mater's scions ; — 
Fleet chargers drew the God of War, 

Great Cybele was drawn by lions, 
And Sylvan Pan, as Poets dream, 
Drove four young panthers in his team. 
Thus classical L — fr — y, for once, is, 

Thus, studious of a like turnout. 
He harnesses young sucking dunces, 

To draw him, as their Chief, about. 
And let the worM a picture see 
Of Dulness yok'd to Bigotry : 
Showing us how young College hacks 
Can pace with bigots at their backs, 
As though the cubs were born to draw 
Such luggage as L — fr — y and Sh — w. 

O shade of Goldsmith, shade of Swift, 

Bright spirits whom, in days of yore, 
This Queen of Dulness sent adrift. 

As aliens to her foggy shore ; ' — 
Shade of our glorious Grattan, too. 

Whose very name her shame recalls ; 
Whose effigy her bigot crew 

Revers'd upon their monkish walls,* — 
Bear witness (lest the world should doubt) 

To your mute Mother's dull renown, 
Then famous but for Wit turn'd out, 

And Eloquence turit'd upside down ; 
But now ordain'd new wreaths to win. 

Beyond all fame of former days. 
By breaking thus young donkeys in 

To draw M. P.'s, amid the brays 

Alike of donkies and M. A.'s ; — 
Defying Oxford to surpass 'em 
lu this new " Gradus ad Parnassum." 



1 See the lives of these two poets for the circumstances 
ander which they left Dublin College. 

2 In the year 1799, the Board of Trinity College, Dublin, 
thought proper, as a mode of expressing their disapprobation 
of Mr. Grattan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in tlie 



TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL 
LANGUAGE. 

Scripta manet. 

1833. 
'TwAS graved on the Stone of Destiny,' 
In letters four, and letters three ; 
And ne'er did the King of the Gulls go by 
But those awful letters scar'd his eye ; 
For he knew that a Prophet Voice had said, 
" As long as those words by man were read, 
•' The ancient race of the Gulls should ne'er 
" One hour of peace or plenty share." 
But years on years successive flew. 
And the letters still more legible grew, — 
At top, a T, an H, an E, 
And underneath, D. E. B. T. 

Some thought them Hebrew, — such as Jews, 
More skill'd in Scrip than Scripture, use ; 
While some surmis'd 'twas an ancient way 
Of keeping accounts, (well known in the day 
Of the fam'd Didlerius Jeremias, 
Who had thereto a wonderful bias,) 
And prov'd in books most learn' dly boring, 
'Twas called the Vowtick way of scoring. 

Howe'er this be, there never were yet 

Seven letters of the alphabet, 

That, 'twixt them, form'd so grim a spell. 

Or scar'd a Land of Gulls so well, 

As did this awful riddle-me-ree 

Of T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 

***** 

Hark ! — it is struggling Freedom's cry ; 

" Help, help, ye nations, or I die ; 

" 'Tis Freedom's tight, and, on the field 

«' Where I expire, your doom is seal'd." 

The Gull King hears the awakening call. 

He hath summon' d his Peers and Patriots all, 

And he asks, •' Ye noble Gulls, shall we 

" Stand basely by at the fall of the Free, 

" Nor utter a curse, nor deal a blow ? " 

And they answer, with voice of thunder, " No.' 

Out fly their flashing swords in the air ! — 
But, — why do they rest suspended there ? 
What sudden blight, what baleful charm. 
Hath chiU'd each eye, and check'd each arm ? 

Great Hall of the University, to be turned upside down, and 
in this position it remained for some time. 

3 Liafail, or the Stone of Destiny, — for which see West 
minster Abbey. 



616 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Alas ! some withering hand hath thrown 
The veil from off that fatal stone, 
And pointing now, with sapless finger, 
Showeth where dark those letters linger, — 
Letters four, and letters three, 
T. H. E. D. E. B. T. 

At sight thereof, each lifted brand 

Powerless falls from every hand ; 

In vain the Patriot knits his brow, — 

Even talk, his staple, fails him now. 

In vain the King like a hero treads. 

His Lords of the Treasury shake their heads ; 

And to all his talk of " brave and free," 

No answer getteth His Majesty 

But " T. H. E. D. E. B. T." 

In short, the whole Gull nation feels 

They're fairly spellbound, neck and heels ; 

And so, in the face of the laughing world. 

Must e'en sit down, with banners furl'd, 

Adjourning all their dreams sublime 

Of glory and war to — some other time. 



NOTIONS ON REFORM. 

BY A MODERK REFORMER. 

Of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pass 
By this comet-like Bill, with its long tail of 
speeches. 
The saddest and worst is the schism which, alas ! 
It has caused between W — th — r — I's waist- 
coat and breeches. 

Some symptoms of this Anti-Union propensity 
Had oft broken out in that quarter before ; 

But the breach, since the Bill, has attain'd such 
immensity, 
Daniel himself could have scarce wish'd it 



0, haste to repair it, ye friends of good order, 
\'e Atw — ds and W — nns, ere the moment is 
pass'd ; 
Who can doubt that we tread upon Anarchy's 
border. 
When the ties that should hold men are 
loosening so fast ? 

1 It will be recollected that the learned gentleman him- 
self boasted, one night, in the House of Commons, of having 
Bat in the very chair which this allegorical lady had occu- 
pied. 

2 Lucan's description of the effects of the tripod on the 



Make AV — th — r — 1 yield to " some sort of Re- 
form " 
(As we all must, God help us ! with very wry 
faces) ; 
And loud as he likes let him bluster and storm 
About Corporate Rights, so he'll only wear 
braces. 

Should those he now sports have been long in 
possession. 
And, like his own borough, the worse for the 
wear, 
Advise him, at least, as a prudent concession 
To Intellect's progress, to buy a new pair. 

O, who that e'er saw him, when vocal he stands, 
With a look something midway 'twixt Filch's 
and Lockit's, 
While still, to inspire him, his deeply-thrust 
hands 
Keep jingling the rhino in both breeches 
pockets — 

"Who that ever has listen'd through groan and 
through cough, 
To the speeches inspir'd by this music of 
pence, — 
But must grieve that there's any thing Vike fall- 
ing off 
In that great nether source of his wit and his 
sense r 

Who that knows how he look'd when, with 
grace debonair. 
He began first to court — rather late in the 
season — 
Or when, less fastidious, he sat in the chair 
Of his old friend, the Nottingham Goddess 
of Reason ; ' 

That Goddess, whose borough-like virtue at- 
tracted 
All mongers in both wares to proffer their love ; 
Whose chair like the stool of the Pythoness acted, 
As W — th — r — I's rants, ever since, go to 
prove ; - 

W?io, in short, would not grieve, if a man of his 
graces 
Should go on rejecting, unwarn'd by the past, 

appearance and voire of the sitter, shows that the symptom 
are, at least, very similar; 

Spumea tunc primura rabies vesana per ora 

Etfluit 

tunc moestus vastis ululatus in antris 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



(n 



The " moderate Reform " of a pair of new braces, 
Till, some day, — he'U all faU to pieces at last. 



TORY PLEDGES. 

I PLEDGE myself through thick and thin, 

To labor still, with zeal devout, 
To get the Outs, poor devils, in, 

And turn the Ins, the wretches, out. 

I pledge myself, though much bereft 
Of ways and means of ruling ill. 

To make the most of what are left. 
And stick to aU that's rotten still. 

Though gone the days of place and pelf, 
And drones no more take all the honey, 

I pledge myself to cram myself 
With all I can of public money. 

To quarter on that social purse 

My nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers, 

Nor, so we prosper, care a curse 

How much 'tis at th' expense of others. 

I pledge myself, whenever Right 
And Might on any point divide, 

Not to ask which is black or white. 
But take, at once, the strongest side. 

For instance, in all Tithe discussions, 
I'm for the Reverend encroachers : — 

I loathe the Poles, applaud the Russians, — 
Am /or the Squires, against the Poachers. 

Betwixt the Corn Lords and the Poor 
I've not the slightest hesitation, — 

The People must be starved, t' insure 
The Land its due remuneration. 

I pledge myself to be no more 

With Ireland's wrongs bepros'd or shamm'd ; 
I vote her grievances a bore. 

So she may suffer, and be d — d. 

Or if she kick, let it console us, 
We still have plenty of red coats, 

To cram the Church, that general bolus, 
Down any giv'n amount of throats. 

I dearly love the Frankfort Diet, — 
Think ne\*6papers the worst of crimes ; 

Ajid would, to give some chance of quiet, 
Hang all the writers of The Times ; 
78 



Break all their correspondents' bones. 
All authors of " Reply," " Rejoinder," 

From the Anti-Tory, Colonel J — es. 
To the An ti- Suttee, Mr. P— ynd— r. 

Such are the Pledges I propose ; 

And though I can't now oifer gold. 
There's many a way of buying those 

Who've but the taste for being sold. 

So here's, with three times three hurrahs, 
A toast, of w'hich you'll not complain,— 

•' Long life to jobbing ; may the days 
" Of Peculation shine again ! " 



ST. JEROME ON EARTH. 



FIRST VISIT. 



isyj. 



As St. Jerome, who died some ages ago. 
Was sitting, one day, in the shades below, 
" I've heard much of English bishops," quoth he, 
" And shall now take a trip to earth, to see 
" How far they agree, in their lives and ways, 
" With our good old bishops of ancient days." 

He had learn' d — but learn'd without misgiv- 
ings— 
Their love for good living, and eke good livings ; 
Not knowing (as ne'er having taken degrees) 
That good living means claret and fricassees. 
While its plural means simply — pluralities. 
" From all I hear," said the innocent man, 
" They are quite on the good old primitive plan. 
" For wealth and pomp the)' little can care, 
'* As they all say ' No ' to th' Episcopal chair ; 
" And their vestal virtue it well denotes 
" That they all, good men, wear petticoats." 

Thus saying, post haste to earth he hurries. 
And knocks at th' Archbishop of Canterbury's. 
The door was oped by a lackey in lace. 
Saying, " What's your business with his Grace ?" 
" His Grace ! " quoth Jerome — for posed was he, 
Not knowing what sort this Grace could be ; 
Whether Grace preventi7ig, Grace jMrticular, 
Grace of that breed called Quinquarticular ' — 
In short, he rummag'd his holy mind, 
Th' exact description of Grace to find, 
Which thus could represented be 
By a footman in full livery. 

1 So called from the proceedings of the Synod of Dort 



318 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



At last, out loud in a laugh he broke, 
(For dearly the good saint lov'd his joke ') 
And said — surveying, as sly he spoke, 
The costly palace from roof to base — 
" Well, it isn't, at least, a saviny Grace ! " 
" Umph ! " said the lackey, a man of few words, 
" Th' Archbishop is gone to the House of Lords." 
" To the House of the Lord, you mean, my son, 
" For, in my time, at least, there was but one ; 
♦' Unless such many-/o/f; priests as these 
" Seek, ev'n in their Lord, pluralities ! " ^ 
" No time for gab," quoth the man in lace, 
Then, slamming the door in St. Jerome's face, 
With a curse to the single knockers all, 
^Vent to finish his port in the servants' hall, 
And propose a toast (humanely meant 
To include even Curates in its extent) 
" To all as serves th' Establishment." 



ST. JEROME ON EARTH. 

SECOND VISIT. 

'' This much I dare say, that, sirxe lording and loitering 
liath come up, preaching hath come down, contrar>' to the 
Apostles' times. For they preached and lorded not ; and 

now lliey lord and preach not Ever since the 

Prelates were made Ixirds and Nobles, the plough stand- 
eth ; there is no work done, the people starve." — Lali- 
mer. Sermon vf the Plough. 

"Once more," said Jerome, "I'll run up and 

see 
How the Church goes on," — and off set he. 
Just then the packet boat, which trades 
Betwixt our planet and the shades. 
Had arrived below, with a freight so queer, 
" My eyes ! " said Jerome, " what have we 

here ? " — 
For he saw, when nearer he cxplor'd, 
They'd a cargo of Bishops' wigs aboard. 
" They are ghosts of wigs," said Charon, " all, 
" Once worn by nobs EpiscopaL* 
«' For folks on earth, who've got a store 
" Of cast-off things they'll want no more, 
" Oft send them down, as gifts, you know, 
•' To a certain Gentleman here below." 



1 Witness his well-known pun on the name of his adver- 
sary Vigilantius, whom he calls facetiously Dormitantms. 

2 The suspicion attached to some of the early Fathers of 
being Arians in their doctrine would appear to derive some 
confirmation from this passage. 

3 The wig, which had so long formed an essential part 
of the dress of an English bishop, was at tliis time begin- 
ning to be dispensed with. 



" A sign of the times, I plainly see," 
Said the Saint to himself as, pondering, ho 
Sail'd ofi' in the death boat gallantly. 

Arriv'd on earth, quoth he, " No moie 

" I'll affect a body, as before ; 

" For I think I'd best, in the company 

" Of Spiritual Lords, a spirit be, 

" And glide, unseen, from See to See." 

But 0, to tell what scenes he saw, — 

It was more than Rabelais' pen could draw 

For instance, he found Ex — t — r, 

Soul, body, inkstand, all in a stir, — 

For love of God ? for sake of King ? 

For good of people ? — no such thing ; 

But to get for himself, by some new trick, 

A shove to a better bishopric. 

He found that pious soul, Van M — Id — t, 

Much with his money bags bewilder'd ; 

Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocese,* 

Because the rogues showed restlessness 

At having too little cash to touch. 

While he so Christianly bears too much. 

He found old Sarum's wits as gone 

As his own beloved text in John,* — 

Text he hath prosed so long upon. 

That 'tis thought when ask'd, at the gate of 

heaven. 
His name, he'll answer, ♦' John, v. 7." 

" But enough of Bishops I've had to-day," 

Said the weary Saint, — "I must away. 

" Though I own I should like, before I 

go, 
" To see for once (as I'm ask'd below 
" If really such odd sights exist) 
" A regular sixfold Pluralist." 
Just then he heard a general cry — 
" There's Doctor Hodgson galloping by ! " 
" Ay, that's the man," says the Saint, " to fol- 
low," 
And off he sets, with a loud view-hollo, 
At Hodgson's heels, to catch, if he can, 
A glimpse of this singular plural man. 
But, — talk of Sir Boyle Roche's bird ! * 
To comjiare him with Hodgson is 



4 See the Bishop's Letter to Clergy of his Uiocese 
6 1 John, v. 7. A text which, though long given up by 
all the rest of the orthodox world, is still pertinaciously ad- 
hered to by this Right Reverend scholar. 

6 It was a saying of the well-known Sir Boyle, that " a 
man could not be in two places at once, unless he was s 
bird." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



619 



•' Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor gone ? " — 

•• He is now at his living at Hillingdon." — 

♦' No, no, — you're out, by many a mile, 

" He's away at his Deanery, in Carlisle." — 

" Pardon me, sir ; but I understand 

" He's gone to his living in Cumberland." — 

" God bless me, no, — he can't be there ; 

" You must try St. George's, Hanover Square." 

Thus all in vain the Saint inquir'd. 

From living to living, mock'd and tir'd ; — 

'Twas Hodgson here, 'twas Hodgson there, 

'Twas Hodgson nowhere, every where ; 

Till, fairly beat, the Saint gave o'er. 

And flitted away to the Stygian shore. 

To astonish the natives under ground 

With the comical things he on earth had found. 



THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS. 

(Vide Description of a late Fete.1) 

1832. 
What a pleasing contrivance ! how aptly de- 
vis' d 
'Twi.\t tar and magnolias to puzzle one's 
noses ! 
And how the tar barrels must all be surpris'd 
To find themselves seated like " Love among 
roses ! " 

What a pity we can't, by precautions like these. 
Clear the air of that other still viler infec- 
tion ; 
That radical pest, that old whiggish disease. 
Of which cases, true blue, are in every direc- 
tion. 

'Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fe 
Of a few good combustible Lords of " the 
Club ; " 
They would fume, in a trice, the Whig chol'ra 
aAvay, 
And there's B — cky would burn like a barrel 
of bub. 

How R — d — n would blaze ! and what rubbish 
throw out ! 
A volcano of nonsense, in active display ; 

1 The M s of H— tf— d's Fete. — From dread of chol- 
era his Lordship had ordered tar barrels to l)e burned in 
every direction. 

2 Tliese verses, as well as some others, that follow, (p. 
62.3) were extorted from me by that lamentable measure of 
the Whig ministr>-, tlie Irish Coercion Act. 



While V — ne, as a butt, amidst laughter, would 
spout 
The hot nothings he's full of, all night and all 



And then, for a finish, there's C — mb — d's 
Duke,— 
Good Lord, how his chin tuft would crackle 
in air! 
Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look) 
He's already bespoke for combustion else- 
where. 



THE CONSULTATION.' 



' When they do agree, their unanimity is wonderful." 
The Critii 



Scene discovers Dr. Whig and Dr. Torrj in consultation. 
Patient on the floor between them. 

Dr. Whiff. — This wild Irish patient does pester 

me so, 
Tliat what to do with him, I'm curs' d if I know 

I've promis'd him anodynes 

Dr. Tory. Anodynes ! ~ Stuff. 

Tie him down — gag him well — he'll be tran- 
quil enough. 
That's mrj mode of practice. 

Dr. Whig. True, quite in your line, 

But unluckily not much, tiU lately, in mine. 

'Tis so painful 

Dr. Tory. — Pooh, nonsense — ask Ude how 

he feels. 
When, for Epicure feasts, he prepares his live 

eels. 
By flinging them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, 
And letting them wriggle on there till they tire. 
He, too, says " 'tis painful" — *' quite makes his 

heart bleed " — 
But " your eels are a vile oleaginous breed." — 
He would fain use them gently, but Cook'ry 

saj's " No," 
And — in short — eels were horn to be treated 

just so.' 
'Tis the same with these Irish, — who' re odder 

fish still, — 
Your tender Whig heart shrinks from using 

them ill ; 



3 This eminent artist, in the second edition of the work 
wherein he propounds this mode of purifying his eels, pro- 
fesses himself much concerned at the charge of inhumanity 
brought against his practice, but still begs leave respectfully 
to repeat that it is the only proper mode of preparing eels fol 
the table. 



£20 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



I, myself, in my youth, ere I came to get wise, 
Used, at some operations, to blush to the eyes ; 
But, in fact, my dear brother, — if I may make 

bold 
To style you, as Peachum did Lockit, of old, — 
We, Doctors, must act with the firmness of Ude, 
And, indifferent like him, — so the fish is but 

stew'd, — 
Musi torture live Pats for the general good. 

\Here patient groans and kicks a little. 
Dr. WJiig. — But what, if one's patient's so 

devilish perverse, 
That he won't be thus tortur'd ? 

Dr. Tory. Coerce, sir, coerce. 

You're a juv'nile performer, but once you begin, 
You can't think how fast you may train your 

hand in : 
And {smiliitg) who knows but old Tory may 

take to the shelf, 
^Vith the comforting thought that, in place and 

in pelf 
He's succeeded by one just as — bad as himself ? 
Dr. Whig (looking flattered). — \Yh.y, to tell 

you the truth, I've a small matter here. 
Which you help'd me to make for my patient 

last year, — 

[Goes to a cupboard and brings out 
a strait waistcoat and gag. 
And such rest I've enjoy'd from his raving, 

since then. 
That I've made up my mind he shall wear it 

again. 
Dr. Tory (embracing him). — O, charming ! — 

My dear Doctor Whig, you're a treasure. 
Next to torturing, myself, to help you is a pleas- 
ure. [Assisting Dr. Whig. 
Give me leave — I've some practice in these 

mad machines ; 
There — tighter — the gag in the mouth by all 

means. 
Delightful ! — all's snug — not a squeak need 

j-ou fear, — 
You may now put your anodynes off till next 

year. 

[Scene closes. 



1 See Edinburgh Review, No. 117. 

* " Vour Lnrdslilp," Siiys Mr. Ov — rt — n, in the Dedica- 
tion (if his Pueni to the Bishop of Chester, " has kindly ex- 
pressed your persuasion that my ' Muse will always be a 
Aluse of sacred song, and that it will be tuned as David's 



TO THE REV. CH— RL— S OV— RT— N, 

CURATE OF EOMALDKIRK. 

AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE CHUPCH 1 

Je33. 
Sweet singer of Romaldkirk, thou who art 

reckon'd, 
By critics Episcopal, David the Second,* 
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight, 
Only think, in a Rectory, how you would write ! 
Once fairly inspir'd by the " Tithe-crcwn'd 

Apollo," 
(Who beats, I confess it, ourr lay Phoebus hol- 
low, 
Having gotten, besides the old Nine's inspira- 
tion. 
The Tenth of all eatable things in creation,) 
There's nothing, in fact, that a poet like you. 
So he-7iined and he-tenth' d, couldn't easily do. 

Round the lips of the sweet-tongued Athenian ' 

they say. 
While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay, 
Wild honey bees swarm'd, as a presage to tell 
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence after- 
wards fell. 
Just so round our Ov — rt — n's cradle, no doubt, 
Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting 

about ; 
Goose embryos, waiting their doom'd decimation, 
Came, shadowing forth his adult destination, 
And small, sucking tithe pigs, in musical droves, 
Announc'd the Church poet whom Chester ap- 
proves. 

O Horace ! when thou, in thy vision of yore. 

Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage came 
o'er 

Thy ctherealiz'd limbs, stealing downily on. 

Till, by Fancy's strong spell, thou wert turn'd 
to a swan,* 

Little thought'st thou such fate could a poet 
befall, 

Without any effort of fancy, at all ; 

Little thouglnt'st thou the world would in 
Ov — rt — n find 

A bird, ready made, somewhat different in kind, 

But as perfect as Michaelmas' self could pro- 
duce. 

By gods yclept anser, by mortals a goose. 

3 Sophocles. 

4 album mutor in alitem 

Superiife: nascunturque Iteves 

Per digitos, huinerosque plumte. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



621 



SCENE 

FROM A PLAY, ACTED AT OXFORD, CALLED 

"MATRICULATION."! 

1834. 
[Boy discovered at a table, with the Thirty-Nine Articles 
before h;m. — Enter the Rt. Rev. Doctor Ph— Up— ts.] 

Doctor P. — There, my lad, lie the Articles — 

{Boy bee/ ins to count them) just thirty-nine — 

No occasion to count — you've now only to 

sign. 
At Cambridge, where folks are less High-church 

than we, 
The whole Nine-and-Thirty are lump'd into 

Three. 
Let's run o'er the items ; — there's Justification, 
Predestination, and Supererogation, — 
Not forgetting Salvation and Creed Athana- 

sian. 
Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess's Ratifica- 
tion. 
That's suificient — now, sign — having read 

quite enough, 
IlOu " believe in the full and true meaning 

thereof?" 

{Bo7/ stares.) 
O, a mere form of words, to make things smooth 

and brief, — 
A commodious and short make-believe of be- 
lief. 
Which our Church has drawn up, in a form thus 

articular. 
To keep out, in general, all vi'ho're particular. 
But what's the boy doing ? what ! reading all 

through, 
And my luncheon fast cooling ! -— this never 

will do. 
Boy (poring over the Articles). Here are points 

which — pray, Doctor, what's '* Grace 

of Congruity ? " 
Doctor P. {sharply). You'll find out, young 

sir, when you've more ingenuity. 
At present, by signing, you pledge yourself 

merely, 
Whate'er it may be, to believe it sincerely. 
Both in dining and signing w^e take the same 

plan, — 
First, swallow all down, then digest — as we can. 

1 " It appears that when a youth of fifteen goes to be ma- 
triculated at Oxford, and is required first to subscribe Tliir- 
iy-Nine Articles of Religious Belief, this only means that he 
engages himself afterwards to understand what is now abovs 
his comprehension ; that he expresses no assent at all to 
What he signs; and that he is (or, ought to be) at full liber \ than 18Z. annually) were all, in t^e i 



Boy {still reading). I've to gulp, I see, St. 
Athanasius's Creed, 

Which, I'm told, is a very tough morsel, indeed , 

As he damns 

Doctor P. {aside). Aj', and so would I, will- 
ingly, too. 

All confounded particular young boobies, liko 
you. 

This comes of Reforming ! — all's o'er with otr 
land. 

When people won't stand what they can't un- 
derstand ; 

Nor perceive that our ever-rever'd Thirty-Nine 

Were made, not for men to believe, but to sign. 
[Exit Dr. P. in a passion 



LATE TITHE CASE. 

" Sic vos non vobis." 

1833. 
" The Vicar of B— mh— m desires me to state that, in con- 
sequence of the passing of a recent Act of Parliament, ha 
is compelled to adopt measures which may by some ba 
considered harsh or precipitate ; but, in dutij to what hi 
owes to his successors, he feels bound to preserve the rights 
of the vicarage." — Letter from Mr. S. Powell, August 6. 

No, not for yourselves, ye reverend men, 

Do you take one pig in every ten. 

But for Holy Church's future heirs, 

Who've an abstract right to that pig, as theirs ; 

The law supposing that such heirs male 

Are already seized of the pig, in tail. 

No, not for himself hath B — mh — m's priest 

His " well belov'd " of their pennies fleec'd : 

But it is that, before his prescient eyes, 

AU future Vicars of B — mh — m rise, 

With their embryo daughters, nephews, nieces, 

And 'tis for the7n the poor he fleeces. 

He heareth their voices, ages hence. 

Saying, " Take the pig" — "0 take the pence ; " 

The cries of little Vicarial dears. 

The unborn B — mh — mites, reach his ears ; 

And, did he resist that soft appeal. 

He would not like a true-born Vicar feel. 

Thou, too, L — ndy of L — ck — ngt — n ! 

A Rector true, if e'er there was one, 

Who, for sake of the L — ndies of coming ages, 

Gripest the tenths of laborers' wages.'* 

ty, when he has studied the subject, to witlidraw his pro- 
visional assent." — Edinbur^rh Review, No. 120. 

2 Fourteen agricultural laborers (one of whom received 

so little as six guineas for yearly wages, one eight, one nmc, 

another ten guineas, and the best paid of the who e not mora 

of the autunm ul 



622 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS, 



'Tis true, in the pockets of thy smallclothes 
The claim'd " obvention " ' of fourpence goes ; 
But its abstract spirit, unconfin'd, 
Spreads to all future Rector-kind, 
Warning them all their rights to wake, 
And rather to face the block, the stake, 
Than give up their darling right to take. 
One grain of musk, it is said, perfumes 
(So subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms, 
And a single fourpence, pocketed well. 
Through a thousand rectors' lives will teU. 
Then still continue, ye reverend souls, 
And still as your rich Pactolus rolls, 
Grasp every penny on every side. 
From every wretch, to swell its tide : 
Remembering still what the Law lays down, 
In that pure poetic style of its own, 
" If the parson in esse submits to loss, he 
" Inflicts the same on the parson in posse." 



FOOLS' PARADISE. 

DREAM THE FIRST. 

I HAVE been, like Puck, I have been in a 

trice. 
To a realm they call Fools' Paradise, 
Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense, 
And seldom bless' d with a glimmer thence. 
But they want it not in this happy place, 
"Where a light of its own gilds every face ; 
Or, if some wear a shadowy brow, 
'Tis the wish to look wise, — not knowing 

how. 
Self-glory glistens o'er all that's there. 
The trees, the flowers have a jaimty air ; 
The well-bred wind in a whisper blows, 
The snow, if it snows, is couleur de rose, 
The falling founts in a titter fall, 
And the sun looks simpering down on all. 

O, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace 

The scenes I saw in that joyous place. 

There were Lords and Ladies sitting together. 

In converse sweet, " What charming weather ! 

" You'll all rejoice to hear, I'm sure, 

" Lord Charles has got a good sinecure ; 

•' And the Premier says, my youngest brother 

" (Him in the guards) shall have another. 



18:!2, served with demands of tithe at the rate of 4rf. in the 

\l. sterling, on behalf of the Rev. F. L— d}', Rector of , 

&c. &,e.—The Times, August, 1833. 



" Isn't this very, veri/ gallant ! — 
" As for my poor old virgin aunt, 
" Who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, 
•' We must quarter her on the Pension List." 
Thus smoothly time in that Eden roU'd ; 
It seem'd like an Age of real gold. 
Where all who liked might have a slice, 
So rich was that Fools' Paradise. 

But the sport at which most time they spent, 
Was a puppet show, called Parliament, 
Perform'd by wooden Ciceros, 
As large as life, who rose to prose. 
While, hid behind them, lords and squires. 
Who own'd the puppets, pull'd the wires; 
And thought it the very best device 
Of that most prosperous Paradise, 
To make the vulgar pay through the nose 
For them and their wooden Ciceros. 

And many more such things I saw 

In this Eden of Church, and State, and 

Law ; 
Nor e'er were knoiKTa such pleasant folk 
As those who had the best of the joke. 
There were Irish Rectors, such as resort 
To Cheltenham yearly, to drink — port. 
And bumper, "Long may the Church en- 
dure. 
May her cure of souls be a sinecure. 
And a score of Parsons to every soul — 
A mod'rate allowance on the whole." 
There were Heads of Colleges, lying about, 
From which the sense had all run out, 
Ev'n to the lowest classic lees. 
Till nothing was left but quantities ; 
Which made them heads most fit to be 
Stuck up on a University, 
Which yearly hatches, in its schools. 
Such flights of young Elysian fools. 

Thus all went on, so snug and nice. 

In this happiest possible Paradise. 

But plain it was to see, alas ! 

That a downfall soon must come to pass. 

For grief is a lot the good and wise 

Don't quite so much monopolize, 

But that, (" lapt in Elysium " as they are) 

Even blessed fools must have their share. 

And so it happen'd : — but what befell. 

In Dream the Second I mean to tell. 



1 One ot tne various general tenns under which oblations 
tithes, &c. are comprised. 



SATIRICAL AND HUJilOROUS POEMS. 



623 



THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE; 

OR, ONE POUND TWO. 

•* I trust we shall part, as we met, in peace and chanty. 
My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of 
this iMontli. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, 
being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near 
as I can calculate, to six pounds eight shillings. My 
steward returns you as a debtor to the amount of seveh 

POUNDS TEM SHILLINGS FOB CON-ACRE GKOUND, Which 

leaves some trifling balance in my favor." — Letter of Dis- 
missal from the Rev. Marcus Beresfurd to his Curate, the 
Rev. T. A. Lyons. 

The account is balanced — the bill drawn out — 
The debit and credit all right, no doubt — 
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state, 
Owes to his Curate six pound eight ; 
The Curate, that least well fed of men, 
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten, 
Which maketh the balance clearly due 
From Curate to Rector, one pound two. 

Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven ! 
But sure to be all set right in heaven, 
"Where bills like these will be check'd, some day, 
And the balance settled the other way : 
Where Lyons the curate's hard-wrung sum 
Will back to his shade with interest come ; 
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue 
This tot, in his favor, of one pound two. 



PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS.! 

1833. 
About fifty years since, in the days of our 
daddies. 
That plan was commenced which the wise 
now applaud. 
Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies, 
As good raw material for settlers abroad. 

Some West India island, whose name I forget, 
Was the region then chos'n for this scheme 
so romantic ; 
And such the success the first colony met, 
That a second, soon after, set sail o'er th' At- 
lantic. 

Behold them now safe at the long-look'd-for 
shore, 
Sailing in between banks that the Shannon 
might greet, 

1 1 have already, in a preceding page, referred to this 
«qiiib, as being one of those wrung from me by the Irish Co- 
orcion Act of my friends, the Whigs 



And thinking of friends whom, but two years 
before. 
They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon 
again meet. 

And, hark ! from the shore a glad welcome there 

came — 

" Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my 

sweet boy ! " 

While Pat stood astounded to hear his own name 

Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper'd for 

joy! 

Can it possibly be ? — half amazement — half 
doubt, 
Pat listens again — rubs his eyes and looks 
steady ; 
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, 
" Good Lord ! only think, — black and cmiy 
already I " 

Deceiv'dby that well-mimick'd brogue in his ears, 

Pat read his own doom in these wool-headed 

figures. 

And thought, what a climate, in less than two 

years, 

To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers ! 

MORAL. 
'Tis thus, — but alas ! by a hiarvel more true 

Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories. 
Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two. 

By a liisLis naturce, all turn into Tories. 

And thus, when I hear them " strong meas- 
ures " advise, 
Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get 
steady, 
I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes, 
" Good Lord ! only think, — black and curly 
already ! " 



^COCKER, ON CHURCH REFORM. 

FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS. 
1833. 

Fine figures of speech let your orators i|jllow, 
Old Cocker has figures that beat them all hollow. 
Though famed for his rules Aristotle may be. 
In but half of this Sage any merit I see. 
For, as honest Joe Hume says, the «• tottle " * for 



2 The total, — so pronounced by this industrious senator 



624 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



For instance, while others discuss and debate, 
It is thus about Bishops / ratiocinate. 

In England, where, spite of the infidel's laughter, 
'Tis certain our souls are look'd very well after, 
Two Bishops can well (if judiciously sunder'd) 
Of parishes manage two thousand two hun- 
dred, — 
Said number of parishes, under said teachers, 
Containing three millions of Protestant crea- 
tures, 
So that each of said Bishops full ably controls 
One million and five hundred thousands of souls. 
And now comes old Cocker. In Ireland we're 

told, 
Haifa million includes the whole Protestant fold ; 
If, therefore, for three million souls, 'tis conceded 
Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is needed, 
'Tis plain, for the Irish half million who want 

'em. 
One third of owe Bishop is just the right quantum. 
And thus, by old Cocker's sublime Rule of Three, 
The Irish Church question's resolv'd to a T ; 
Keeping always that excellent maxim in view, 
That, in saving men's souls, we must save money 
too. 

Nay, if — as St. Roden complains is the case — 
The half million of soul is decreasing apace. 
The demand, too, for bishop will also fall off", 
Till the tithe of one, taken in kind, be enough. 
But, as fractions imply that we'd have to dissect. 
And to cutting up BishojDS I strongly object, 
We've a small, fractious prelate whom well we 

could spare. 
Who has just the same decimal worth, to a hair ; 
And, not to leave Ireland too much in the lurch, 
We'll let her have Ex — t — r, sole.^ as her Chm-ch. 



LES HOMMES AUTOMATES. 

]834. 
" We are persuaded that this our artificial man will not only 
walk and speak, and perforin most of the outward func- 
tions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week) 
will perhaps reason as well as most of your country par- 
sons." — Memoirs ofMartinus Scriblerus, chap. xii. 

It being an object now to meet 
With Parsons that don't want to eat, 
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories, 
Which soon will have but scant refectories, 

• 1 Corporation sole. 

2 The materials of which those Nuremb\irg Savans, men- 
Uuned by Scriblerus, constructed their artificial man. 



It has been suggested, — lest that Church 
Should, all at once, be left in the lurch. 
For want of reverend men endued 
With this gift of ne'er requiring food, — 
To try, by way of experiment, Avhether 
There couldn't be made, of wood and leather,* 
(Howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,) 
Jointed figures, not la>/,^ but clerical. 
Which, wound up carefully once a week. 
Might just like parsons look and speak. 
Nay even, if requisite, reason too. 
As well as most Irish parsons do. 

Th' experiment having succeeded quite, 

(Whereat those Lords must much delight. 

Who've shown, by stopping the Church's food. 

They think it isn't for her spiritual good 

To be serv'd by parsons of flesh and blood,) 

The Patentees of this new invention 

Beg leave respectfully to mention. 

They now are enabled to produce 

An ample supply, for present use, 

Of these reverend pieces of machinery. 

Ready for vicarage, rect'rj', deanery, 

Or any such like post of skill 

That wood and leather are fit to fill. 

N. B. — In places addicted to arson. 

We can't recommend a wooden parson : 

But, if the Church any such appoints, 

They'd better, at least, have iron joints. 

In parts, not much by Protestants haunted, 

A figure to look at's all that's wanted — 

A block in black, to eat and sleep. 

Which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap^ 

P. S. — Should the Lords, by way of a treat. 

Permit the clergy again to eat. 

The Church will, of course, no longer need 

Imitation parsons that never feed ; 

And these wood creatures of ours will sell 

For secular purposes just as well — 

Our Beresfords, turn'd to bludgeons stout. 

May, 'stead of beating their own about. 

Be knocking the brains of Papists out ; 

While our smooth O'Sullivans, by all means, 

Should transmigrate into turning machines. 



3 The wooden models used by painters are, it le well 
known, called " lay figures." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



625 



HOW TO MAKE ONE'S SELF A PEER. 

ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, AS DIS- 
CLOSED IX A LATE HERALDIC WORK.' 

1834 
Choose some title that's dormant — the Peerage 

hath many — 
Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as any. 
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct Peer, 
And marry him, offhand, in some given year. 
To the daughter of somebody, — no matter 

who, — 
Fig, the grocer himself, if you're hard run, will 

do; 
For, the Medici pills still in heraldry tell, 
And why shouldn't lolly pops quarter as well ? 
Thus, having your couple, and one a lord's 

cousin. 
Young materials for peers may be had by the 

dozen ; 
And 'tis hard if, inventing each small mother's 

son of 'em, 
You can't somehow manage to prove yourself 

one of 'em. 
Should registers, deeds, and such matters re- 
fractory. 
Stand in the way of this lord manufactory, 
I've merely to hint, as a secret auricular, 
One grand rule of enterprise, — dont be par- 
ticular. 
A man who once takes siich a jump at nobility. 
Must not mince the matter, like folks of nihility,'^ 
But clear thick and thin with true lordly agility. 

'Tis true, to a would-be descendant from Kings, 
Parish registers sometimes are troublesome 

things ; 
As oft, when the vision is near brought about. 
Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins out ; 
Or some barber, perhaps, with my Lord mingles 

bloods. 
And one's patent of peerage is left in the suds. 

But there are ways — when folks are resolv'd to 

be lords — 
Of expurging ev'n troublesome parish records. 
What think ye of scissors ? depend on't no heir 
Of a Shamdos should go unsupplied with a pair, 
As, whate'er else the learn' d in such lore may 

invent. 
Your scissors does wonders in proving d ''scent. 



L 



1 The claim to the barony of Chandos (if I recciUect right) 
advanced bv the late Sir Eg— r— t— n Br— d— s. 
79 



Yes, poets may sing of those terrible shears 

With which Atropos snips off both bumpkins 
and peers, 

But they're nought to that weapon which shines 
in the hands 

Of some would-be Patrician, when proudly ho 
stands 

O'er the careless chui-ch-warden's baptismal 
array. 

And sweeps at each cut generations away. 

By some babe of old times is his peerage resisted ? 

One snip, — and the urchin hath never existed ! 

Does some marriage, in days near the Flood, in- 
terfere 

With his one sublime object of being a Peer ? 

Quick the shears at once nullify bridegrom and 
bride, — 

No such people have ever liv'd, married, or died ! 

Such the newest receipt for those high-minded 
elves. 

Who've a fancy for making great lords of them- 
selves. 

Follow this, young aspirer, who pant'st for a 
peerage, 

Take S— m for thy model and B— z for thy 



Do all and much worse than old Nicholas Flam 

does, 
And — loho knows but you'll be Lord Baron of 

Shamdos ? 



THE DUKE IS THE LAD. 



Air. — " A master I have, and I am his man. 
Galloping dreary dun." 

Castle of Andalusia. 

The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
Galloping, dreary duke ; 
The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass. 
He's an ogre to meet, and the d — 1 to pass. 
With his charger prancing. 
Grim eye glancing, 
Chin, like a Mufti, 
Grizzled and tufty, 
Galloping, dreary Duke. 

Ye misses, beware of the neighborhood 
Of this galloping dreary Duke ; 
Avoid him, all who see no good 
In being run o'er by a Prince of the Blood. 

2 "This we call pure nih'lity, or mere nothing." — H'atts' 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



For, surely, no nymph is 
Fond of a grim phiz. 
And of the married. 
Whole crowds have miscarried 
At sight of this dreary Duke. 



EPISTLE 

IROM ERASMUS ON EARTH TO CICERO IN THE 

SHADES. 

Southampton. 

As 'tis now, my dear Tully, some Aveeks since I 

started 
By railroad, for earth, having vowed, ere we 

parted. 
To drop you a line, by the Dead-Letter post. 
Just to say how I thrive, in my new line of ghost, 
And how deusedly odd this live world all ap- 
pears. 
To a man who's been dead now for three hun- 
dred years, 
I take up my pen, and, with news of this earth, 
Hope to waken, by turns, both your spleen and 
your mirth. 

In my way to these shores, taking Italy first, 
Lest the change from Elysium too sudden should 

burst, 
I forgot not to visit those haunts where, of yore, 
You took lessons from Paetus in cookery's lore,^ 
Turn'd aside from the calls of the rostrum and 

Muse, 
To discuss the rich merits of rdtis and stews, 
And preferr'd to all honors of triumph or trophy, 
A supper on prawns with that rogue, little 

Sophy.2 

Ha%ing dwelt on such classical musings a while, 
I set oif, by a steamboat, for this happy isle, 
(A conveyance you ne'er, I think, sail'd by, my 

Tully, 
And therefore, per next, I'll describe it more 

fully,) 
xfaving heard, on the way, what distresses me 

greatly. 
That England's o'errun by idolaters lately, 
Stark, staring adorers of wood and of stone. 
Who will let neither stick, stock, or statue alone. 



1 See his Letters to Friemls, lib. ijt. epist. 19, 20, &c. 

2 Iiigentium squillaruiii cum Sophia Septimoe. — Lib. ix. 
epist. 10. 

« Tithes were paid to the Pythian Apollo. 



Such the sad news I heard from a tall man in 
black. 

Who from sports continental was hurrying back, 

To look after his tithes ; — seeing, doubtless, 
'twould follow. 

That, just as, of old, your great idol, Apollo, 

Devour'd all the Tenths,-'' so the idols in ques- 
tion, 

These wood and stone gods, may have equal di- 
gestion. 

And th' idolatrous crew, whom this Rector de- 
spises. 

May eat up the tithe pig which he idolizes. 

London. 

'Tis all but too true — grim Idolatry reigns, 

In full pomp, over England's lost cities and 
plains ! 

On arriving just now, as my first thought and 
care 

Was, as usual, to seek out some near House of 
Prayer, 

Some calm, holy spot, fit for Christians to pray 
on, 

I was shown to — what think you ? — a down- 
right Pantheon ! 

A grand, pillar' d temple, with niches and halls,* 

Full of idols and gods, which they nickname 
St. Paul's : — 

Though 'tis clearly the place where the idola- 
trous crew. 

Whom the Rector complain'd of, their dark 
rites pursue ; 

And, 'mong all the " strange gods " Abr'ham's 
father carv'd out,* 

That he ever carv'd straiiger than these I much 
doubt. 

Were it ev'n my dear Tullt, your Ilebes and 

Graces, 
And such pretty things, that usurp'd the Saints* 

places, 
I shouldn't much mind, — for, in this classic 

dome. 
Such folks from Olympus would feel quite at 

home. 
But the gods they've got here ! — such a queer 

omnium gatherum 
Of misbegot things, that no poet would father 



4 See Dr. Wiseman's learned and able letter to Mr. Poyn- 
der. 
s Joshua, xxiv. 2. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



627 



Britannias, in Kght, summer wear for the 

skies, — 
Old Thames, turn'd to stone, to his no small 

surprise, — 
Father Nile, too, — a portrait, (in spite of what's 

said. 
That no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of his 

head,^) 
And a Ganges, -which India would think some- 
what fat for't. 
Unless 'twas some full-grown Director had sat 

for't ; — 
Not to mention th' et uBteras of Genii and 

Sphinxes, 
Fame, Vict'ry, and other such semi-clad minxes ; 
Sea Captains,'' — the idols here most idolized ; 
And of whom some, alas, might too well be 

comprised 
Among ready-made Saints, as they died cannon- 

ized ; — 
With a multitude more of odd cockneyfied 

deities, 
Shrined in such pomp that quite shocking to see 

it 'tis ; 
Nor know I what better the Rector could do 
Than to shrine there his own belov'd quadruped 

too ; 
As most surely a tithe pig, whate'er the world 

thinks, is 
A much fitter beast for a church than a Sphinx is. 

But I'm call'd off to dinner — grace just has 
been said. 
And my host waits for nobody, living or dead. 



LINES 3 

ON THE DEPARTURE OF LORDS C — ST — U — GH 
AND ST — W — ET FOR THE CONTINENT. 

^t Paris* et Fratres, et qui rapucre sub illis, 
Vix tenuere maims (scis hoc, MeiielaeJ nefandas. 

Ovid. Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202. 

3o, Brothers in wisdom — go, bright pair of 
Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with 
their pinions ! 

» " Nee contigit ulli 

Hoc vidisse caput." Claudian. 

s Captains Mosse, Riou, &c. &c. 

» This and the following squib, which must have been 
ivritten about the year 1815-16, have been by some oversight 
|ni!<placed. 

< Ovid is mistalcen in saying that it was " at Paris " these 



The one, the best lover we have — of his years, 
And the other Prime Statesman of Britain's 
dominions. 

Go, Hero of Chancery, bless'd with the smile 
Of the Misses that love, and the monarchs 
that prize thee ; 
Forget Mrs. Ang — lo T — yl — r a while, 

And all tailors but him who so well dandifies 
thee. 

Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff, 
Never heed how perverse affidavits may 
thwart thee. 
But show the young Misses thou'rt scholar 
enough 
To translate " Amor Fortis " a love, about 
forty I. 

And sure 'tis no wonder, when, fresh as young 
Mars, 
From the battle you came, with the Orders 
you'd earn'd in't. 
That sweet Lady Faimy should cry out " my 
stars ! " 
And forget that the Moon, too, was some way 
concern' d in't. 

For not the great R — g — t himself has endur'd 
(Though I've seen him with badges and 
orders all shine, 

Till he look'd like a house that was over insur'd) 
A much heavier burden of glories than thine. 

And 'tis plain, when a wealthy young lady so 
mad is, 
Or any young ladies can so go astray. 
As to marry old Dandies that might be their 
daddies, 
The stars * are in fault, my Lord St — w — rt, 
not they ! 

Thou, too, t'other brother, thou Tully of Tories, 

Thou Malaprop Cicero, over whose lips 
Such a smooth rigmarole about " monarchsi" 
and " glories," 
And " nuUldge," ® and " features," like syl- 
labub slips. 



rapacious transactions took place — we should read "at 
Vienna." 

6 " When weak women go astray, 

The stars are more in fault than they." 

« It is tjus the noble lord pronounces the word " knowl- 
edge"— deriving it, as far as his own share is concerned, 
from the Latin. " lullus." 



628 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



tl 



Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy vocation 
Of adding fresh sums to this National Debt 
of ours, 
Leaguing with Kings, who, for mere recreation, 
Break premises, fast as your Lordship breaks 
metaphors. 

Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair of Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you both with 
their pinions ! 
The one, the best lover we have — of his years, 
And the other, Prime Statesman of Britain's 
dominions. 



TO THE SHIP 

IN WHICH LORD C — ST E — GH SAILED FOR 

CONTINENT. 
Iviitated from Horace, lib. i. ode 3. 
So may my Lady's pray'rs prevail,' 

And C — nn — g's too, and lucid Br — gge's, 
And Eld — n beg a favoring gale 

From ^olus, that older Bags,'' 
To speed thee on thy destin'd way, 
O ship, that bear'st our C— st— r— gh,' 
Our gracious R— g— t's better half,'* 

And, therefore, quarter of a King — 
(As Van, or any other calf, 

May find, without much figuring). 
Waft him, O ye kindly breezes. 

Waft this Lord of place and pelf, 
Any where his Lordship pleases, 

Though 'twere to Old Nick himself ! 

O, what a face of brass was his,^ 

Who first at Congress show'd his phiz — 



1 Sic te Diva potena Cypri, 

Sic fratres Helena, liicida sidera, 
Veiitorumque regat pater. 
8 See a description of the aaKoi, or Bags of Mollis, in the 
Odyssey, lib. 10. 
» Navis, qu!E tibi creditum 

Debes Virgilium. 

4 Aninia dimidium meuin. 

s Uli robur et aes triplex, 

Circa pectus erat, qui, &c. 

» praecipitem Africum 

Decertantem Aquilonibus. 
T Nequirquam Dens abscidit 

Prudens oceano dissociabili 
Terras, si tamcn impisB 
Non tangenda Rates transiliunt vada. 
This last line, we may suppose, alludes to some distin- 
guished Rats that attended the voyager. 



To sign away the Rights of Man 

To Russian threats and Austrian juggle ; 
And leave the sinking African * 

To fall without one saving struggle — 
'Mong ministers from North and South, 

To show his lack of shame and sense. 
And hoist the Sign of " Bull and Mouth" 

For blunders and for eloquence ! 

In vain we wish our Sees, at home^ 

To mind their papers, desks, and shelves, 

If silly Sees, abroad will roam 
And make such noodles of themselves. 

But such hath always been the case — 

For matchless impudence of face, 

There's nothing like your Tory race ! ' 

First, Pitt,9 the chos'n of England, taught her 

A taste for famine, fire, and slaughter. 

Then came the Doctor,'" for our ease, 

With E— d— ns, Ch— th— ms, H— wk— b— s, 

And other deadly maladies. 

When each, in turn, had run their rigs, 

Necessity brought in the Whigs : " 

And O, I blush, I blush to say, 

When these, in turn, were put to flight, too. 
Illustrious T — mp — e flew away 

With lots of pens he had no right to!^* 
In short, what will not mortal man do ? " 

And now, that — strife and bloodshed past - 
We've done on earth what harm we can do. 

We gravely take to heav'n at last,'* 
And think its favoring smile to purchase 
(0 Lord, good Lord !) by — building churches 



Audax omnia perpeti 
Gens ruit per vetitum nefas, 

Audax Japeti genus 
Ignem fraude malSt gentibus intulit. 



U 



macies, et nova febrium 

Terris incubit cohorsi 

tarda necessitas 



Lethi corripuit gradum. 

12 Expertus vacuum Dsdalus aera 
Peiinis non homini datis. 

This alludes to the 1200?. worth of stationery, which 
Lordship is said to have ordered, when on the poir.t of 
eating his place. 

13 Nil mortalibus arduum est. 

14 Coeluni ipsum petimus stultitil. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



629 



SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A 
NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA. 

•' And now," quoth the goddess, in accents 

jocose, 
" Having got good materials, I'll brew such a 

dose 
" Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall say, 
" They've not known its equal for many a long 

day." 
Here she wink'd to her subaltern imps to be 

steady. 
And all wagg'd their fire-tipp'd tails and stood 

ready. 

" So, now for th' ingredients : — first, hand me 
that bishop ; " 

Whereon, a whole bevy of imps run to fish up. 

From out a large reservoir, wherein they pen 
'em, 

The blackest of all its black dabblers in venom ; 

And wrapping him up (lest the virus should 
ooze. 

And one " drop of th' immortal " ' Right Rev."'' 
they might lose) 

In the sheets of his own speeches, charges, re- 
views, 

Pop him into the caldron, while loudly a burst 

From the bystanders welcomes ingredient the 
first ! 

"Now fetch the Ex-Chancellor," mutter'd the 

dame — 
"He who's caU'd after Harry the Older, by 

name." 
" The Ex-Chancellor ! " echoed her imps, the 

whole crew of 'em — 
" Why talk of otie Ex, when your Mischief has 

two of 'em ? " 
" True, true," said the hag, looking arch at her 

elves, 
" And a double-i^x dose they compose, in them- 
selves." 
This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen 

lucidly. 
Set all the devils a-laughing most deusedly. 
So, in went the pair, and (what none thought 

surprising) 
Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising; 
While not a grim phiz in that realm but was 

lighted 
With joy to see spirits so twin-like united ! 



" To lose no drop of the immortal man.' 
The present Bishop of Ex— t— r. 



Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather, 
In one mess of venom thus spitted together. 
Here a flashy imp rose — some connection, no 

doubt, 
Of the young lord in question — and, scowling 

about, 
" Hop'd his fiery friend, St — ni— y, would not 

be left out ; 
"As no schoolboy unwhipp'd, the wL.le world 

must agree, 
" Lov'd mischief, pure mischief, more dearly 

than he." 

But, no — the wise hag wouldn't hear of the 

whipster ; 
Not merely because, as a shrew, he eclips'd her, 
And nature had giv'n him, to keep him still 

young. 
Much tongue in his head and no head in his 

tongue ; 
But because she well knew that, for change ever 

ready. 
He'd not even to mischief keep properly steady ; 
That soon ev'n the wrong side would cease to 

delight, 
And, for want of a change, he must swerve to 

the right ; 
While, on each, so at random his missiles he 

threw, 
That the side he attack'd was most safe, of the 

two. — 
This ingredient was therefore put by on the 

shelf. 
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself. 
" And now," quoth the hag, as her caldron she 

ey'd. 
And the tidbits so friendlily rankling inside, 
" There wants but some seasoning ; — so, comt, 

ere I stew 'em, 
" By way of a relish, we'll throw in ' -\- John 

Tuam.' 
" In cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish 
" Like your meddling High Priest, to add zest 

to the dish." 
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand 

Lama — 
Which great event ends the First Act of the 

Drama. 



ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 

Though fam'd was Mesmer, in his day, 
■Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet, 
To say nothing of all the wonders done 
By that wizard, Dr. EUiotson, 



S30 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



When, standing as if the gods to invoke, he 
Upwaves his arm, and — down drops Okey ! ' 

Though strange these things, to mind and sense, 
If you wish still stranger things to see — 

If you wish to know the power immense 

Of the true magnetic influence. 
Just go to her Majesty's Treasury, 

And learn the wonders working there — 

And I'll be hang'd if you don't stare ! 

Talk of your animal magnetists. 

And that wave of the hand no soul resists, 

Not all its witcheries can compete 

With the friendly beckon towards Downing 
Street, 

Which a Premier gives to one who wishes 

To taste of the Treasury loaves and fishes. 

It actually lifts the lucky elf. 

Thus acted upon, above himself; — 

He jumps to a state of clairvoyance. 

And is placeman, statesman, all, at once ! 

These effects, observe (with which I begin), 
Take place when the patient's motion'd in ; 
Far diff'erent, of course, the mode of affection. 
When the wave of the hand's in the out direc- 
tion ; 
The effects being then extremely unpleasant, 
As is seen in the case of Lord 13 m, at pres- 
ent ; 
In whom this sort of manipulation 
Has lately produc'd such inflammation, 
Attended with constant irritation. 
That, in short — not to mince his situation — 
It has work'd in the man a transformation 
That puzzles all human calculation I 

Ever since the fatal day which saw 

That " pass " " perform'd on this Lord of Law — 

A pass potential, none can doubt, 

As it sent Harry 13 m to the right about — 

The condition in which the patient has been 
Is a thing quite awful to be seen. 
Not that a casual eye could scan 

This wondrous change by outward survey ; 
It being, in fact, th' interior man 

That's turn'd completelj- topsy turvy : — 
Like a case that lately, in reading o'er 'em, 
I found in the Acta Eruditoruin, 
Of a man in whose inside, when disclos'd, 
The whole order of things was found transpos'd ; ' 

1 The name of the heroine of the performances at the 
North London Hospital. 

2 The teclinical term for the movements of the magnet- 
ixer's band. 



By a liisus natures, strange to see, 

The liver plac'd where the heart should be, 

And the spleen (like B m's, since laid on the 

shelf) 
As diseas'd and as much out of place as himself 

In short, 'tis a case for consultation, 

If e'er there was one, in this thinking nation ; 

And therefore I humbly beg to propose. 

That those savaiis who mean, as the rumor goes, 

To sit on Miss Okey's wonderful case. 

Should also Lord Harry's case embrace ; 

And inform us, in both these patients' states, 

Which ism it is that predominates. 

Whether magnetism and somnambulism, 

Or, simply and solely, mountebankism. 



THE SONG OF THE BOX. 

Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans, 
And tell how they stood against tyranny's 
shocks ; 
They were all, I confess, in my eye, Betty Mar- 
tins, 
Compar'd to George Gr — te and his wonder- 
ful Box. 

Ask, where Liberty now has her seat ? — O, it 

isn't 

By Delaware's banks or on Switzerland's 

rocks ; — 

Like an imp in some conjurer's bottle imprison'd, 

She's slyly shut up in Gr — te's wonderful Box. 

How snug ! — 'stead of floating through ether's 
dominions, 

Blown this way and that, by the '« populi vox," 
To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions, 

And go fast asleep) in Gr — te's wonderful Box. 

Time was, when free speech was the lifebreaLii 
of freedom — 
So thought once the Seldens, the Hampdens, 
the Lockes ; 
But mute be our troops, when to ambush we 
lead 'em. 
For " Mum " is the word with us Knights of 
the Box. 

3 Omnes fer6 internas corporis partes inverse ordinesita* 
— Act. Erudit. 1690. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



631 



Pure, exquisite Box ! no corruption can soil it ; 
There's Otto of Rose in each breath that un- 
locks ; 
While Gr — te is the "Betty," that serves at the 
toilet, 
And breathes all Arabia around from his Box.' 

'Tis a singular fact, that the fam'd Hugo Grotius ^ 
(A namesake of Gr — te's — being both of 
Dutch stocks), 
Like Gr — te, too, a genius profound as preco- 
cious. 
Was also, like him, much renown'd for a 
Box; — 
An immortal old clothes box, in which the great 
Grotius 
When suffering, in prison, for views het'rodox, 
Was pack'd up incog, spite of jailers ferocious,^ 
And sent to his wife,* carriage free in a Box ! 

But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf. 
Since a rival hath ris'n that all parallel 
mocks ; — 
That Grotius ingloriously sav'd but himself. 
While ours saves the whole British realm by 
a Box ! 

And when, at last, ev'n this greatest of Gr — tes 

Must bend to the Power that at every door 

knocks,* 

May he drop in the urn like his own "silent 

votes," 

And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot Box. 

While long at his shrine, both from county and 
city, 
Shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks, 
And sing, while they whimper, th' appropriate 
ditty, 
" breathe not his name, let it sleep — in the 
Box." 



ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW THALABA. 

ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHET, ESU- 

When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue 
The terrible tale of Thalaba sung — 

1 And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 

Pope's Rape of the Lock, 

2 Oroot, or Orate, Latinized into Grotius. 

3 For the particulars of this escape of Grotius from the 
Castle of Louvenstein, by means of a box (only three feet 
and a half long, it is said) in which books used to be occa- 
sionally sent to him and foul iium returned, see any of the 
Biographical Dictionaries. 



Of him, the Destroyer, doom'd to rout 
That grim divan of conjurers out. 
Whose dwelling dark, as legends say. 
Beneath the roots of the ocean lay, 
(Fit 2^1ace for deep ones, such as they,) 
How little thou knew'st, dear Dr. Southey, 
Although bright genius all allow thee, 
That, some years thence, thy wondering eyes 
Should see a second Thalaba rise — 
As ripe for ruinous rigs as thino, 
Though his havoc lie in a different line. 
And should find this new, improv'd Destroyer 
Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer; 
A sort of an " alien," alias man. 
Whose country or party guess who can, 
Being Cockney half, half Jonathan ; 
And his life, to make the thing completer. 
Being all in the genuine Thalaba metre, 
Loose and irregular as thy feet are ; — 
First, into Whig Pindarics rambling, 
Then in low Tory doggerel scrambling ; 
Now love his theme, now Church his glory 
(At once both Tory and ama-tory). 
Now in th' Old Bailej-lai/ meandering. 
Now in soft couplet style philandering ; 
And, lastly, in lame Alexandrine, 
Dragging his wounded length along,^ 
When scourg'd by Holland's silken tlirong. 

In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second 
May fairly a match for the First be reckon'd ; 
Save that your Thalaba's talent lay 
In sweeping old conjurers clean away. 
While ours at aldermen deals his blows, 
(Who no great conjurers are, God knows, 
Lays Corporations, by wholesale, level. 
Sends Acts of Parliament to the devil. 
Bullies the whole Milesian race — 
Seven millions of Paddies, face to face ; 
And, seizing that magic wand, himself. 
Which erst thy conjurers left on the shelf, 
Transfonns the boys of the Boyne and Liffey 
All into foreigners, in a jiffy — 
Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em. 
Born but for whips and chains, the whole of 'em 1 

Never, in short, did parallel 
Betwixt two heroes gee so well ; 

* This is not quite according to the facts of the case ; nil 
wife having been the contriver of tho stratagem, and r» 
mained in the prison lierself to give him time for escape. 

5 Pallida Mors tequo pulsat pede, &c. — Horat. 

9 "A needless Alexandrine ends the song 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length 
along." 



632 SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


And, among the points in which they fit, 


W— 11- ngt— n, Stephenson, 


There's one, dear Bob, I can't omit. 


Ye ever-boring pair. 


That hacking, hectoring blade of thine 


Where'er I sit, or stand, or run. 


Dealt much in the Domdaniel line ; ' 


Ye haunt me every where. 


And 'tis but rendering justice due, 


Though Job had patience tough enough, 


To say that ours and his Tory crew 


Such duplicates would try it ; 


Damn Daniel most devoutly too. 


Till one's turn'd out and t'other off. 




We shan't have peace or quiet. 




But small's the chance that Law affords — 




Such folks are daily let off; 


RIVAL TOPICS.* 


And, 'twixt th' Old Bailey and the Lords, 




They both, I fear, will get off. 


AN EXTRAVAGANZA. 




W— LL— NOT— N and Stephenson, 




morn and evening papers, 




Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun, 




When will ye cease our ears to stun 


THE BOY STATESMAN. 


With these two heroes' capers ? 


BY A TORT. 


Still " Stephenson " and " W— 11— ngt— n," 




The everlasting two ! — 
Still doom'd, from rise to set of sun, 


" That boy will be the death of me." 

Matthews at Home. 


To hear what mischief one has done. 


Ah, Tories dear, our ruin is near. 


And t'other means to do : — 


With St— nl— y to help us, we can't but faU ; 


What bills the banker pass'd to friends, 


Already a warning voice I hear, 


But never meant to pay ; 


Like the late Charles Matthews' croak in my ear, 


What Bills the other wight intends. 


"That boy — that boy'll be the death of you 


As honest, in their way ; — 


all." 


Bills, payable at distant sight, 




Beyond the Grecian kalends, 


He will, God help us ! — not ev'n Scriblerius 


When all good deeds will come to light. 


In the " Art of Sinking " his match could be ; 


When W— 11— ngt— n will do what's right, 


And our cause is growing exceeding serious, 


And Rowland pay his balance. 


For, all being in the same boat as he, 




If down my Lord goes, down go we, 


To catch the banker all have sought. 


Lord Baron St— nl— y and Company, 


But still the rogue unhurt is ; 


As deep in Oblivion's swamp below 


While t'other juggler — who'd have thought ? 


As such " Masters Shallow " well could go ; 


Though slippery long, has just been caught 


And where we shall all both low and high, 


By old Archbishop Curtis ; — 


Embalm'd in mud, as forgotten lie 


And, such the power of papal crook, 


As already doth Gr— h— m of Netherby ' 


The crosier scarce had quiver'd 


But that boy, that boy ! —there's a tale I know, 


About his ears, when, lo, the Duke 


Which in talking of him comes apropos. 


Was of a BuU deliver' d ! 


Sir Thomas More had an only son. 




And a foolish lad was that only one. 


Sir Richard Birnie doth decide 


And Sir Thomas said, one day to his wife, 


That Rowland " must be mad," 


" My dear, I can't but wish you joy. 


In private coach, with crest, to ride, 


" For you pray'd for a boy, and you now have 


When chaises could be had. 


a boy. 


And t'other hero, all agree, 


" Who'll continue a boy to the end of his life." 


St. Luke's will soon arrive at. 




If thus he shows off publicly, 


Ev'n such is our own distressing lot, 


When he might pass in private. 


With the ever-young statesman we have got ; — 


1 " Vain are the spells, the Destroyer 


2 The date of this squib must have been, I think, about 


Treads the Domdaniel floor." 


1828-9. 


TJuilaba, a Metrical Romance. 





SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



633 



Nay ev'n still worse ; for Master More 
Wasn't more a youth than he'd been before, 
While ours such power of boyhood shows, 
That, the older he gets, the more juv'nile he 

grows. 
And, at what extreme old age he'll close 
His schoolboy course, heaven only knows ; — 
Some century hence, should he reach so far, 

And ourselves to witness it heav'n condemn, 
We shall find him a sort of cub Old Parr, 

A whipper-snapper Methusalem ; 
Nay, ev'n should he make still longer stay of it, 
The boy'll want judgme7it, ev'n to the day of it ! 
Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction ; 

And, day and night, with awe I recall 
The late Mr. Matthews' solemn prediction, 

" That boy'll be the death, the death of you 
all." 

LETTER 

PROM LARRY o'bRANIGAN TO THE REV. 
MURTAGH o'mULLIGAX. 

Arrah, where were you, Murthagh, that beau- 
tiful day ? — 
Or, how came it your riverence was laid on 
the shelf. 
When that poor craythur, Bobby — as you were 
away — 
Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool of himself. 

Throth, it wasn't at all civil to lave in the lurch 
A boy so desarving your tindh'rest affection ; 

Two such iligant Siamase twins of the Church, 
As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the 
connection. 

If thus in two different directions you pull, 
'Paith, they'll swear that yourself and your 
rivcrend brother 
Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory's Bull, 
Whose tails were join'd one way, while they 
look'd another .'' 

Och bless' d be he, whosomdever he be. 

That help'd soft Magee to that Bull of a Let- 
ther ! 

1 " You will increase the enmity with which they are re- 
garded by their associates in heresy, thus tying these foxes 
by the tails, that their faces may tend in opposite direc- 
tions."— Bob's Bull, read at Exeter Hall, July 14. 

2 "An ingenious device of my learned friend." — Bob's 
Letter to Standard. 

8 Had 1 consulted only my own wishes, I should not have 
allowed this hasty attack on Dr. Todd to have made its ap- 
pearance in this Collection; being now fully convinced that 
80 



Not ev'n my own self, though I sometimes 
make free 
At such bull manufacture, could make him 
a betther. 

To be sure, when a lad takes to f org in', this way, 

'Tis a thrick he's much timpted to carry on 

gayly ; 

Till, at last, his " inj anions devices," '^ some day. 

Show him up, not at Exether Hall, but th' 

Ould Bailey. 

That Parsons should forge thus appears mighty 
odd. 
And (as if somethin' " odd " in their names, 
too, must be,) 
One forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, 
While a riverend Todd's now his match, to 
aT.^ 

But, no matther who did it ^ all blessins betide 
him. 
For dishin' up Bob, in a manner so nate ; 
And there wanted but you, Murthagh 'vourneen, 
beside him. 
To make the whole grand dish of bull-cs^^ 
complate. 



MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER. 
Of all the odd plans of this monstrously queer 

The oddest is that of reforming the peerage ; — 
Just as if we, great dons, with a title and star, 
Did not get on exceedingly weU, as we are. 
And perform all the functions of noodles, by 

birth. 
As completely as any born noodles on earth 

How acres descend, is in law books display'd, 
But we as wjseacres descend, ready made ; 
And, by right of our rank in Debrett's nomen- 
clature, 
Are, all of us, born legislators by nature ; — 
Like ducklings, to water instinctively taking. 
So we, with like quackery, take to law making ; 

the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of in- 
tending to pass off as genuine his famous mock Papal Let- 
ter was altogether unfounded. Finding it to be tlie wish, 
however, of my reverend friend — as I am now glad to bo 
permitted to call him — that both the wrong and the repara- 
tion, the Ode and the Palinode, should be tlms placed in 
juxtaposition, I have thought it but due to him to coniplj 
with his request. 



631 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And God forbid any reform should come o'er us, 
To make us more wise than our sires were be- 
fore us. 

Th' Egyptians of old the same policy knew — 

If your sire was a cook, you must be a cook too : 

Thus making, from father to son, a good trade 
of it, 

Poisoners by right (so no more could be said 
of it), 

The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty mess 
made of it ; 

While, fam'd for conservative stomachs, th' Egyp- 
tians 

Without a wry face bolted all the prescriptions. 

It is true, we've among us some peers of the 
past, 

Who keep pace with the present most awfully 
fast — 

Fruits, that ripen beneath the new light now 
arising 

With speed that to us, old conserves, is sur- 
prising, 

Conserves, in whom — potted, for grandmamma 
uses — 

'Twould puzzle a sunbeam to find any juices. 

'Tis true, too, I fear, midst the general move- 
ment, 

Ev'n our House, God help it, is doom'd to im- 
provement, 

And all its live furniture, nobly descended. 

But sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended. 

With movables 'mong us, like Br m and like 

D— rh— m, 

No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to bestir 
'em; 

And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible day. 

When — as playful Old Nick, for his pastime, 
they say. 

Flies off with old houses, sometimes, in a storm — 

So ours may be whipp'd off, some night, by Re- 
form ; 

And, as up, like Loretto's fam'd house,' through 
the air, 

Not angels, but devils, our lordships shall bear. 

Grim, radical phizes, unus'd to the sky. 

Shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us " good 
by," 

While, perch' d up on clouds, little imps of ple- 
beians, 

Small Grotes and 0' Connells, shall sing lo Paeans. 



1 Tlie Casa Santa, supposed to liave been carried by an- 
gels through the air from Galilee to Italy. 



THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER. 

A ROMANTIC BALLAD. 

O, HAVE you heard what happ'd of late ? 

If not, come lend an ear. 
While sad I state the piteous fate 

Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

All prais'd his skilful jockeyship, 

Loud rung the Tory cheer, 
While away, away, with spur and whip, 

Went the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

The nag he rode — how could it err ! 

'Twas the same that took, last year. 
That wonderful jump to Exeter 

With the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

Set a beggar on horseback, wise men say, 
The course he will take is clear ; 

And in that direction lay the way 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 

" Stop, stop," said Truth, but vain her cry — 

Left far away in the rear. 
She heard but the usual gay *' good by " 

From her faithless Pamphleteer. 

You may talk of the jumps of Homer'* 
gods, 

When cantering o'er our sphere — 
I'd back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds, 

This Reverend Pamphleteer. 

But ah, what tumbles a jockey hath ! 

In the midst of his career, 
A file of the Times lay right in the path 

Of the headlong Pamphleteer. 

Whether he tripp'd or shied thereat, 

Doth not so clearly appear : 
But down he came, as his sermons flat — 

This Reverend Pamphleteer ' 

Lord King himself could scarce desire 

To sec a spiritual Peer 
Fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire. 

Than did this Pamphleteer. 

Yet pitying parsons, many a day. 

Shall visit his silent bier. 
And, thinking the while of Stanhoje, sa^ 

" Poor dear old Pamphleteer ! 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 636 


•' He has finish'd, at last, his busy span, 
" And now lies coolly here — 


THE WELLINGTON SPA. 


" As often he did in life, good man, 
" Good, Reverend Pamphleteer ! " 


" And drink oblivion to our woes." 

Anna Matilda 




1899. 
Talk no more of your Cheltenham and Har- 




rowgate springs. 


A RECENT DIALOGUE. 


'Tis from Lethe we now our potations must 


1825. 


draw ; 


A BISHOP and a bold dragoon. 


Your Lethe's a cure for — all possible things, 


Both heroes in their way. 


And the doctors have nam'd it the Welling- 


Did thus, of late, one afternoon. 


ton Spa. 


Unto each other say : — 




" Dear bishop," quoth the brave hussar, 


Other physical waters but cure you in part ; 


" As nobody denies 


One cobbles your gout — t'other mends your 


" That you a wise logician are. 


digestion — 


" And I am — otherwise. 


Some settle your stomach, but this — bless your 


*• 'Tis fit that in this question, we 


heart ! — 


•' Stick each to his own art — 


It will settle, forever, your Catholic Question. 


" That yours should be the sophistry, 




" And mine the fiyhting part. 


Unlike, too, the potions in fashion, at present, 


" My creed, I need not tell you, is 


This Wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth. 


«' Like that of W n. 


So purges the raem'ry of all that's unpleasant. 


" To whom no harlot comes amiss. 


That patients forgei themselves into rude 


" Save her of Babylon ; • 


health. 


'♦ And when we're at a loss for words, 




" If laughing reasoners flout us, 


For instance, th' inventor — his having once said 


♦« For lack of sense we'll draw our swords — 


" He should think himself mad, if, at any 


" The sole thing sharp about us." — 


one's call. 


" Dear bold dragoon," the bishop said. 


"He became what he is" — is so purg'd from 


" 'Tis true for war thou art meant ; 


his head. 


«• And reasoning — bless that dandy head ! 


That he now doesn't think he's a madman at all. 


" Is not in thy department. 




«' So leave the argument to me — 


Of course, for your mem'ries of very long stand- 


'• And, when my holy labor 


ing- 


" Hath lit the fires of bigotry, 


Old chronic diseases, that date back, undaunt- 


" Thou'lt poke them Avith thy sabre. 


ed, 


« From pulpit and from sentry box, 


To Brian Boroo and Fitz- Stephens' first land- 


" We'll make our joint attacks. 


ing — 


" I at the head of my Cassocks, 


A dev'l of a dose of the Lethe is wanted. 


" And you, of your Cossacks. 




" So here's your health, my brave hussar. 


Bet ev'n Irish patients can hardly regret 


" My exquisite old fighter — 


An oblivion, so much in their own native style, 


" Success to bigotry and war, 


So conveniently plann'd, that, whate'er they 


" The musket and the mitre ! " 


forget. 


Thus pray'd the minister of heaven — 


They may go on rememb'ring it still, all the 


While Y— k, just entering then, 


while ! ^ 


Snor'd out (as if some Clerk had given 




His nose the cue) "Amen." 

T.B. 


A CHARACTER 

1834. 


1 Cui nulla meretrix displicuit praeter Babylonicam. 
S The only parallel I know to this sort of oblivion is to be 
found in a line of the late Mr. R. P. Knight - 


Half Whig, half Tory, like those midway things, 
'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have 


" The pleasing memory of things forgot." 


wings ; 



636 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



ll 



A mongrel statesman, 'twixt two factions nurs'd, 
Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst — 
The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer, 
The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear ; 
The thirst for meddling, restless still to show 
How Freedom's clock, repair'd by Whigs, will 

go; 
The alarm when others, more sincere than they, 
Advance the hands to the true time of day. 

By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty dame, 
The boy was dandled, iu his dawn of fame ; 
List'ning, she smil'd, and bless'd the flippant 

tongue 
On which the fate of unborn tithe pigs hung. 
Ah, who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay, 
When loose Reform entic'd her boy away ; 
When shock'd she heard him ape the rabble's 

tone. 
And, in Old Sarum's fate, foredoom her own ! 
Groaning she cried, while tears roll'd down her 

cheeks, 
•' Poor, glib-tongued youth, he means not what 

he speaks. 
" Like oil at top, these Whig professions flow, 
«' But, pure as lymph, runs Toryism below. 
" Alas, that tongue should start thus, in the race, 
" Ere mind can reach and regulate its pace ! — 
" For, once outstripp'd by tongue, poor lagging 

mind, 
" At every step, stiU further limps behind. 
" But, bless the boy ! — whate'er his wandering 

be, 
« Still turns his heart to Toryism and me. 
"Like those odd shapes, portray'd in Dante's 

lay.' 
" W^ith heads fix'd on, the wrong and backward 

way, 
" His f'-'et and eyes pursue a diverse track, 
" While those march onward, these look fondly 

back." 
And well she knew him, well foresaw the day, 
Which now hath come, when snatch'd from 

Whigs away. 
The selfsame changeling di-ops the mask he 

wore. 
And rests, rostor'd, in granny's arms once more. 

But whither now, mix'd brood of modern light 
A.nd ancient darkness, can'st thou bend thj' 

fiiirht ? 



" Che dalle reni era tomato '1 volto, 
E indietro vetiir li convenia, 
Perche '1 veder dinanzi era lor tolto.'' 



Tried by both factions, and to neither true, 
Fear'd by the old school, laugh'd at by the new; 
For this too feeble, and for that too rash. 
This wanting more of fire, that less of flash, 
Lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, 
Betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old, 
A small and " vex'd Bermoothes," which the eye 
Of venturous seaman sees — and passes by. 



A GHOST STORY. 

TO THE AIK OF " UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY." 

1835. 
Not long in bed had L — ndh — rst lain. 

When, as his lamp burn'd dimly, 
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain,* 

Stood by his bedside grimly. 
Dead aldermen, who once could feast. 

But now, themselves, are fed on, 
And skeletons of may'rs deceas'd, 
This doleful chorus led on : — 
" O Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" Unmerciful Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" Corpses we, 
" AU burk'd by thee, 
" Unmerciful Lord L — ndh — rst ! " 

«« Avaunt, 5'e frights ! " his Lordship cried, 

" Ye look most glum and whitely." 
" Ah, L — ndh — rst dear ! " the frights replied, 

" You've us'd us unpolitely. 
" And now, ungrateful man! to drive 

" Dead bodies from your door so, 
" Who quite corrupt enough, alive, 

" You've made, by death, still more so. 

" O, Ex-Chancellor, 
" Destructive Ex- Chancellor, 
" See thy work, 
"Thou second Burke, 
" Destructive Ex-ChanceUor ! " 

Bold L — ndh— rst then, whom nought could 
keep 

Awake, or surely that would, 
Cried, " Curse you all " — fell fast asleep — 

And dreamt of " Small v. Attwood." 
While, shock'd, the bodies flew down stairs. 

But, courteous in their panic. 
Precedence gave to ghosts of may'rs, 

And corpses aldermanic. 



2 Referring to the line taken by Lord L— ndh— rst, on the 
question of Municipal Reform. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Crying, " O, Lord L— ndh— rst, 
' That terrible Lord L — ndh — rst, 
" Not Old Scratch 
" Himself could match 
' That terrible Lord L— ndh— rst." 



THOUGHTS 

ON THE LATK 

DESTRUCTIVE PROPOSITIONS OF THE TORIES.i 

BY A COMMON COUNCILMAN. 

1835. 
I SAT me down in my easy chair, 

To read, as usual, the morning papers ; 
But — who shall describe my look of despair. 

When I came to Lefroy's " destructive " ca- 
pers ? 
That he — that, of all live men, Lefroy 
Should join in the cry " Destroy, destroy ! " 
Who, ev'n when a babe, as I've heard said, 
On Orange conserve was chiefly fed. 
And never, till now, a movement made 
That wasn't most manfully retrograde ! 
Only think — to sweep from' the light of day 
Mayors, maces, criers, and wigs away ; 
To annihilate — never to rise again — 
A whole generation of aldermen. 
Nor leave them ev'n th' accustom' d tolls, 
To keep together their bodies and souls ! — — 
At a time, too, when snug posts and places 

Are falling away from us, one by one, 
Crash — crash — like the mummy cases 

Belzoni, in Egypt, sat upon, 
Wherein lay pickled, in state sublime. 
Conservatives of the ancient time ; — 
To choose such a moment to overset 
The few snug nuisances left us yet ; 
To add to the ruin that round us reigns, 
By knocking out mayors' and town clerks' 

brains ; 
By dooming all corporate bodies to fall. 
Till they leave, at last, no bodies at all — 
Nought but the ghosts of by-gone glory, 
Wrecks of a world that once was Tory ! — 
Whore pensive criers, like owls unblest, 

Robb'd of then roosts, shall still hoot o'er 
them ; 
Nor may'rs shall know where to seek a nest, 

Till Gaily Knight shall find one for them ; — 
Till mayors and kings, with none to rue 'em. 

Shall perish all in one common plague ; 

1 These verses were written in reference to the Bill 
brought in at this time, for the reform of Corporations, and 



And the sovereign of Belfast and Tuam 

Must join their brother, Charles Dix, at 
Prague. 

Thus mus'd I, in my chair, alone, 

(As above describ'd) till dozy grown, 

And nodding assent to my own opinions, 

I found myself borne to sleep's dominions, 

Where, lo, before my dreaming eyes, 

A new House of Commons appear'd to rise. 

Whose living contents, to fancj''s survey, 

Seem'd to me all turn'd topsy turvy — 

A jumble of polypi — nobody knew 

Which was the head or which the cue. 

Here, Inglis, turn'd to a sans culotte, 

Was dancing the hays with Hume and Grote; 

There, ripe for riot. Recorder Shaw 

Was learning from Roebuck " Ca-ira ; " 

Wliile Stanley and Graham, as poissarde 

wenches, 
Scream'd " h bus ! " from the Tory benches ; 
And Peel and O'Connell, cheek by jowl. 
Were dancing an Irish carmagnole. 

The Lord preserve us ! — if dreams come triie, 
What is this hapless realm to do ? 

ANTICIPATED MEETING 

OF THE 

BRITISH ASSOCIATION IN THE YEAR 2836. 

1830. 
After some observations from Dr. M'Grig 
On that fossile reliquium. call'd Petrified Wig, 
Or PerruquoUthus — a specimen rare 
Of those wigs, made for antediluvian wear, 
Which, it seems, stood the Flood without turn- 
ing a hair — 
Mr. Tomkins rose up, and requested attention 
To facts no less wondrous which he had to men- 
tion. 

Some large fossil creatures had lately been found 

Of a species no longer now seen above groundj 

But the same (as to Tomkins most clearly ap- 
pears) 

With those animals, lost now for hundreds of 
years, 

Which our ancestors us'd to call "Bishops" 
and *' Peers," 

But which Tomkins more erudite names haa 
bestow' d on, 

Having call the Peer fossil th' Aj-wtocratodon,' 

the sweeping amendments proposed by Lord Lyndhurst ani 
other Tory Peers, in order to obstruct the measure. 
2 A term formed on the model of the Mastodon, &c 



638 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



And, finding much food under t'other one's tho- 
rax, 
Has christen'd that creature th' Episcopus Vorax. 

Lest the savantes and dandies should think this 
all fable, 

Mr. Tomkins most kindly produc'd, on the 
table, 

A sample of each of these species of creatures, 

Both tol'rably human, in structure and fea- 
tures, 

Except that th' Episcopus seems, Lord deliver 
us! 

To've been carnivorous as well as granivorous ; 

And Tomkins, on searching its stomach, found 
there 

Large lumps, such as no modern stomach could 
bear. 

Of a substance call'd Tithe, upon which, as 'tis 
said, 

The whole Genus Clericum formerly fed ; 

And which having lately himself decompounded. 

Just to see what 'twas made of, he actually 
found it 

Compos'd of all possible cookable things 

That e'er tripp'd upon trotters or soar'd upon 
wings — 

All products of earth, both gramineous, herba- 
ceous, 

Hordeaceous, fabaceous, and eke farinaceous, 

All clubbing their quotas, to glut the oesopha- 
gus 

Of this ever-greedy and grasping Tithophagus.' 

" Admire," exclaim'd Tomkins, " the kind dis- 
pensation 

" By Providence shed on this much-favor'd na- 
tion, 

" In sweeping so ravenous a race from the 
earth, 

" That might else have occasion'd a general 
dearth — 

" And thus burying 'em, deep as ev'n Joe Hume 
would sink 'em, 

" With the Ichthyosaurus and Palseorynchum, 

'* And other queer ci-devant things, under 
ground — 

" Nor forgetting that fossilized youth,* so re- 
nown'd, 

" Who liv'd just to witness the Deluge — was 
gratified 

•' Much by the sight, and has since been found 
stratified ! " 

1 The zoolocical term for a tithe eater. 

2 The man found by Scheuchzer, and supposed by him 
♦o have witnessed the Deluge (" homo diluvii testis"), but 



This picturesque touch — quite in Tomkins'r, 

way — 
Call'd forth from the savantes a general hurrah ; 
While inquiries among them went rapidly round. 
As to where this young stratified man could be 

found. 
The " learn' d Theban's " discourse next as live- 
ly flow'd on. 
To sketch t'other wonder, th' Amtocratodon — 
An animal, differing from most human creatures 
Not so much in speech, inward structure, or 

features. 
As in having a certain excrescence, T. said, 
Which in form of a coronet grew from its head, 
And devolv'd to its heirs, when the creature 

was dead ; 
Nor matter'd it, while this heirloom was trans- 
mitted, 
How unfit were the heads, so the coronet fitted. 

He then mention'd a strange zoological fact, 

Whose announcement appear'd much applause 
to attract. 

In France, said the learned professor, this race 

Had so noxious become, in some centuries' 
space. 

From their numbers and strength, that the land 
was o'errun with 'em, 

Every one's question being, " What's to be done 
with 'em ? " 

When, lo ! certain knowing ones — savans, may- 
hap. 

Who, like Buckland's deep followers, under- 
stood trap,^ 

Slyly hinted that nought upon earth was so 
good 

For Arjitocratodons, when rampant and rude. 

As to stop, or curtail, their allowance of food. 

This expedient was tried, and a proof it affords 

Of th' effect that short commons will have upon 
lords ; 

For this whole race of bipeds, one fine sum- 
mer's morn. 

Shed their coronets, just as a deer sneds his 
horn, 

And the moment these gewgaws fell off, they 
became 

Quite a new sort of creature — so harmless and 
tame. 

That zoologists might, for the first time, main- 
tain 'em 

To be near akin to the c/enus humanum, 

who turned out, I am sorry to say, to be merely a great liz- 
ard. 
3 Particularly the formation called Transition Trap. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



639 



And th' experiment, tried so successfully then, 
Should be kept in remembrance, when -wanted 
again. 



SONGS OF THE CHURCH. 



No. 1. 



LEAVE ME ALONE. 



PASTOBAL BALLAD. 



•* We are ever standing on the defensive. All that we say 
to them is, ' leave us alone.' The Established Cliurch is 
part and parcel of the constitution of this country. You 
are bound to conform to this constitution. We ask of you 
nothing more; — let us alone." — Letter in The Times, 
Nov. 1838. 

1838. 

Come, list to my pastoral tones. 
In clover my shepherds I keep ; 

My stalls are well furnish'd with drones, 
Whose preaching invites one to sleep. 

At my spirit let infidels scoff. 

So they leave but the substance my own ; 

For, in sooth, I'm extremely well off. 
If the world will but let me alone. 

Dissenters are grumblers, we know ; — 

Though excellent men, in their way, 
They never like things to be so, 

Let things be however they may. 
But disscnting's a trick I detest ; 

And, besides, 'tis an axiom well kno-^-n, 
The creed that's best paid is the best, 

If the iwpaid would let it alone. 

To me, I own, very surprising 

Your Newmans and Puseys all seem. 
Who start first with rationalizing, 

Then jump to the other extreme. 
Far better, 'twixt nonsense and sense, 

A nice kalf-way concern, like our own. 
Where piety's mix'd up with pence. 

And the latter are 7ie'er left alone. 

Of all our tormentors, the Press is 

The one that most tears us to bits ; 
And now, Mrs. WooltVey's " excesses," 

Have thrown <ill its imps into fits. 
The dev'ls have been at us, for weeks, 

And there's no saying when they'll have 
done ; — 
O dear, how I wish Mr. Breeks 

Had left Mrs. Woolfrey alone ! 



If any need pray for the dead, 

'Tis those to whom post obits fall ; 
Since wisely hath Solomon said, 

'Tis " money that answereth all." 
But ours be the patrons Avho live ; — 

For, once in their glebe they are thrown, 
The dead have no living to give, 

And therefore we leave them alone. 

Though in morals we may not excel, 

Such perfection is rare to be had ; 
A good life is, of course, very well, 

But good living is also — not bad. 
And when, to feed earthworms, I go. 

Let this epitaph stare from my stone, 
" Here lies the Right Rev. so and so ; 

" Pass, stranger, and — leave him alone." 



EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF EX— T— R 
TO JOHN OF TUAM. 

Dear John, as I know, like our brother of Lon- 
don, 
You've sipp'd of all knowledge, both sacred and 

mundane, 
No doubt, in some ancient Joe Miller, you've 

read 
WTiat Cato, that cunning old Roman, once 

said — 
That he ne'er saw two rev'rend soothsayers 

meet, 
Let it be where it might, in the shrine or the 

street, 
Without wondering the rogues, 'mid their 

solemn grimaces, 
Didn't burst out a-laughing in each other's 

faces.' 
What Cato then meant, though 'tis so long ago. 
Even we in the present times pretty well know ; 
Having soothsayers also, who — sooth to say, 

John — 
Are no better in some points than those of days 

gone. 
And a pair of whom, meeting (between you and 

me). 
Might laugh in their sleeves, too— all lawn 

though they be. 
But this, by the way — my intention being 

chiefly. 
In this, my first letter, to hint to you briefly, 

1 Mirari se, si augur augurem aspiciens sibi temperaret a 
risu. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



That, seeing how fond you of Tiium ' must be. 

While Meum's at aU times the main point with 
me, 

We scarce could do better than form an alli- 
ance, 

To set these sad Anti-Church times at defi- 
ance : 

You, John, recollect, being still to embark, 

With no share in the firm but your title '•* and 
tnark ; 

Or ev'n should you feel in your grandeur in- 
clin'd 

To call yourself Pope, why, I shovddn't much 
mind ; 

While my church as usual holds fast by your 
Tuum, 

And every one else's, to make it all Suum. 

Thus allied, I've no doubt we shall nicely agree. 

As no twins can be liker, in most points, than 
we ; 

Both, specimens choice of that mix'd sort of 
beast, 

(See Rev. xiii. 1,) a political priest ; 

Both mettlesome chargers, both brisk pam- 
phleteers, 

Ripe and ready for all that sets men by the ears ; 

And I, at least one, who would scorn to stick 
longer 

By any giv'n cause than I found it the stronger. 

And who, smooth in my turnings, as if on a 
swivel, 

Wlien the tone ecclesiastic won't do, try the 
civil. 

In short (not to bore you, e'ven/wre divino) 
We've the same cause in common, John — all 

but the rhino ; 
And that vulgar surplus, whate'er it maybe. 
As you're not ns'd to cash, John, you'd best 

leave to me. 
And so, without form — as the postman won't 

tarry — 
I'm, dear Jack of Tuam, 

~ Yours, 

ExETEE Harey. 



1 So spelled in those ancient versicles which John, we 
understand, frequently chants : — 

" Had every one Suiim, 
You wouldn't have Tuum, 
But [ should have Meum, 
And sing Te Deuin." 



SONG OF OLD PUCK. 

" And those things do best please me, 
That befall preposterously." 

Puck Junior, Midsummer JVigMs Dream 

Who wants old Puck ? for here am I, 
A mongrel imp, 'twixt earth and sky. 
Ready alike to crawl or fly ; 
Now in the mud, now in the air, 
And, so 'tis for mischief, reckless where. 

As to my knowledge, there's no end to't, 
For, where I haven't it, I pretend to't ; 
And, 'stead of taking a learn'd degree 
At some dull university. 
Puck found it handier to commence 
With a certain share of impudence, 
Which passes one off as learn'd and clever. 
Beyond all other degrees whatever ; 
And enables a man of lively sconce 
To be Master of all the Arts at once. 
No matter what the science may be — 
Ethics, Physics, Theology, 
Mathematics, Hydrostatics, 
Aerostatics or Pneumatics — 
Whatever it be, I take my luck, 
'Tis all the same to ancient Puck ; 
Whose head's so full of all sorts of wares, 
That a brother imp, old Smugden, swears. 
If I had but of law a little smatt'ring, 
I'd then be perfect ^ — which is flatt'ring. 

My skill as a linguist all must know 
Who met me abroad some months ago ; 
(And heard me abroad exceedingly, too. 
In the moods and tenses of parlez vous) 
When, as old Chambaud's shade stood mute, 
I spoke such French to the Institute 
As puzzled those learned Thebans much. 
To know if 'twas Sanscrit or High Dutch, 
And might have pass'd with th' unobserv 

ing 
As one of the unknown tongues of Irving. 
As to my talent for ubiquity. 
There's nothing like it in all antiquity. 
Like Mungo (my peculiar care) 
" I'm here, I'm dere, I'm ebery where." * 



» For his keeping the title he may quote classical autho 
iity, as Horace expressly says, " Poteris servare Tuam." — 
De Art. Poet. v. 32d.— Chronicle. 

3 Verbatim, as said. Tliis tribute is only equalled by that 

of Talleyrand to liis medical friend, Dr. : " II se con- 

noit en tout ; et meme un peu en medecine." 

4 Song in "The Padlock." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 641 


If anj' one's Avanted to take the chair, 


Were bid for, with eagerness ev'n more absurd 


Upon any subjeet, any where, 


Than has often distinguish'd this great think- 


Just look around, and — Puck is there ! 


ing nation. 


When slaughter's at hand, your bird of prey 




Is never known to be out of the way ; 


Talk of wonders one now and then sees adver 


And wherever mischief's to be got, 


tis'd. 


There's Puck instanter, on the spot. 


•♦ Black swans " — " Queen Anne farthings "-- 




or e'vn " a child's caul " — 


Only find me in negus and applause, 


Much and justly as all these rare objects ara 


And I'm your man for any cause. 


priz'd, 


If icrong the cause, the more my delight ; 


"St— nl— y's talents" outdid them— swans. 


But I don't object to it, ev'n when right. 


farthings, and all ! 


If I only can vex some old friend by't ; 




There's D— rh— m, for instance ; — to worry 


At length, some mistrust of this coin got abroad ; 


him 


Even quondam believers began much to doubt 


Fills up my cup of bliss to the brim ! 


of it; 




Some rung it, some rubb'd it, suspecting a 


(note by the editor.) 


fraud — 


Those who are anxious to run a muck 


And the hard rubs it got rather took the shine 


Can't do better than join with Puck. 


out of it. 


They'll find him bo7i diable— spite of his phiz — 




And, in fact, his great ambition is. 


Others, wishing to break the poor prodigy's fall. 


While playing old Puck in first-rate style, 


Said 'twas known well to all who had studied 


To be i/wught Robin Goodfellow aU the while. 


the matter, 




That the Greeks had not only great talents but 




small,^ 




And those found on the youngster were 


POLICE REPORTS. 


clearly the latter. 


CASE OF IMPOSTURE. 


While others, who view'd the grave farce with a 




grin — 


Among other stray flashmen, dispos'd of, this 


Seeing counterfeits pass thus for coinage so 


week, 


massy. 


Was a youngster, nam'd St — nl — y, genteelly 


By way of a hint to the dolts taken in. 


connected. 


Appropriately quoted Budaeus ne Asse. 


Who has lately been passing off coins, as an- 




tique, 


In short, the whole sham by degrees was founa 


Which have proved to be sham ,nes, though 


out. 


long unsuspected. 


And this coin, which they chose by such fine 




names to call. 


The ancients, our readers need hardly be told, 


Prov'd a mere lacker'd article — showy, no 


Had a coin they call'd "Talents," for whole- 


doubt. 


sale demands ; ' 


But, ye gods, not the true Attic Talent at all. 


And 'twas some of said coinage this youth was 




so bold 


As th' impostor was still young enough to ie« 


As to fancy he'd got, God knows how, in his 


pent, 


hands. 


And, besides, had some claims to a grandee 




connection. 


People took him, however, like fools, at his 


Their Worships — considerate for once — only 


word ; 


sent 


And these talents (all priz'd at his own valua- 


The young Thimblerig off to the House of 


tion,) 


Correction. 


1 For an account of the coin called Talents by the an- 


2 The Taler.tum Magnum and the Talentum Atticuin ap- 


cients, see Budaeus de Asse, and the other writers de Re 


pear to have been the same coin. 


Nuinmaria. 




i 



SATIRICAL AND HU?*IOROUS POEMS. 



REFLECTIONS. 

ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ARTICLE OF 

THE CHURCH IN THE LAST NUMBER OF THE 

QUARTERLY REVIEW. 

I'm quite of your mind ; — though these Pats 

cry aloud 

That they've got " too much Church," 'tis all 

nonsense and stuff; 

For Church is like Love, of which Figaro vow'd 

That even too much of it's not quite enough.' 

Ay, dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their 
ills ; — 
Copy Morison's mode when from pill box un- 
daunted he 
Pours through the patient his black-coated 
pills, 
Nor cares what their quality, so there's but 
quantity. 

I verily think, 'twould be worth England's 
while 
To consider, for Paddy's own benefit, whether 
'Twould not be as well to give up the green 
isle 
To the care, wear and tear of the Church alto- 
gether. 

The Irish are well us'd to treatment so pleas- 
ant ; 
The harlot Church gave them to Henry Plan- 
tagenet,* 
And now, if King William would make them a 
present 
To t'other chaste lady — ye Saints, just im- 
agine it ! 

Chief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Commanders-in- 
chief, 
Might then all be cull'd from th' episcopal 
benches ; 
While colonels in black would afford some re- 
lief 
From the hue that reminds one of th' old 
scarlet wench's. 

Think how fierce at a charge (being practis'd 
therein) 
The Right Reverend Brigadier Ph— 11— tts 
would slash on ! 

1 En fait d'amour, trop meme n'est pas assez Barbitr 

de Seville, 

2 Grant of Ireland to Henry II. by Pope Adrian. 



How General Bl — mf — d, through thick and 
through thin, 
To the end of the chapter (or chapters) would 
dash on 1 

For, in one point alone do the amply fed race 

Of bishops to beggars similitude bear — 
That, set them on horseback, in full steeple 
chase. 
And they'll ride, if not puU'd up in time — 
you know where. 

But, bless you, in Ireland, that matters not 
much, 
\Vhere affairs have for centuries gone the 
same way ; 
And a good stanch Conservative's sj'stem is such 
That he'd back even Beelzebub's lorg-founded 
sway. 

I am therefore, dear Quarterly, quite of your 
mind ; — 
Church, Church, in all shapes, into Erin let's 
pour ; 
And the more she rejecteth our med'cine so 
kind. 
The more let's repeat it — "Black dose, as 
before." 

Let Coercion, that peacemaker, go hand in hand 
With demure-ey'd Conversion, fit sister and 
brother ; 
And, covering with prisons and churches the 
land, 
All that won't ffo to one, we'll put mto the 
other. 

For the sole, leading maxim of us who're in- 
clin'd 
To rule over Ireland, not well, but religiously, 
Is to treat her like ladies, who've just been con- 
fin'd 
(Or who oiight to be so) and to church her pro 
digiously. 



NEW GRAND EXHIBITION OF MODELS 

OF THE 
TWO HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 

Come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view 
An exact and nat'ral representation 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



643 



(Like Siburn's Model of Waterloo ') 

Of the Lords and Commons of this here nation. 

There they are — all cut out iu cork — 

The " Collective "Wisdom " wondrous to see ; 

My eyes ! when all them heads are at work, 
What a vastly weighty consarn it must be. 

As for the " wisdom," — that may come anon ; 

Though, to say truth, we sometimes see 
(And I find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un) 

A man who's M. P. with a head that's M. T. 

Our Lords are rather too small, 'tis true ; 

But they do well enough for Cabinet shelves; 
And besides, — what's a man with creeturs to 
do 
That make such werry small figures them- 
selves ? 

There — don't touch those lords, my pretty 
dears — {Aside.) 
Curse the children ! — this comes of reforming 
a nation : 
Those meddling young brats have so damag'd 
my peers, 
I must lay in more cork for a new creation. 

Them yonder's our bishops — " to whom much 
is giv'n," 
And who're ready to take as much more as 
you please : 
The seers of old times saw visions of heaven, 
But these holy seers see nothing but Sees. 

Like old Atlas ' (the chap, in Cheapside, there 
below,) 
'Tis for so much per cent, they take heav'n on 
their shoulders ; 
And joy 'tis to know that old High Church 
and Co., 
Though not capital priests, are such capital 
holders. 

There's one on 'era, Ph — lip — ts, who now is 
away, 
As we're having him fill'd with bumbustible 
stuff. 
Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala 
day, 
"When we annually fire his Right Rever- 
ence off. 



1 One of the most interesting and curious of all the exhi- 
bitions of the day. 



'Twould do your heart good, ma'am, then to 
be by. 
When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of 
with bile. 
Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers 
cry, 
'< How like the dear man, both in matter and 
style ! " 

Should you want a few Peers and M. P.'s, to 
bestow. 
As presents to friends, we can recommend 
these : ^ — 
Our nobles are come down to ninepence, you 
know, 
And we charge but a penny apiece for M. P.'s. 

Those of bottle corks made take most with the 
trade, 
(At least, 'mong such as my Irish writ sum- 
mons,) 
Of old lohiskeij corks our O'Connells are made, 
But those we make Shaws and Lefroys of, are 
rum 'uns. 
So, step in, gentlefolks, &c. &c. 

Da Capo. 



ANNOUNCEMENT 



A NEW GKAND ACCELERATION COMPANY 

FOR THE PEOMOTION OF 

THE SPEED OF LITERATUKE, 

Loud complaints being made, in these quick- 
reading times. 
Of too slack a supply, both of prose works and 

rhymes, 
A new Company, form'd on the keep-moving 

plan. 
First propos'd by the great fijrm of Catch-'em- 

who-can. 
Beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and 

speed. 
Some fast-going authors, of quite a new breed — 
Such as not he who runs but who gallops may 

read — 
And who, if well curried and fed, they've no 

doubt, 
Will beat even Bentley's swift stud out and out 



2 The sign of the Insurance Office in Cheapside. 

3 Producing a bag full of lords and gentlemen. 



344 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



It is true, in these days, such a drug is renown, 
We've "Immortals" as rife as M. P.'s about 

town ; 
And not a Blue's rout but can offhand supply 
Some invalid bard who's insur'd " not to die." 
Still, let England but once try ow authors, she'll 

find 
How fast they'll leave even these Immortals 

behind; 
And how truly the toils of Alcides were light, 
Compar'd with his toil who can read all they 

write. 

In fact, there's no saying, so gainful the trade. 
How fast immortalities now may be made ; 
Since Helicon never will want an " Undying 

One," 
As long as the public continues a Buying One ; 
And the company hope yet to witness the 

hour, 
WTien, by strongly applying the mare-motive ' 

power, 
A three-decker novel, 'midst oceans of praise, 
May be written, launch'd, read, and — forgot, 

in three days ! 

In addition to all this stupendous celerity, 
^Vhich — to the no small relief of posterity — 
Pays off at sight the whole debit of fame. 
Nor troubles futurity ev'n with a name 
(A project that won't as much tickle Tom Tegg 

as us. 
Since 'twill rob him of his second-priced Peg- 
asus) ; 
"We, the Company — still more to show how im- 
mense 
Is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, 

and pence ; 
And that not even Phoebus himself, in our day. 
Could get up a lai/ without first an oiUlaj — 
Beg to add, as our literature soon may com- 
pare, 
In its quick make and vent, with our Birming- 
ham ware. 
And it doesn't at all matter in either of these 

lines. 
How sham is the article, so it but shines, — 
We keep authors ready, all perch'd, pen in hand. 
To write off, in any giv'n style, at command. 
No matter what bard, be he living or dead,^ 
Ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as 
said : 



I " 'Tis money makes the mare to go." 
- We have lodgings apart, for our posthumous people. 
As we find that, if left with the live ones, they keep il 



There being, on th' establishment, six Waltci 

Scotts, 
One capital Wordsworth, and South eys in lots ; 
Three choice Mrs. Nortons, all singing like sirens, 
While most of our pallid young clerks are Lord 

Byrons. 
Then we've ***s and ***s (for whom there's 

small call), 
And ***s and ***s (for whom no call at aU). 

In short, whosoe'er the last " Lion " may be. 
We've a Bottom who'll copy his roar' to a T, 
And so well, that not one of the buyers who've 

got 'em 
Can tell which is lion, and which only Bottom. 

N. B. — The company, since they set up in this 

line, 
Have mov'd their concern, and are now at the 

sign 
Of the Muse's Velocipede, Fleet Street, where all 
Who wish well to the scheme are invited to call. 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE DIN, 
NER TO DAN. 

From tongue to tongue the rumor flew ; 
All ask'd, aghast, " Is't true ? is't true ? " 

But none knew whether 'twas fact or fable ; 
And still the unholy rumor ran, 
From Tory woman to Tory man, 

Though none to come at the truth was able ~ 
Till, lo, at last, the fact came out. 
The horrible fact, beyond all doubt. 

That Dan had din'd at the Viceroy's table ; 
Had flesh' d his Popish knife and fork 
In the heart of th' Established mutton and pork ! 

Who can forget the deep sensation 

That news produc'd in this orthodox nation ? 

Deans, rectors, curates, all agreed, 

K Dan was allow'd at the Castle to feed, 

'Twas clearly all up with the Protestant creed ! 

There hadn't, indeed, such an apparition 

Been heard of, in Dublin, since that day 
When, during the first grand exhibition 

Of Don Giovanni, that naughty play, 
There appear' d, as if rais'd by necromancers, 
An extra devil among the dancers ! 
Yes — ev'ry one saw, with fearful thrill. 
That a devil too much had join'd the quadrille ; • 

s " Bottom : Let me play the lion ; I will roar you as 
'twere any nightingale." 
* History of the Irish Stage. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



6iS 



And sulphur was smelt, and the lamps let 

faU 
A grim, green light o'er the ghastly ball. 
And the poor sham dev'ls didn't like it all ; 
For, they knew from whence th' intruder had 

come, 
Though he left, that night, his tail at home. 

This fact, we see, is a parallel case 

To the dinner that, some weeks since, took place. 

With the difference slight of fiend and man. 

It shows what a nest of Popish sinners 
That city must be, where the devil and Dan 

May thus drop in, at quadrilles and din- 



But, mark the end of these foul proceedings, 
These demon hops and Popish feedings. 
Some comfort 'twill be — to those, at least. 

Who've studied this awful dinner question — 
To know that Dan, on the night of that feast. 

Was seiz'd with a dreadful indigestion ; 
That envoys were sent, post haste, to his priest, 
To come and absolve the suffering sinner, 
For eating so much at a heretic dinner ; 
And some good people were even afraid 
That Peel's old confectioner — still at the 

trade — 
Had poison' d the Papist with orangeade. 



NEW HOSPITAL FOR SICK LITERATI. 

With all humility we beg 

To inform the public, that Tom Tegg — 

Known for his spunky speculations. 

In buying up dead reputations, 

And, by a mode of galvanizing 

Which, all must own, is quite surprising, 

flaking dead authors move again. 

As though they still were living men ; — 

All this, too, manag'd, in a trice, 

By those two magic words, " Half Price," 

Which brings the charm so quick about. 

That worn-out poets, left without 

A second ybo< whereon to stand. 

Are made to go at second hand ; — 

'Twill please the public, we repeat. 

To learn that Tegg, who works this feat. 

And, therefore, knows what care it needs 

To keep alive Fame's invalids. 

Has oped a Hospital, in town, 

For cases of knock' d-up renown — 



Falls, fractures, dangerous Epic^is 

(By some call'd Cantos), stabs from wits ; 

And, of all wounds for which they're nurs'd, 

Dead cuts from publishers, the worst ; — 

All these, and other such fatalities. 

That happen to frail immortalities, 

By Tegg are so expertly treated, 

That ofttimes, when the cure's completed. 

The patient's made robust enough 

To stand a few more rounds of puff, 

Till, like the ghosts of Dante's lay, 

He's pufPd into thin air away ! 

As titled poets (being phenomenons) 

Don't like to mix with low and common 

'uns, 
Tegg's Hospital has separate wards. 
Express for literary lords, 
Where prose peers, of immoderate length. 
Are nurs'd, when they've outgrown their 

strength. 
And poets, whom their friends despair of. 
Are — put to bed and taken care of. 

Tegg begs to contradict a story, 

Now current both with Whig and Tory, 

That Doctor W— rb— t— n, M. P., 

Well known for his antipathy. 

His deadly hate, good man, to all 

The race of poets, great and small — 

So much, that he's been heard to own, 

He would most willingly cut down 

The holiest groves on Pindus' mount, 

To turn the timber to account ! — 

The story actually goes, that he 

Prescribes at Tegg's Infirmary ; 

And oft, not only stints, for spite. 

The patients in their copyright. 

But that, on being call'd in lately 

To two sick poets, suffering greatly. 

This vaticidal Doctor sent them 

So strong a dose of Jeremy Bentham, 

That one of the poor bards but cried, 

" O, Jerry, Jerry ! " and then died ; 

While t'other, though less stuff was given, 

Is on his road, 'tis fear'd, to heaven ! 

Of this event, howe'er unpleasant, 
Tegg means to say no more at present, — 
Intending shortly to prepare 
A statement of the whole affair, 
With full accounts, at the same time. 
Of some late cases (prose and rhyme), 
Subscrib'd with every author's name, 
That's now on the Sick List of Fame. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



RELIGION AND TRADE. 

" Sir Roliert Pee! believed if was neceissary to originate all 
respecting religion and trade in a Coniiriittee of the 
House." — CAure/i Extension, May &2, 1839. 

Bay, who was the wag, indecorously witty, 
Who first, in a statute, this libel convey'd ; 

And thus slyly referr'd to the selfsame com- 
mittee. 
As matters congenial, Religion and Trade ? 

surely, my Ph — Up — ts, 'twas thou didst the 

deed ; 

For none but thyself, or some pluralist brother, 

Accustom'd to mix up the craft with the creed, 

Could bring such a pair thus to twin with 

each other. 

And yet, when one thinks of times present and 
gone. 
One is forc'd to confess, on maturer reflection, 
riiat 'tisn't in the eyes of committees alone 
That the shrine and the shop seem to have 
some connection. 

Not to mention those monarchs of Asia's fair 

land, 

Whose civil list all is in " god-money " jjaid ; 

And where the whole people, by royal command, 

Buy their gods at the government mart, ready 

made ; ' — 

There was also (as mention' d, in rhyme and in 
prose, is) 
Gold huap'd, throughout Egypt, on every 
shrine, 
To make rings for right reverend crocodiles' 
noses — 
Just such as, my Ph — lip — ts, would look 
well in thine. 

But one needn't fly off, in this erudite mood ; 
And 'tis clear, without going to regions so 
sunny, 
That priests love to do the least possible good, 
For the largest 7nost possible quantum of 
money. 

«' Of him," saith the tex, " unto whom much is 
given, 
*' Of him much, in turn, will be also re- 
quired : " — 

1 The Birmans may not Imy the sacred marble in mass, 
but must purchase figures of the deity already made. — 

UVMES 



*' By me," quoth the sleek and obese man of 
heaven — 
•' Give as much as you will — more will still 
be desir'd." 

More money ! more churches ! — Nimrod, 
hadst thou 
'Stead of Tower extension, some shorter way 
gone — 
Hadst thou known by what methods we mount 
to heav'ii now, 
And tried Church extension, the feat had been 
done ! « 



MUSINGS, 

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE PROMOTION OF MK8. 
NETHERCOAT. 

" The widow Nethercoat is appointed jailer of Loughrea, 
in the room of her deceased husband." — Limerick Chron- 
icle 

Whether as queens or subjects, in these days, 
Women seem form'd to grace alike each sta- 
tion ; — 

As Captain Flaherty gallantly says, 

" You, ladies, are the lords of the creation !" 

Thus o'er my mind did prescient visions float 
Of all that matchless woman yet may be ; 

When, hark, in rumors less and less remote, 
Came the glad news o'er Erin's ambient sea, 

The important news — that Mrs. Nethercoat 
Had been appointed jailer of Loughrea ; 

Yes, mark it. History — Nethercoat is dead, 

And Mrs. N. now rules his realm instead ; 

Hers the high task to wield th' uplocking keys, 

To rivet rogues and reign o'er Rajiparees ! 

Thus, while your blust'rers of the Tory school 
Find Ireland's sanest sons so hard to rule, 
One meek-ey'd matron, in Whig doctrines nurs'a, 
Is all that's ask'd to curb the maddest, worst ! 

Show me the man that dares, with blushlesa 

brow, 
Prate about Erin's rage and riot now ; — 
Now, when her temperance forms her sole ex- 
cess ; 
When long-lov'd whiskey, fading from hei 
sight, 
" Small by degrees, and beautifully less," 
Will soon, like other spiriis, vanish quite ; 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



647 



When of red coats tlie number's grown so small, 

That soon, to cheer the warlike parson's eyes, 
No glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, 

Save that which she of Babylon supplies ; — 
Or, at the most, a corporal's guard will be. 

Of Ireland's red defence the sole remains ; 
While of its jails bright woman keeps the key, 

And captive Paddies languish in her chains ! 
Long may such lot be Erin's, long be mine ! 
yes — if ev'n this world, though bright it shine, 

In Wisdom's eyes a prison house must be. 
At least let woman's hand our fetters twine. 

And blithe I'U sing, more joyous than if free. 

The Nothercoats, the Nethercoats for me ! 



INTENDED TRIBUTE 

TO THE 

AUTHOR OP AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST NUMBER 
OF THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, 

ENTITLED 

"ROMANISM IN IRELAND." 

It glads us much to be able to say 

That a meeting is fix'd, for some early day, 

Of all such dowagers — he or she — 

(No matter the sex, so they dowagers be,) 

Whose opinions, concerning Church and State, 

From about the time of the Curfew date — 

Stanch sticklers still for days by-gone. 

And admiring them for their rust alone — 

To whom if we would a leader give. 

Worthy their tastes conservative. 

We need but some mummy statesman raise. 

Who was pickled and potted in Ptolemy's days ; 

For that's the man, if waked from his shelf 

To conserve und swaddle this world, like himself. 

Such, we're happy to state, arc the old he dames 
Who've met in committee, and given their names 
(In good hieroglyphics), with kind intent 
To pay some handsome compliment 
To their sister author, the nameless he. 
Who wrote, in the last new Quarterly, 
That charming assault upon Popery ; 

1 See Congreve's Love fur Love. 

2 Beaux Stratagem. 

» Tlie writer of the article has groped about, with much 
Buccess, in wliat lie calls '' the dark recesses of Dr. Deus's 
disquisitions." — Qiinilerly Review. 

* " Pray, may we ask, has there been any rebellious 
movement of Popery n Ireland, since the planting of the 



An article justly prized by them, 
As a perfect antediluvian gem — 
The work, as Sir Sampson Legend would say, 
Of some "fellow the Flood couldn't wash 
away." ' 

The fund being rais'd, there remain'd but to see 
What the dowager author's gift was to be. 
And here, I must say, the Sisters Blue 
Show'd delicate taste and judgment too. 
For, finding the poor man suffering greatly 
From the awful stuff he has thrown up lately — 
So much so, indeed, to the alarm of all. 
As to bring on a lit of what doctors call 
The Antipapistico monomania 
(I'm sorry with such a long word to detain ye). 
They've acted the part of a kind physician, 
Bj' suiting their gift to the patient's condition ; 
And, as soon as 'tis ready for presentation, 
We shall publish the facts, for the gratification 
Of this highly-favor'd and Protestant nation. 

Meanwhile, to the great alarm of his neighbors, 
He still continues his Quarterly labors ; 
And often has strong No-Popery fits. 
Which frighten his old ntirse out of her wits. 
Sometimes he screams, like Scrub in the play,^ 
" Thieves ! Jesuits ! Popery ! " night and day; 
Takes the Printer's Devil for Doctor Dens,^ 
And shies at him heaps of High-church pens ; * 
Which the Devil (himself a touchy Dissenter) 
Feels all in his hide, like arrows, enter. 
'Stead of swallowing wholesome stuff" from the 

druggist's. 
He will keep raving of " Irish Thuggists ; " * 
TcUs us they all go murd'ring, for fun, 
From rise of morn till set of sun. 
Pop, pop, as fast as a minute gun ! * 
If ask'd, how comes it the gown and cassock 

are 
Safe and fat, 'mid this general massacre — 
How haps it that Pat's own population 
But swarms the more for this trucidation — 
He refers you, for all such memoranda. 
To the " archives of the Propaganda .' " ^ 

This is all we've got, for the present, to say — 
But shall take up the subject some future day, 

Ulster colonies, in which something of the kind was not 
visible among the Presbyterians of the North ? " — Ibid. 

5 " Lord Lorton, for instance, who, fur clearing his estate 
of a village of Irisli Thuggists," &c. ice — Ibid. 

" Observe how murder after murder is committed like 
minute guns." — Ibid. 

T " INlight not the archives of the Propaganda possibl/ 
supply the key f " 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



GRAND DINNER OF TYPE AND CO. 

A POOR poet's dream.* 

As I sate in my study, lone and still, 
Thinking of Sergeant Talfourd's Bill, 
And the speech by Lawyer Sugden made, 
In spirit congenial, for " the Trade," 
Sudden I sunk to sleep, and, lo. 

Upon Fancy's reinless nightmare flitting, 
I found myself, in a second or so. 
At the table of Messrs. Type and Co. 

With a goodly group of diners sitting ; — 
All in the printing and publishing line, 
Dress'd, I thought, extremely fine. 
And sipping, like lords, their rosy wine ; 
While I, in a state near inanition, 

With coat that hadn't much nap to spare 
(Having just gone into its second edition). 

Was the only wretch of an author there. 
But think, how great was my surprise, 
When I saw, in casting round my ej'es, 
That the dishes, sent up by Type's she cooks, 
Bore all, in appearance, the shape of books ; 
Large folios — God knows where they got 'em. 
In these small times — at top and bottom ; 
And quartoes (such as the Press provides 
For no one to road them) down the sides. 
Then flash' d a horrible thought on my brain, 
And I said to myself, " 'Tis all too plain, 
" Like those, well known in school quotations, 
" Who ate up for dinner their own relations, 
" I see now, before me, smoking here, 
'< The bodies and bones of my brethren dear ; — 
«' Bright sons of the lyric and epic Muse, 
«' All cut up in cutlets, or hash'd in stews ; 
" Their icorks, a light through ages to go, — 
" Themselves, eaten up by Type and Co. ! " 

While thus I moralized, on they went, 

Finding the fare most excellent ; 

And all so kindly, brother to brother. 

Helping the tidbits to each other : 

" A slice of SoutViey let me send you " — 

«' This cut of Campbell I recommend you " — 

" And here, my friends, is a treat indeed, 

" The immortal Wordsworth fricasseed ! " 

Thus having, the cormorants, fed some time, 
Upon joints of poetry — all of the prime — 



1 Written during the late agitation of tlie que.stion of 
Copyright. 

2 " For a certain man named Demetrius, a silversmith, 
whicli made shrines for Diana, brouglit no small gain unto 



With also (as Type in a whisper averr'd it) 
'« Cold prose on the sideboard, for such as pre- 
ferred it " — 
They rested a while, to recruit their force, 
Then pounc'd, like kites, on the second course. 
Which was singing birds merely — Moore and 

others — 
Who all went the way of their larger brothers ; 
And, num'rous now though such songsters be, 
'Twas really quite distressing to see 
A whole dishful of Toms — Moore, Dibdin, 

Bayly, - 
Bolted by Type and Co. so gayly ! 

Nor was this the worst — I shudder to think 
What a scene was disclos'd when they came to 

drink. 
The warriors of Odin, as every one knows, 
Used to drink out of skulls of slaughter'd 

foes: 
And Type's old port, to my horror I found, 
Was in skulls of bards sent merrilj' round. 
And still as each well-fiird cranium came, 
A health was pledg'd to its owner's name ; 
While Type said slyly, 'midst general laughtei, 
•' We eat them up first, then drink to them 

after." 

There was no standing this — incensed I broke 
From my bonds of sleep, and indignant woke, 
Exclaiming, " O shades of other times, 
" Whose voices still sound, like deathless chimes, 
" Could you e'er have foretold a day would be, 
" "When a dreamer of dreams should live to 

see 
" A party of sleek and honest John Bulls 
" Hobnobbing each other in poets' skulls ! " 



CHURCH EXTENSION. 
TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE 

Sir — A well-known classical traveller, while employed 
in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Tem- 
ple of Diana of Ephesiis, was so fortunate, in the course of 
his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark manu- 
script, which has turned out, on examination, to be part of 
an old Epliesian newspaper; — a newspaper published, aa 
you will see, so far back as the time when Demetrius, the 
great Shrine Exteiider,2 flouri:*hed. 

I am. Sir, yours, &.c. 



the craftsmen ; whom he called together with the workmen 
of like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye kuow that by this craft 
we have our wealth." — icts, xix. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



EPHESIAN GAZETTE. 



Second edition. 



Important event for the rich and religious ! 
Great Meeting of Silversmiths held in Queen 
Square ; — 
Church Extension, their object, — th' excite- 
ment prodigious ; — 
Demetrius, head man of the craft, takes the 
chair ! 

Third edition. 

The Chairman still up, when our dev'l came 
away ; 
Having prefac'd his speech with the usual 
state prayer. 
That the Three-headed Dian ' would kindly, this 
day. 
Take the Silversmiths' Company under her 
care. 

Being ask'd by some low, unestablish'd divines, 
" When your churches are up, where are 
flocks to be got ? " 
He manfully answer'd, "Let us build the 
shrines,* 
" And we care not if flocks are found for 
them or not." 

He then added — to show that the Silversmiths' 
Guild 
Were above all confin'd and intolerant views — 
" Only pay through the nose to the altars M'e 
build, 
" You may pray through the nose to what 
altars you choose." 

This tolerance, rare from a shrine-dealer's lip 
(Though a tolerance mix'd with due taste for 
the till) — 
So auch charm' d all the holders of scriptural 
scrip, 
That their shouts of '« Hear ! " «' Hear ! " are 
reechoing still. 

Fourth edition. 

Great stir in the Shrine Market ! altars to Pho3- 
bus 
Are going dog cheap — may be had for a 
rebus. 
Did Dian's, as usual, outsell all the rest ; — 
But Venus's, also, are much in request. 



1 Tria Virginis ora DiansE. 

« The " slirines " are supposed to have been small church- 
82 



LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYMPUS. 

As news from Olympus has grown rather rare, 
Since bards, in their cruises, have ceas'd to touch 

there, 
We extract for our readers th' intelligence given. 
In our latest accounts from that ci-devant Heav- 
en — 
That realm of the By-gones, where still sit, in 

state. 
Old god-heads and nod-heads, now long out of 
date. 

Jove himself, it appears, since his love days are 

o'er. 
Seems to find immortality rather a bore ; 
Though he still asks for news of earth's capers 

and crimes. 
And reads daily his old fellow-Thund'rer, the 

Times. 
He and Vulcan, it seems, by their wives stiU 

h.cr\peck'd are, 
And kept on a stinted allowance of nectar. 

Old Phoebus, poor lad, has given up inspira- 
tion. 

And pack'd off to earth on a puff speculation. 

The fact is, he found his old shrines had grown 
dim, 

Since bards look'd to Bentley and Colburn, not 
him. 

So, he sold off his stud of ambrosia-fed nags, 

Came incog, down to earth, and now writes for 
the Mags; 

Taking care that his work not a gleam hath to 
linger in't, 

From which men could guess that the god had 
a finger in't. 

There are other small facts, well deserving at- 
tention. 

Of which our Olympic despatches make men- 
tion. 

Poor Bacchus is still very ill, they allege. 

Having never recover'd the Temperance Pledge. 

" What, the Irish ! " he cried — these I look'd 
to the most ! 

•' If they give up the spirit, I give up the ghost : " 

While Momus, who us'd of the gods to make 
fun. 

Is turn'd Socialist now, and declares there are 
none ! 



es, or chapels, adjoining to the great temples j — "edicul» 
in quibus status reponcbantur."— Erasm. 



650 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



But these changes, though curious, are all a 

mere farce 
Compar'd to the new " casus belli " of Mars, 
Who, for years, has been suffering the horrors 

of quiet, 
Uncheer'd by one glinamer of bloodshed or riot ! 
In vain from the clouds his belHgcrent brow 
Did he pop forth, in hopes that somewhere or 

somehow, 
Like Pat at a fair, he might " coax up a row : " 
But the joke wouldn't take — the whole world 

had got wiser ; 
Men liked not to take a Great Gun for adviser ; 
And, still less, to march in fine clothes to be shot. 
Without very well knowing for whom or for 

what. 
The French, who of slaughter had had their full 

swing, 
Were content with a shot, now and then, at their 

King; 
While, in England, good fighting's a pastime so 

hard to gain. 
Nobody's left to fight with, but Lord C— rd 

g— n. 

'Tis needless to say, then, ho wmonstrouslj' happy 
Old ^lars has been made by what's now on the 

tapis ; 
How much it delights him to see the French rally, 
In Liberty's name, around Mehemet Ali ; 
Well knowing that Satan himself could not find 
A confection of mischief much more to his mind 
Than the old Bonnet Rouge and the Bashaw 

combin'd. 
Right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were 

attackers. 
Whatever their cause, that they didn't find 

backers ; 
While any slight care for Humanity's woes 
May be soothed by that " Art Diplomatique," 

which shows 
How to come, in the most approv'd method, to 

blows. 

This is all, for to-day — whether Mars is much 

vex'd 
At his friend Thiers's exit, we'll know by our 

next. 

THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE. 

Oun earth, as it rolls through the regions of 
space. 
Wears always two faces, the dark and the 
sunnv ; 



And poor human life runs the same sort of 
race, 
Being sad, on one side — on the other side, 
funny. 

Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket hie, 
To weep o'er the woes of Macieady ; — out 
scarce 
Hath the teardrop of Tragedy pass'd from the 
eje, 
W'hen, lo, we're all laughing in fits at the 
Farce. 

And still let us laugh — preach the world as it 
may — 
Where the cream of the joke is, the swarm 
Mill soon follow ; 
Heroics are very grand things, in their way, 
But the laugh at the long run will carry it 
hollow. 

For instance, what sermon on human affairs 
Could equal the scene that took place t'other 
day 
'Twixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on the stairs — 
The SubUme and Ridiculous meeting half 
way ! 

Yes, Jocus ! gay god, whom the Gentiles sup- 
plied. 
And whose worship not ev'n among Christians 
declines. 
In our senate thou'st languish'd since Sheridan 
died. 
But Sydney still keeps thee alive in our 
shrines. 

Rare Sydney ! thrice honor'd the stall where he 
sits, 
And be his ev'ry honor he deigneth to climb 
at! 
Had England a hierarchy form'd all of wits. 
Who but Sydney would England proclaim as 
its primate ? 

And long may he flourish, frank, merry, and 
brave — 
A Horace to hear, and a Paschal to read ; • 
While he IcmgJis, all is safe, but, when Sydney 
grows grave, 
We shall then think the Church is in dangei 
indeed. 



1 Some parts of the Promnciales may be said to be ol tu« 
bigliesl order ot jeax (fexpi-it, or squibs. 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



Meanwhile, it much, glads us to find he's pre- 
paring 
To teach other bishops to " seek the right 
way ; " ' 
And means shortly to treat the whole Bench to 
an airing, 
Just such as h2 gave to Charles James t'other 
day 

For our parts, though gravity's good for the soul. 
Such a fancy have we for the side that there's 
fun on, 
We'd rather with Sydney south-west take a 
" stroll," 
Than coach it north-east with his Lordship of 
Lunnun. 



THOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS, AND 
OTHER MATTERS. 

IN AN EPISTLE FROM T. M. TO S. R. 

What, thou, my friend ! a man of rhymes, 
And, better still, a man of guineas, 

To talk of "patrons," in these times, 

When authors thrive, like spinning jennies, 

And Arkwright's twist and Bulwer's page 

Alike may laugh at patronage ! 

No, no — those times are pass'd away, 

When, doom'd in upper floors to star it, 
The bard inscrib'd to lords his lay, — 

Himself, the while, my Lord Mountgarret. 
No more he begs, with air dependent, 
His " little bark may sail attendant " 

Under some lordly skipper's steerage ; 
But launch'd triumphant in the Row, 
Or ta'en by Murray's self in tow. 

Cuts both SStar Chamber and the peerage. 

Patrons, indeed ! when scarce a sail 
Is whisk'd from England by the gale, 
But bears on board some authors, shipp'd 
For foreign shores, all well equipp'd 
With proper book-making machinery, 
To sketch the morals, manners, scenery, 
Of all such lands as they shall see. 
Or not see, as the case may be : — 
It being enjoin'd on all who go 
To study first Miss M ******** 



1 " This stroll in the metropolis is extremely well con- 
trived for your Lordship's speech ; but suppose, my dear 
Lord, that instead uf going E. and N. E. you had turned 



And learn from her the method true, 
To do one's books — and readers, too. 
For so this nymph of nous and nerve 
Teaches mankind " How to Observe ; " 
And, lest mankind at all should swerve, 
Teaches them also " What to Observe." 

No, no, my friend — it can't be blink'd — 

The Patron is a race extinct ; 

As dead as any Megatherion 

That ever Buckland built a theory on. 

Instead of bartering, in this age. 

Our praise for pence and patronage. 

We, authors, now, more prosperous elves, 

Have learn'd to patronize ourselves ; 

And since all-potent Puffing's made 

The life of song, the soul of trade, 

More frugal of our praises grown, 

We puff no merits but our own. 

Unlike those feeble gales of praise 
Which critics blew in former days, 
Our modern puffs are of a kind 
That truly, really raise the wind; 
And since they've fairly set in blowing, 
We find them the best trade winds going. 
'Stead of frequenting paths so slippy 
As her old haunts near Aganippe, 
The Muse, now, taking to the till, 
Has open'd shop on Ludgate Hill 
(Far handier than the Hill of Pindus, 
As seen from bard's back attic windows) ; 
And swallowing there without cessation 
Large draughts {at sight) of inspiration, 
Touches the notes for each new theme. 
While still fresh "change comes o'er her 
dream." 

What Steam is on the deep — and more — 
Is the vast power of Puff on shore ; 
Which jumps to glory's future tenses 
Before the present even commences ; 
And makes " immortal " and " divine "' of us 
Before the world has read one line of us. 

In old times, when the God of Song 
Drove his own two-horse team along, 
Carrying inside a bard or two, 
Book'd for posterity " all through ; " — 
Their luggage, a few close-pack'd rhymes, 
(Like yours, my friend,) for after times — 



about," &c. &c. — Sydney Smith's Last Letter to the Bisb 
op of London. 



652 SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


So slow the pull to Fame's abode, 


But, neat as are old L — nd — st's doings — 


That folks oft slept upon the road ; — 


Beyond ev'n Hecate's " hell-broth " brew- 


And H ,niers self, sometimes, they say, 


ings- 


Took to his nightcap on the way.' 


Had I, Lord Stanley, but my will, 




I'd show you mischief prettier still ; 


Ye Gods ! how different is the story 


Mischief, combining boyhood's tricks 


"Wiih our new galloping sons of glory. 


With age's sourest politics ; 


M'ho scorning all such slack and slow time. 


The urchin's freaks, the vet'ran's gall, 


Dash to posterity in no time ! 


Both duly mix'd, and matchless all ; 


Raise but one general blast of Puff 


A compound nought in history reaches 


To start your author — that's enough. 


But Machiavel, when first in breeches ! 


In vain the critics, set to watch him, 




Try at the starting post to catch him : 


Yes, Mischief,^ Goddess multiform, 


He's off— the puffers carry it hollow — 


Whene'er thou, witch-like, rid'st the storm, 


The critics, if they please, may follow. 


Let Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee — 


Ere tkeij 've laid down their first positions. 


No livelier lackey could they find thee. 


HeCs fairly blown through six editions ! 


And, Goddess, as I'm well aware. 


In vain doth Edinburgh dispense 


So mischief's done, you care not where, 


Her blue and yellow pestilence 


I own, 'twill most nuj fancy tickle 


^That plague so awful in my time 


In Paddy land to play the Pickle ; 


To young and touchy sons of rhyme) — 


Having got credit for inventing 


The Quarterly, at three months' date, 


A new, brisk method of tormenting — 


To catch th' Unread One, comes too late ; 


A way, they call the Stanley fashion, 


And nonsense, litter'd in a hurrj', 


Which puts all Ireland in a passion ; 


Becomes " immortal," spite of Murray. 


So neat it hits the mixture due 




Of injury and insult too ; 


But, bless mc ! — while I thus keep fooling, 


So legibly it bears upon't 


I hear a voice cry, " Dinner's cooling." 


The stamp of Stanley's brazen front. 


That postman, too, (who, truth to tell. 




'Mong men of letters bears the bell,) 


Ireland, we're told, means land of L-e; 


Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally, 


And wki/ she's so, none need inquire, 


That I must stop — 


Who sees her millions, martial, manly, 


Yours sempiternally. 


Spat upon thus by me. Lord St— nl — y. 




Already in the breeze I scent 




The whiff of coming devilment ; 


THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF. 


Of strife, to me more stirring far 


BY LORD ST-NL-Y. 


Than th' Opium or the Sulphur war, 




Or any such drug ferments are. 


(HIS FIRST ATTEMPT IN VERSE.) 


Yes — sweeter to this Tory soul 


" Evil, be thou my good." Milton. 


Than all such pests, from pole to pole. 


How various are the inspirations 


Is the rich, " swelter'd venom " got 


Of different men, in different nations ! 


By stirring Ireland's " charmed pot ; " « 


As genius prompts to good or evil. 


And, thanks to practice on that land, 


Some call the Muse, some raise the devil, 


I stir it with a master hand. 


Old Socntes, that pink of sages. 




Kept a pet demon, on board wages. 


Again thou'lt see, when forth hath gone 


To go about with him incog., 


The War-Church-cry, "On, Stanley, on ! " 


And sometimes give his wits a jog. 


How Caravats and Shanavests 


So L— nd— St, in our day, we know. 


Shall swarm from out their mountain nests, 


Keeps fresh relays of imps below. 


With all their merry moonlight brothers, 


To forward, from that nameless spot, 


To whom the Church {step-dame to others') 


His inspirations, hot and hot. 


Hath been the best of nursing mothers. 


1 a-jandoqiie bonus dorniitat Hoinerus. — Horat. 


a " Swelter'd venom, sleeping got, 




Boil thou first i' the charmed pot." 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



C53 



Again o'er Erin's rich domain 
Shall Rockites and right reverends reign 
And both, exempt from vulgar toil. 
Between them share that titheful soil ; 
Puzzling ambition tohich to climb at, 
The post of Captain, or of Primate. 

And so, long life to Church and Co. — 
Hurrah for mischief ! — here -we go. 



EPISTLE FROM CAPTAIN ROCK TO 
LORD L— NDH— T. 

Dear L — ndh — t, — you'll pardon my making 

thus free, — 
But form is all fudge 'twixt such "comrogues " 

as we. 
Who, whate'er the smooth views we, in public, 

may drive at. 
Have both the same praiseworthy object, in 

private — 
Namely, never to let the old regions of riot, 
Where Rock hath long reign'd, have one instant 

of quiet, 
But keep Ireland still in that liquid we've 

taught her 
To love more than meat, drink, or clothing — 

hot water. 

All the difTrence betwixt you and me, as I take 
it, 

Is simply, that you make the law and / break it ; 

And never, of big wigs and small, were there two 

Play'd so well into each other's hands as we do ; 

Insomuch, that the laws you and yours manu- 
facture. 

Seem all made express for the Rock boys to 
fracture. 

Not Birmingham's self — to her shame be it 
spoken — 

E'er made things more neatly contriv'd to be 
broken ; 

And hence, I confess, in this island religious, 

The breakage of laws — and of heads is pro- 
digious. 

And long may it thrive, my Ex-Bigwig, say I, — 
Though, of late, much I fear'd all our fun was 
gone by ; 



1 Exchequer tithe processes, served under a commission 
ol rebellion — Chronicle. 



As, except when some tithe-hunting parson 

show'd sport. 
Some rector — a cool hand at pistols and port, 
Who " keeps dry " his powder, but never him- 
self— 
One who, leaving his Bible to rust on the shelf, 
Sends his pious texts home, in the shape of ball 

cartridges, 
Shooting his " dearly beloved," like partridges ; 
Except when some hero of this sort turn'd out. 
Or, th' Exchequer sent, flaming, its tithe writs ' 

about — 
A contrivance more neat, I may say, without 

flattery. 
Than e'er yet was thought of for bloodshed and 

battery ; 
So neat, that even I might be proud, I allow, 
To have hit off so rich a receipt for a row ; 
Except for such rigs turning up, now and then. 
I was actually growing the dullest of men ; 
And, had this blank fit been allow'd to increase, 
Might have snor'd myself down to a Justice of 

Peace. 
Like you, Reformation in Church and in State 
Is the thing of all things I most cordially hate. 
If once these curs'd Ministers do as they like, 
All's o'er, my good Lord, with your wig and my 

pike, 
And one may be hung up on t'other, henceforth, 
Just to show what such Captains and Chanc'Uors 

were worth. 

But we must not despair — ev'n already Hope 

sees 
You're about, my bold Baron, to kick up a breeze 
Of the true baffling sort, such as suits me and you, 
Who have box'd the whole compass of party 

right through. 
And care not one farthing, as all the world 

knows. 
So we but raise the wind, from what quarter it 

blows. 
Forgive, me, dear Lord, that thus rudely I dare 
My own small resources with thine to compare : 
Not ev'n Jerry Diddler, in " raising the wind," 

durst 
Compete, for one instant, with thee, my dear 

L— ndh— t. 

But, hark, there's a shot ! — some parsonic prac- 
tioner ? 

No — merely a bran-new Rebellion Commis- 
sioner ; 

The Courts having now, with true law erudition 

Put even Rebellion itself " in commission " 



654 



SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 



As seldom, in this vay, I'm any man's debtor, 
I'll just pay my shot, and then fold up this letter. 
In the mean time, hurrah for the Tories and 

Rocks ! 
Hurrah for the parsons who fleece well their 

flocks ! 
Hurrah for all mischief in all ranks and spheres, 
And, above all, hurrah for that dear House of 

Peers ! 



CAPTAIN ROCK IN LONDON. 

LETTEK TROM THE CAPTAIN TO TERRY ALT, ESQ. 



Here I am, at head quarters, dear Terry, once 
more. 

Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been before : — 

For, bless them ! if 'twasn't for this wrong- 
headed crew. 

You and I, Terry Alt, would scarce know what 
to do ; 

So ready they're always, when dull we are 
growing,' 

To set our old concert of discord a-going. 

While L — ndh — t's the lad, with his Tory- Whig 
face, 

To play, in such concert, the true double base. 

I had fear'd this old prop of my realm w^as be- 
ginning 

To tire of his course of political sinning. 

And, like Mother Cole, when her heyday was 
pass'd, 

Meant, by way of a change, to try virtue at 
last. 

But I wrong'd the old boy, who as stanchly 
derides 

All reform in himself as in most things besides ; 

And, by using two faces through life, all allow, 

Has acquir'd face sufficient for any thing now. 

In short, he's all right ; and, if mankind's old foe, 
My " Lord Harry" himself — who's the leader, 

we know. 
Of another red-hot Opposition, below — 

1 The subordinate officer or lieutenant of Captain Rock. 



If that " Lord," in his well-known discernment, 

but spares 
Me and L — ndh — t, to look after Ireland's jffinira, 
We shall soon such a region of devilment make it, 
That Old Nick himself for his own may mis- 
take it. 

Ev'n already — long life to such Bigwigs, say I, 
For, as long as they flourish, we Rocks cannot 

die — 
He has serv'd our right riotous cause by a speech 
Whose perfection of mischief he only could 

reach ; 
As it shows off both his and my merits alike, 
Both the swell of the wig, and the point of the 

pike ; 
Mixes up, with a skill which one can't but ad- 
mire. 
The lawyer's cool craft with th' incendiary's 

fire. 
And enlists, in thfe gravest, most plausible man- 
ner, 
Seven millions of souls under Rockery's banner 
O Terry, my man, let this speech never die ; 
Through the regions of Rockland, like flame, let 

it fly ; 
Let each syllable dark the Law Oracle utter'd 
By all Tipperary's wild echoes be mutter'd, 
Tlil nought shall be heard, over hill, dale, or 

flood, 
But " You're aliens in language, in creed, and in 

blood ; " 
While voices, from sweet Connemara afar. 
Shall answer, like true Irish echoes, " We are ! " 
And, though false be the cry, and though sense 

must abhor it, 
Still th' echoes may quote Laio authority for it, 
And nought L — ndh — t cares for my spread of 

dominion 
So he, in the end, touches cash " for th' opinion." 

But I've no time for more, my dear Terry, just 

now. 
Being busy in helping these Lords through their 

roio. 
They're bad hands at mob work, but, once they 

begin, 
They'll have plenty of practice to break them 

well in. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



55a 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND; 

BEING A SEaUEL TO THE 

"FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS." 



PREFACE. 

The name of the country town, in England — 
a woll-knovvn fashionable watering-place — in 
which the events that gave rise to the following 
correspondence occurred, is, for obvious reasons, 
suppressed. The interest attached, however, 
to the facts and personages of the s*'"" , renders 
it independent of all time and place ; and when 
it is recollected that the whole train of romantic 
circumstances so fully unfolded in these Letters 
has passed during the short period which has 
now elapsed since the great Meetings in Exeter 
Hall, due credit will, it is hoped, be allowed to 
the Editor for the rapidity with which, he has 
brought the details before the Public; while, 
at the same time, any errors that may have been 
the result of such haste will, he trusts, with 
equal consideration, be pai'doned. 



LETTER L 



■ROM PATRICK Jf\GAN, ESQ., TO Ti^E E'=:V. TtlCH'.RD 
, CURATE OF , IN IRErAJ>:D. 

■^Vho d'ye think we've got liere :■ — qaite re- 
formed from the giddy, 
Fantastic young thing, that once maae such a 
noise — 
Why, the famous Miss Fudge — that delectable 
Biddy, 
Whom you and I saw once at Paris, when boys. 
In the full blaze of bonnets, and ribbons, and 
airs — 
Such a thing as no rainbow hath colors to 
paint ; 
Ere time had reduced her to WTinkles and 
prayers. 
And the Flirt found a decent retreat in the 
Saint. 

Poor "Pa" hath popp'd off — gone, as charity 

judges. 
To some choice Elysium reserv'd for the Fudges ; 



And Miss, with a fortune, besides expectations 

From some much-revered and much-palsied re- 
lations. 

Now wants but a husband, with requisites 
meet, — 

Age thirty, or thereabouts — stature six feet. 

And warranted godly — to make all complete. 

Nota bene — a Churchman would suit, if he's 
kiffh, 

But Socinians or Catholics need not apply. 

What sny you, Dick ? doesn't this tempt your 

ambition ? 
The whole wealth of Fudge, that renown'd 

man of pith, 
All brought to the hammer, for Church compe- 
tition, — 
Sole encumbrance. Miss Fudge to be taken 

there-with. 
Think, my boy, for a Curate how glorious a 

catch ! 
While, instead of the thousands of souls you 

7WW watch. 
To save Biddy Fudge's is all you need do ; 
And her purse will, meanwhile, be the saving 

of you. 

You may ask, Dick, hofv comes it that I, a poor 
elf. 

Wanting substance ev'n more than your spirit- 
ual self, 

Should thus generously lay my own claims on 
the shelf. 

When, God knows ! there ne'er was young gen- 
tleman yet 

So much lack'd an old spinster to rid him from 
debt. 

Or had cogenter reasons than mine to assail her 

With tender love suit — at the suit of his tailor. 

But thereby there hangs a soft secret, my friend, 
AVhich thus to your reverend breast I commend : 
Miss Fudge hath a niece — such a creature ! — 

with eyes 
Like those sparklers that peep out from sum- 

mer-ni<jht skies 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



At astronomers royal, and laugh with delight 
To see elderly gentlemen spying all night. 

While her figure — 0, hring all the gracefuUest 

things 
That are borne through the light air by feet or 

by -vvings, 
Not a single new grace to that form could they 

teach, 
Which combines in itself the perfection of each ; 
"While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet fall. 
The mute music of symmetry modulates all. 

Ne'er, in short, was there creature more form'd 
to bewilder 
A gay youth like me, who of castles aerial 
(And only of such) am, God help me ! a builder ; 
Still peopling each mansion with lodgers ethe- 
real, 
And now, to this nymph of the seraph- like eye. 
Letting out, as you see, my first floor next the 
sky.' 

But, alas ! nothing's perfect on earth — even she. 
This divine little gipsy, does odd things 
sometimes ; 

Talks learning — looks wise (rather painful to 
see), 
Prints already in two County papers her 
rhymes ; 

And raves — the sweet, charming, absurd little 
dear ! 

About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsakes, next 
year, 

In a manner which plainly bad symptoms por- 
tends 

Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing to friends ; 

A fit which, though lasting but one short edition, 

Leaves the patient long after in sad inanition. 

However, let's hope for the best — and, mean- 
while. 

Be it mine still to bask in the niece's warm 
smile ; 

■While you, if you're wise, Dick, will play the 
gallant 

(Up-hill work, I confess,) to her Saint of an Aunt. 



1 That floor which a facetious garreteer called "le pre- 
mier en descendant du ciel." 

2 See the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of this month 
(July), for an account of a scene which lately took place at 
a meeting of the Synod of Ulster, in wliich the performance 
of the above-mentioned part by the personage in question 
appears to have been worthy of all his former reputation in 
tiiat line. 



Think, my boy, for a youngster like you, who've 
a lack, 
Not indeed of rupees, but of all other specie. 

What luck thus to find a kind witch at your 
back, 
An old goose with gold eggs, from all debts 
to release ye ! 

Never mind, though the spinster be reverend 
and thin. 
What are all the Three Graces to her Three 
per Cents. ? 

While her acres ! — Dick, it don't matter one 
pin 
How she touches the aflfections, so you touch 
the rents ; 

And Love never looks half so pleas' d as when, 
bless him, he 

Sings to an old lady's purse " Open, Sesame." 

By the way, I've just heard, in my walks, a re- 
port. 

Which, if true, will insure for your visit some 
sport. 

'Tis rumor'd our manager means to bespeak 

The Church tumblers from Exeter Hall for next 
week ; 

And certainly ne'er did a queerer or rummer 
set 

Throw, for th' amusement of Christians, a som- 
erset. 

'Tis fear'd their chief "Merriman," C — ke, can- 
not come. 

Being called off, at present, to play Punch at 
home ; * 

And the loss of so practis'd a wag in divinity 

Will grieve much all lovers of jokes on the 
Trinity ; — 

His pun on the name Unigenitus, lately 

Having pleas'd Robert Taylor, the Reverend^ 
greatly.' 

'Twill prove a sad drawback, if absent he be. 
As a wag Presbyterian's a thing quite to see ; 
And, 'mong the Five Points of the Calvinists, 

none of 'em 
Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 'em. 
But ev'n though depriv'd of this comical elf. 
We've a host of buffonl in Murtagh himself. 



3 " All are punsters if they have wit to be so; and there- 
fore when an Irishman has to commence with a Bull, you 
vrill naturally pronounce it a bull. (A laugh.) Allow mo 
to bring before you the famous Bull that is called Unigeni- 
tus, referring to the onls'-begotten Son oJ God." — Report 
of the Rev. Doctor's Speck June 20, i/i Vie Record JVfic* 
paper. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



657 



Who of all the whole troop is chief mummer 

and mime, 
As C — ke takes the Growid Tumbling, he the 

Sublime ; ' 
And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, come 

in time. 



LETTER II. 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MRS. ELIZA- 
BETH . 

Just in time for the post, dear, and Monstrously 
busy, 
"With godly concernments — and worldly 
ones, too ; 
Things carnal and spiritual mix'd, my dear 

Lizzy, 
In this little brain till, bewilder' d and dizzy, 
'Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce know what 
I do. 

First, I've been to see all the gay fashions from 

Town, 
Which our favorite Miss Gimp for the spring 

has had down. 
Sleeves still worn (which / think is wise), a la 

folic, 
Charming hats, pon de soie — though the shape 

rather droll. 
But you can't think how nicely the caps of tulle 

lace, 
With the mentonnihres, look on this poor sinful 

face; 
And I mean, if the Lord in his mercy thinks 

right. 
To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram's to-night. 
The silks are quite heav'nly : — I'm glad, too, 

to say, 
Gimp herself grows more godly and good every 

day ; 
Hath had sweet experience ; yea, ev'n doth begin 
To turn from the Gentiles, and put away sin — 
And all since her last stock of goods was laid in. 
What a blessing one's milliner, careless of pelf, 
Should thus " walk in newness " as well as one's 

self! 

So much for the blessings, the comforts of Spirit 
I've had since we met, and they're more than I 
merit ! — 



1 In the language of the play bilN, " Ground and Lnfty 
Tumbling." 

83 



Poor, sinful, weak creature in every respect. 

Though ordain'd (God knows vrhy) to be one 
of th' Elect. 

But now for the picture's reverse. You remem- 
ber 

That foctman and cook maid I hired last De- 
cember ; 

He, a Baptist Particular — she, of some sect 

Not particular, I fancy, in any respect ; 

But desirous, poor thing, to be fed with the 
Word, 

And " to wait," as she said, " on Miss Fudge 
and the Lord." 

Well, my dear, of all men, that Particular Bap- 
tist 
At preaching a sermon, oif hand, was the aptest ; 
And, long as he staid, do him justice, more 

rich in 
Sweet savors of doctrine, there never was 

kitchen. 
He preach'd in the parlor, he preach'd in the 

haU, 
He preach'd to the chambermaids, scullions, and 

all. 
All heard with delight his reprovings of sin. 
But above all, the cook maid ; — O, ne'er would 

she tire — 
Though, in learning to save sinful souls from 

the fire, 
She would oft let the soles she was frying 

fall in. 
( God forgive me for punning on points thus of 

piety ! — 
A sad trick I've learn'd in Bob's heathen so- 
ciety.) 
But ah ! there remains still the worst of my 

tale; 
Come, Ast'risks, and help me the sad truth to 

veil — 
Conscious stars, that at ev'n your own secret 

turn pale ! 



In short, dear, this preaching and psalm-sing 

ing pair. 
Chosen " vessels of mercy," as I thought they 

were. 
Have together this last week eloped ; making 

bold 
To whip off as much goods as both vessels could 

hold — 
Not forgetting some scores of sweet Tracts from 

my shelves, 
Two Family Bibles as large as themselves, 



658 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



And besides, from the drawer — I neglecting to 

lock it — 
Mj' neat " Morning Manna, done up for the 

pocket." ' 
Was there e'er known a case so distressing, dear 

Liz? 
It has made me quite ill ; — and the worst of it is, 
When rogues are all pious, 'tis hard to detect 
Which rogues are the reprobate, which the 

elect. 
This man "had a call," he said — impudent 

mockery ! 
What call had he to my linen and crockery ? 

I'm now, and have been for this week past, in 
chase 

Of some godly young couple this pair to re- 
place. 

The enclos'd two announcements have just met 
my eyes, 

In that vcn'rable Monthly where Saints adver- 
tise 

For such temporal comforts as this world sup- 
plies ; ^ — 

And the fruits of the Spirit are properly made 

An essential in every craft, calling, and trade. 

Where th' attorney requires for his 'prentice 
some youth 

Who has " learn'd to fear God and to walk in 
the truth ; " 

Where the seamstress, in search of employment, 
declares. 

That pay is no object, so she can have prayers ; 

And th' EstaWish'd Wine Company proudly 
gives out 

That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, arc de- 
vout. 

1 " Morning Manna, or British Verse book, neatly done 
up fur the pocket," and rhietly intended to assist the mem- 
bers of the British Verse Association, whose design \a, we 
are told, "to induce tlie inhabitants of Great Britain and Ire- 
land to commit one and the same verse of Scripture to mem- 
ory every marning. Already, it is known, several thousand 
persons in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in America 
and Africa, are evinj morning learning the same vrse." 

- t'lie Evangelical Magazine. — A few specimens taken 
at random from the wrapper of this highly esteemed period- 
ical will fully justify the character which Miss Fudge has 
here given of it. "Wanted, in a pious pawnbroker's fami- 
ly, an active lad as an apprentice." " Wanted, as house- 
maid, a young female who has been brought to a saving 
knowledge of the truth." " Wanted immediately, a man 
af decided piety, to assist in the baking business." " A 
genth^inan who understands the Wine Trade is desirous of 
entering into partnership, &c. &c. He is not desirous of be- 
ing connected with any one whose system of business is not 
of tlie strictest integrity as ia the sight of God, and seeks 



Haijpy London, one feels, as one reads o'er the 
pages, 

Where Saints are so much more abundant than 
sages ; 

Where Parsons may soon be all laid on the shelf, 

As each Cit can cite chapter and verse for him- 
self. 

And the serious frequenters of market and dock 

All lay in religion as part of their stock." 

Who can tell to what lengths we may go on im- 
proving. 

When thus through all London the Spirit keeps 
moving, 

And heaven's so in vogue, that each shop ad- 
vertisement 

Is now not so much for the earth as the skies 
meant. 

P. S. 

Have mislaid the two paragraphs — can't stop 
to look. 

But both describe charming — both Footman 
and Cook. 

She, " decidedly pious " — with pathos deplores 

Th' increase of French cook'ry, and sin on our 
shores ; 

And adds — (while for further accounts she re- 
fers 

To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of hers,) 

That " though some make their Sabbaths mere 
matter-of-fun days, 

She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on Sun- 
da)-s." 

The footman, too, full of the true saving knowl- 
edge ; — 

Has late been to Cambridge — to Trinity Col- 
lege; 

connection only with a truly pious man, either Churchman 
or Disseiter." 

3 According to the late Mr. Irving, there is even a pecu- 
liar form of theology got up expressly for the money market. 
" I know how, far wide," he says, " of the mark my views 
of Christ's work in the flesh will be viewed l)y those who 
are working with the stock-jobbing theology of the religious 
world." " Let these preachers," he adds, "(fur I will not 
call them theologians), cry up, broker-like, their aiticle." 
MorninfT Watch. — No. iii. 442, 443. 

From the statement of another writer, in the same publi- 
cation, it would appear that the stock brokers have even set 
up a new Divinity of their own. " This shows," says the 
writer in question, " that the doctrine of the union between 
Christ and his members is quite as essential as that of sub- 
stitution, by taking which latter alone the Stock-Eirhang» 
Divinity has been produced." — No. x. p. 375. 

Among the ancients, we know the money market was 
provided with more than one presiding Deity — " Dea; Pe- 
cuiiise (says an ancient author) commendabantur ut pecuni- 
osi essent." 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



G59 



Scrv'd last a young gentleman, studying divinity, 
B ut left — not approving the morals of Trinity. 

P. S. 

enclose, too, according to promise, some scraps 

Of my Journal — that Day book I keep of my 

heart ; 

Where, at some little items, (partaking, perhaps. 

More of earth than of heaven,) thv prud'ry 

may start, 
And suspect something tender, sly girl as thou 
art. 
For the present, I'm mute — but, whate'er may 

befall, 
Recollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4,) St. Paul 
Hath himself declar'd, " marriage is honorable 
in all." 

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Mondarj, 
Tried a new ch&le gown on — pretty. 
No one to see me in it — pity ! 
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid ; — 
The Lord forgive me ! — she look'd dismay'd ; 
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, 
AVhile she curl'd my hair, which ma<ie me calm. 
Notliing so soothes a Christian heart 
As sacred music — heavenly art ! 

Tuesday, 
At two, a visit from Mr. Magan — 
A remarkably handsome, nice young man ; 
And, all Hibernian though he be, 
As civiliz'd, strange to say, as we ! 

I own this young man's spiritual state 
Hath much engross'd my thoughts of late ; 
And I mean, as soon as my niece is gone, 
To have some talk with him thereupon. 
At present, I nought can do or say, 
But that troublesome child is in the way : 
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he 

Would also her absence much prefer, 
As oft, while listening intent to me. 

He's forc'd, from politeness, to look at her. 

Heigho ! — what a blessing should Mr. Magan 
Turn out, after all, a "renewed " young man ; 
And to me should fall the task, on earth, 
To assist at the dear youth's second birth. 
Blest thought ! and, ah, more blest the tie, 
"Were it heaven's high will, that he and I — 
But I blush to write the nuptial word — 
Should wed, as St. Paul says, "in the Lord ; " 
Not this world's wedlock — gross, gallant, 
B ut pure — as when Amram married his aunt. 



Our ages differ — but who would count 

One's natural sinful life's amount. 

Or look in the Register's vulgar page 

For a regular twice-born Christian's age, 

Who, blessed privilege ! only then 

Begins to live when he's born again. 

And, counting in this way — let me see — 

I myself but five years old shall be, 

And dear Magan, when th' event takes place, 

An actual new-born child of grace — 

Should Heav'n in mercy so dispose — 

A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes. 

IFednesday. 
Finding myself, by some good fate. 
With Mr. Magan left tete-a-tSte, 
Had just begun — having stirr'd the fire, 
And drawn my chair near his — to inquire 
What his notions were of Original Sin, 
When that naughty Fanny again bounc'd in ; 
And all the sweet things I had got to say 
Of the Flesh and tlie Devil were whisk'd away 

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan 

Is actually pleased and amused with Fan ! 

What charms any sensible man can see 

In a child so foolishly young as she — 

But just eighteen, come next May day. 

With eyes, like herself, full of nought but play — 

Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me. 



LETTER III. 

PROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS 
KITTY . 

STANZAS (ENCLOSED) 

TO MY SHADOW ; OR, WHY ? — WHAT ? HOW ? 

Dark comrade of my path ! while earth and 

sky 

Thus wed their charms, in bridal light array' d. 

Why in this bright hour, walk'st thou ever nigh, 

Blackening my footsteps with thy length of 

shade — 

Dark comrade, Why ? 

Thou mimic Shape that, 'mid these flowery 
scenes, 
Glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot, 
Sadd'ning them as thou gocst — say, whatmeana 
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot — 
Grim goblin, What .' 



660 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow, 

Thou bendest, too — then risest when I rise ; — 

Say, mute mysterious Thing ! how is't that thou 

Thus com'st between me and those blessed 

skies — 

Dim shadow, How ? 

(additional stanza, by another hand.) 

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge 
Than gloom of soul ; while, as I eager 
cried, 
O Why? What? How ? — a Voice, that one 
might judge 
To be some Irish echo's, faint replied, 
O fudge, fudge, fudge ! 

You have here, dearest Coz, my last lyric effu- 
sion ; 
And, with it, that odious " additional stanza," 
Which Aunt will insist I must keep, as conclu- 
sion, 
And which, you'U at once see, is Mr. Ma- 

gan's ; — a 
ilost cruel and dark-design'd extravaganza, 
And part of that plot in which he and my Aunt 

are 
To stifle the flights of my genius by banter. 

Just so 'twas with Byron's young eagle-ey'd 

strain. 
Just so did they taunt him ; — but vain, critics, 

vain 
AH your efforts to saddle Wit's fire with a 

chain ! 
To blot out the splendor of Fancy's young 

stream, 
Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledg'd beam ! ! ! 
Thou perceiv'st, dear, that, ev'n while these lines 

I indite, 
Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, 

wrong or right, 
And I'm all over poet, in Criticism's spite ! 

That my Aunt, who deals only in Psalms, and 

regards 
Messrs. Sternhold and Co. as the first of all 

bards — 
That she should make light of my works I can't 

blame ; 
But that nice, handsome, odious Magan — what 

a shame ! 
Do you know, dear, that, high as on most points 

I rate him, 
I'm really afraid — after all, I — must hate him. 



He is so provoking — nought's safe from his 

tongue ; 
He spares no one authoress, ancient or young. 
Were you Sappho herself, and in Keepsake oi 

Bijou 
Once shone as contributor, Lord how he'd quiz 

you ! 
He laughs at all Monthlies — I've actually seen 
A sneer on his brow at the Court Magazine ! — 
While of Weeklies, poor things, there's but one 

he peruses, 
And buj's every book which that Weekly abuses. 
But I care not how others such sarcasm may 

fear, 
One spirit, at least, wiU. not bend to his sneer ; 
And though tried by the fire, my yoimg genius 

shall burn as 
Uninjured as crucified gold in the furnace ! 
(I suspect the word •' crucified " must be made 

" crucible," 
Before this fine image of mine is producible.) 

And now, dear — to tell you a secret which. 
pray 

Only trust to such friends as with safety you 
may — 

You know, and, indeed the whole county sus- 
pects 

(Though the Editor often my best things rejects). 

That the verses sign'd so, ^W, which you now 
and then see 

In our County Gazette (vide last) are by me. 

But 'tis dreadful to think what provoking mis- 
takes 

The vile country Press in one's prosody makes. 

For you know, dear — I may, without vanity, 
hint — 

Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils 
must print ; 

And you can't think what havoc these demons 
sometimes 

Choose to make of one's sense, and what's worse, 
of one's rhymes. 

But a week or two since, in my Ode upon 
Spring, 

Which I meant to have made a most beautiful 
thing. 

Where I talk'd of the " dewdrops from freshly- 
blown roses," 

The nasty things made it " from freshly-blown 
noses ! " 

And once when, to please my cross Aunt, I had 
tried 

To commem'rate some saint of her cliqut, who'd 
just died. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



661 



Having said he "had tak'n up in heav'n his 

position," 
They made it, he'd "tak'n up to heav'n his 

physician ! " 

This is very disheartening ; — but brighter days 

shine, 
I rejoice, love, to say, both for me and the 

Nine ; 
For, what do you think ? — so delightful ! next 

year, 
O, prepare, dearest girl, for the grand news 

prepare — 
I'm to write in the Keepsake — yes, Kitty, my 

dear. 
To write in the Keepsake, as sure as you're 

there ! ! 
T'other night, at a Ball, 'twas my fortunate 

chance 
"With a very nice elderly Dandy to dance, 
Who, 'twas plain, from some hints which I now 

and then caught, 
"Was the author of something — one couldn't tell 

what ; 
But his satisfied manner left no room to 

doubt 
It was something that Colburn had lately brought 

out. 

"We convers'd of belles-lettres through all the 

quadrille, — 
Of poetry, dancing, of prose, standing still ; 
Talk'd of Intellect's march — whether right 'twas 

or wrong — 
And then settled the point in a bold en avant. 
In the course of this talk 'twas that, having just 

hinted 
That / too had Poems which — long'd to be 

printed. 
He protested, kind man ! he had seen, at first 

sight, 
I was actually bora in the Keepsake to write. 
" In the Annals of England let some," he said, 

" shine, 
" But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be thine ! 
" Even now future Keepsakes seem brightly to 

rise, 
" Through the vista of years, as I gaze on those 

eyes, — 
" All letter'd and press'd, and of large-paper 

size ! " 
How unlike that Magan, who my genius would 

emother. 
And how we, true geniuses, find out each 

other ! ' 



This, and much more he said, with that fine 

frenzied glance 
One so rarely now sees, as we slid through the 

dance ; 
Till between us 'twas finally fix'd that, next year, 
In this exquisite task I my pen should en- 
gage; 
And, at parting, he stoop'd down and lisp'd in 

my ear 
These mystical words, which I could but jusi 

hear, 
"Terms for rhyme — if it's prime — ten and 

sixpence per page." 
Think, Kitty, my dear, if I heard his words 

right, 
What a mint of half guineas this small head 

contains ; 
If for nothing to write is itself a delight. 

Ye Gods, what a bliss to be paid for one's 

strains ! 

Having dropp'd the dear fellow a court'sy pro- 
found. 
Off at once, to inquire all about him, I ran ; 

And from what I could learn, do you know, 
dear, I've found 
That he's quite a new species of lit'rary man ; 

One, whose task is — to what will not fashion 
accustom us ? — 

To edite live authors, as if they were posthumous. 

For instance — the plan, to be sure, is the odd- 
est ! — 

If any young he or she author feels modest 

In venturing abroad, this kind gentleman usher 

Lends promptly a hand to the int'resting blusher ; 

Indites a smooth Preface, brings merit to 
light. 

Which else might, by accident, shrink out ol 
sight, 

And, in short, renders readers and critics polite. 

My Aunt says — though scarce on such points 
one can credit her — 

He was Lady Jane Thingumbob's last novel's 
editor. 

'Tis certain the fashion's but newly invented ; 
And, quick as the change of all things and 
all names is,. 

Who knows but, as authors, like girls, are pre- 
sented, 
We, girls, may be edited soon at St. James's > 

I must now close my letter — there's Aunt, in 

full screech. 
Wants to take me to hear some great Irvingite 

preach. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



God forgive me, I'm not much inclined, I must 
say, 

To go and sit still to be preach' d at, to-day. 

And, besides — 'twill be all against dancing, no 
doubt, 

Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such hatred 
devout. 

That, so far from presenting young nymphs 
with a head, 

For their skill in the dance, as of Herod is said, 

She'd wish their own heads in the platter, in- 
stead. 

There, again — coming. Ma'am ! — I'U write 
more, if I can. 

Before the post goes. 

Your affectionate Fan. 

Four o'clock. 

Such a sermon ! — though not about dancing, 
my dear ; 

'Twas only on th' end of the world being near. 

Eighteen Hundred and Forty's the year that 
some state 

As the time for that accident — some Forty- 
Eight : ' 

And I own, of the two, I'd prefer much the latter, 

As then I shall be an old maid, and 'twon't 
matter. 

Once more, love, good by — I've to make a new 
cap ; 

But am now so dead tired with this horrid 
mishap 

Of the end of the world, that I must take a nap. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM PATliICK MAGAN, ESQ. TO THE KEY. 
KICHARD . 

He comes from Erin's speechful shore 
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er 

With hot effusions — hot and weak ; 
Sound, Humbug, all your hoUowest drums. 
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms 

To Britain's well-fed Church to speak. 

Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord,'' 
Twin proscrs. Watchman and liecord ! 



1 With regard to the ex.ict time of tlii.s event, there ap- 
pears to be a difference only of about two or three yeara 
among the respective calculators. M. Alplionse Nicole, Doc- 
teur en Droit, et Avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be 
Ml 1846 or ]b47 " A cette ei)uqiie," he says, " les fideles 



Journals reserv'd for realms of bliss, 
Being much too good to sell in this., 
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your dinners. 

Ye Spinsters, spread your tea and crumpets ; 
And you, ye countless Tracts for Sinners, 

Blow all your little penny trumpets. 
He comes, the reverend man, to tell 

To all who still the Church's part take, 
Tales of parsonic woe, that well 

Might make ev'n grim Dissenter's heart ache: 
Of ten whole Bishops snatch'd away 
Forever from the light of day ; 
(With God knows, too, how many more, 
For whom that doom is yet in store) — 
Of Rectors cruelly compeU'd 

From Bath and Cheltenham to haste home. 
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld. 

Will not to Bath or Cheltenham come ; 
Nor will the flocks consent to pay 
Their parsons thus to stay away ; — 
Though, with such parsons, one may doubt 
If 'tisn't money well laid out ; — 
Of all, in short, and each degree 
Of that once happy Hierarchy, 

Which us'd to roll in w'ealth so pleasantly ; 
But now, alas, is doom'd to see 

Its surplus brought to nonplus presently ! 

Such are the themes this man of pathos. 
Priest of prose and Lord of bathos. 

Will preach and preach t'ye, till you're dull 
again. 
Then, hail him. Saints, with joint acclaim, 
Shout to the stars his tuneful name, 
Which Murtagh was, ere known to fame, 

But now is Mortimer O'Mulligan ! 

All true, Dick, true as you're alive — 
I've seen him, some hours since, arrive. 
Murtagh is come, the great Itinerant — 

And Tuesday, in the market-place. 
Intends, to every saint and sinner in't, 

To state what he calls Ireland's Case ; 
Meaning thereby the case of his shop, — 
Of curate, vicar, rector, bishop. 
And all those other grades seraphic, 
That make men's souls their special traffic, 
Though caring not a pin which way 
Th' erratic souls go, so they pai/. — 

peiivent esp^rer de voir s'effectuer la puVification du Sanc- 
tuaire." 

s " Our anxious desire is to be found on the side of tht 
Lord." — Record JVewspaper. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



6G3 



Just as some roguish country nurse, 

Who takes a foundling babe to suckle, 
First pops the payment in her purse, 

Then leaves poor dear to — suck its knuckle : 
Ev'n so these reverend rigmaroles 
Pocket the money — starve the souls. 
Murtagh, however, in his glory. 
Will tell, next week, a different story ; 
Will make out all these men of barter, 
As each a saint, a downright martyr. 
Brought to the stake — i. e. a beef one. 
Of all their martyrdoms the chief one ; 
Though try them ev'n at this, they'll bear it, 
If tender and wash'd down with claret. 

Meanwhile Miss Fudge, who loves all lions. 
Your saintly, next to great and high 'uns — 
(A viscount, be he what he may, 
Would cut a Saint out, any day,) 
Has just announc'd a godly rout, 
Where Murtagh's to be first brought out, 
And shown in his tame, iceek-day state : — 
•' Pray'rs, half past seven, tea at eight." 
Ev'n so the circular missive orders — 
Pink cards, with cherubs round the borders. 

Haste, Dick — you're lost, if you lose time ; — 

Spinsters at forty- five grow giddy. 
And Murtagh, with his tropes sublime. 

Will surely carry oiF old Biddy, 
Unless some spark at once propose, 
And distance him by downright prose. 
That sick, rich squire, whose wealth and lands 
All pass, they say, to Biddy's hands, 
(The patron, Dick, of three fat rectories !) 
Is dying of angina pectoris ; — 
So that, unless j-ou're stirring soon, 

Murtagh, that priest of puff and pelf, 
May come in for a honey-?«oo?j. 

And be the >«a» of it, himself ! 

As for me, Dick — 'tis whim, 'tis folly. 
But this young niece absorbs me wholly. 
'Tis true, the gii-l's a vile verse maker — 

Would rhyme all nature, if you'd let 
her ; — 
But ev'n her oddities plague take her, 

But make me love ner all the better. 
Too true it is, she's bitten sadly 
With this new rage for rhyming badly. 
Which late hath sciz'd all ranks and classes, 
Down to that new Estate, " the masses ; " 

1 The Irish peasantry are very fond of giving fine names 
to tlieir pigs. I have heard of one instance in which a cou- 



Till one pursuit all tastes combines — 
One common r;.ilroad o'er Parnassus, 
Where, sliding in those tuneful grooves, 
Call'd couplets, all creation moves. 

And the whole world runs mad in lines. 
Add to all this — what's ev'n still worse. 
As rhyme itself, though still a curse. 
Sounds better to a chinking purse — 
Scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, 
While I can muster just a groat ; 
So that, computing self and Venus, 
Tenpence would clear tli' amount between us. 

However, things may yet prove better : — 

Meantinie, what awful length of letter ! 

And how, while heaping thus with gibes 

7 he Pegasus of modern scribes. 

My own small hobby of farrago 

Hath beat the pace at which ev'n they go ! 



LETTER V. 

FROM LARRY o'bRANIGAN, IN ENGLAND, TO HU 
WIFE JUDY, AT MULLINAFAD. 

Dear Judy, I sind you this bit of a letther. 
By mail-coach conveyance — for want of a bct- 

ther — 
To tell you what luck in this world I have had 
Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullinafad. 
Och, Judy, that night ! — when the pig which 

we meant 
To dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off" the rent, 
Julianna, the craythur — that name was the 

death of her ' — 
Gave us the shlip and we saw the last breath of 

her! 
And there were the childher, six innocent sowls, 
For their nate little playfellow tuning up howls ; 
While yourself, my dear Judy (though grievin's 

a folly). 
Stud over Julianna's remains, melancholy — 
Cryin', half for the crathur, and half for the 

money, 
" Arrah, why did ye die till we'd sowl'd you, my 

honey r " 

But God's will be done ! — and then, faith, sure 

enough. 
As the pig was desaiced, 'twas high time to be 

off. 



pie of young pigs were named, at their birth, Abelard and 
Eloisa. 



664 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



So -we gother'd up all the poor duds we could 

catch, 
Lock'd the owld cabin door, put the kay in the 

thatch. 
Then tuk laave of each other's sweet lips in the 

dark, 
And set off, like the Chrishtians turn'd out of 

the Ark ; 
The six childher with you, my dear Judy, 

ochone ! 
And poor I wid myself, left condolin' alone. 

How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er 

lands. 
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had on my 

hands, 
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak. 
So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week : 
Only starv'd I was, surely, as thin as a lath, 
Till I came to an up-and-down place they call 

Bath, 
Where, as luck was, I manag'd to make a meal's 

meat. 
By dhraggin' owld ladies all day through the 

street — 
Which their docthors (who pocket, like fun, the 

pound starlins,) 
Have brought into fashion to plase the owld 

darlins. 
Div'l a boy in all Bath, though I say it, could 

carry 
The grannies up hiU half so handy as Larry ; 
And the higher they liv'd, like owld crows, in 

the air. 
The more / was wanted to lug them up there. 

But luck has two handles, dear Judj', they say, 
And mine has both handles put on the wrong 

way. 
For, pondherin', one morn, on a drame I'd just 

had 
Of yourself and the babbies, at MuUinafad, 
Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flut- 

ther. 
That I spilt an owld Countess right clane in the 

gutther, 
Muff, feathers and all ! — the descint was most 

awfc'. 
And — what was still worse, faith — I knew 

'twas unlawful : 
For, though, with mere women, no very great 

evil, 
V upset an owld Countess in Bath is the divil ! 
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it, 
(For nothin' about her was kilt, but her bonnet), 



Without even mentionin' " By your lave, 

ma'am," 
I tuk to my heels and — here, Judy, I am ! 

What's the name of this town I can't say verj 

well, 
But your heart sure wiU jump when you hear 

what befell 
Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day, 
(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,) 
When his brogues to this city of luck foui.d 

their way. 
Bein' hungry, God help me, and happenin' to 

stop. 
Just to dine on the shmell of a pasthry-cook's 

shop, 
I saw, in the window, a large printed paper, 
And read there a name, och ! that made my 

heart caper — 
Though printed it was in some quare ABC, 
That might bother a schoolmasther, let alone 

me. 
By gor, you'd have laughed, Judy, could you've 

but listen'd, 
As, doubtin', I cried, "why it is! — no, it 

isn't : " 
But it was, after all — for, by spellin' quite slow, 
First I made out "Rev. Mortuner" — then a 

great " O ; " 
And, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' my 

skull again. 
Out it came, nate as imported, " O'MuUigan!" 

Up I jump'd, like a skylark, my jew'l, at that 

name, — 
Div'l a doubt on my mind, but it mzist be the 

same. 
" Masther Murthagh, himself," says I, " all the 

world over ! 
My own fosther brother — by jinks, I'm in 

clover. 
Though there, in the playbill, he figures so 

grand. 
One wet nurse it was brought us both up by 

hand. 
And he'll not let me shtarve in the inemys 

land ! " 

Well, to make a long hishtory short, niver doubt 
But I manag'd, in no time, to find the lad 

out ; 
And the joy of the meetin' bethuxt him and 

roe. 
Such A pair of owld cumrogues — was charmin 

to see. 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



Nor is Murthagh less plas'd with th' evint than 

/ am, 
As he just then was wanting a Valley- de- sham ; 
And, for dressiii' a gintleman, one way or t'other, 
Your nate Irish lad is beyant every other. 

But now, Judy, comes the quare part of the 

case ; 
And, in throth, it's the only drawback on my 

place, 
'Twas Murthagh's ill luck to be cross'd, as you 

know. 
With an awkward mishfortune some short time 

ago ; 
That's to say, he turn'd Protestant — why, I 

can't larn ; 
But, of coorse, he knew best, an' it's not my 

consarn. 
All I know is, we both were good Cath'lics, at 

nurse. 
And myself am so still — nayther betther nor 

worse, 
WeU, our bargain was all right and tight in a 

jiffy. 

And lads more contint never yet left the LifFey, 
"When Murthagh — or Morthimer, as he's noio 

chrishen'd, 
His name being convarted, at laist, \ilie isn't — 
Lookin' sly at me (faith, 'twas divartin' to see) 
♦' Of coorse, you're a Protestant, Larry," says he. 
Upon which says myself, wid a wink just as 

shly, 
•' Is't a Protestant ? — O yes, / am, sir," says I ; 
And there the chat ended, and div'l a more 

word 
Controvarsial between us has since then oc- 

curr'd. 

What Murthagh could mane, and, in troth, Judy 

dear. 
What I myself m.cSint, doesn't seem mighty clear ; 
But the thruth is, though still for the Owld 

Light a stickler, 
I was just then too shtarv'd to be over par- 

tic'lar : — 
And, God knows, between us, a comic'ler pair 
Of twin Protestants couldn't be seen any where. 

Next Tuesday (as towld in the playbills I min- 

tion'd, 
Address'd to the loyal and godly intintion'd.) 
His rivcrcnce, my master, comes forward to 

preach, — 
Myself doesn't know whether sarmon or speech, 
But it s all one to him, he's a dead hand at each ; 

i ?i 



Like us, Paddies, in gin'ral, whose skill in 

orations 
Quite bothers the blarney of all other nations. 

But, whisht! — there's his Rivirence shoutin' 

out " Larry," 
And sorra a word more will this shmall paper 

carry ; 
So, here, Judy, ends my short bit of a letther. 
Which, faix, I'd have made a much bigger and 

betther, 
But div'l a one Post-office hole in this town 
Fit to swallow a dacent siz'd billy-dux down. 
So good luck to the childer ! — tell Molly, I 

love her ; 
Kiss Oonagh's sweet mouth, and kiss Katty all 

over — 
Not forgettin' the mark of the red-currant 

whiskey 
She got at the fair when yourseK was so frisky. 
The heav'ns be your bed ! — I will write, when 

I can again. 
Yours to the world's end, 

Larry O'Eranigan 



LETTER VI, 

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS, 
ELIZABETH , 

How I grieve you're not with us ! — pray, come, 

if you can. 
Ere we're robb'd of this dear, oratorical man, 
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory 
Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist and 

Tory ; — 
(Choice mixture ! like that from which, duly 

confounded. 
The best sort of brass was, in old times, com- 
pounded) — 
The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly. 
All fused down in brogue so deliciously oddly ! 
In short, he's a dear — and such audiences draws, 
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of ap- 
plause. 
As can\ but do good to the Protestant cause. 
Poor dear Irish Church! — he to-day sketch'd 

a view 
Of her hist'ry and prospects, to me at least 

new. 
And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse 
The whole Christian world her just rights to 
espouse. 



666 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



A.S to reasoning — you know, dcai', tliat's now 

of no use, 
People still will theu' facts and dry figures jiro- 

duce, 
As if saving the souls of a Protestant flock were 
A thing to be managed " according to Cocker ! " 
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector 
At paying some thousands a year to a Rector, 
In ])laces where Protestants iievcr yet were,) 
" Who knows but young Protestants may be 

born there r 
And granting such accident, think, what a shame. 
If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when they 

came ! 
It is clear that, without such a staff on full pay, 
These little Church embryos must go astray; 
And, while fools are computing what Parsons 

would cost. 
Precious souls are meanwhile to th' Establish- 
ment lost ! 
In vain do we put the case sensibly thus ; — 
They'll still with their figures and facts make a 

fuss, 
And ask "if, while all, choosing each his own 

road. 
Journey on, as we can, towards the Heav'nly 

Abode, 
It is right that seven eighths of the trav'Uers 

should pay 
For one eighth that goes quite a different way ? " 
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, in reality, 
A proof of the Church's extreme liberality. 
That, though hating Pop'ry in other respects. 
She to Catholic money in no way objects ; 
And so lib'ral her very best Saints, in this 

sense. 
That they ev'n go to heav'n at the Cath'lic's 

expense. 

But, though clear to our minds all these argu- 
ments be. 

People cannot or will not their cogency see ; 

And, I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish 
Church 

Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the 
lurch. 

It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sin- 
cere. 

That I heard this nice Rev'rend O' something 
we've here, 

Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and 
reading, 

A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding. 

In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought. 

All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er taught. 



Looking through the whole history, present and 
past. 

Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the 
last; 

Considering how strange its original birth — 

Such a thing having never before been on earth — 

How oppos'd to the mstinct, the law, and the 
force 

Of nature and reason has been its whole 
course ; 

Through centuries encount'ring repugnance, re- 
sistance, 

Scorn, hate, execration — yet still in existence ! 

Considering all this, the conclusion he draws 

Is that Nature exempts this one Church from 
her laws — 

That Reason, dumbfo under' d, gives up the dis- 
pute. 

And before the portentous anom'ly stands 
mute ; — 

That, in short, 'tis a Miracle ! — and, ont3 be- 
gun. 

And transmitted through ages, from father to 
son. 

For the honor of miracles, ought to go on. 

Never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound, 
Or so fitted the Church's weak foes to con- 
found. 
For, observe, the more low all her merits they 

place. 
The more they make out the miraculous case. 
And the more all good Christians must deem it 

profane 
To disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reisn. 

As for scriptural proofs, he quite plac'd beyond 

doubt 
That the whole in the Apocalypse may be 

found out. 
As clear and weU prov'd, he would venture to 

swear, 
As any thing else has been ever found there : — ■ 
While the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, 

he deals 
With that whole lot of vials and trumpets and 

seals. 
And the ease with which vial on vial he 

strings. 
Shows him quite a first rate at aU these sort of 

things. 

So much for theology : — as for th' affairs 
Of this temporal world — the light, di-awing« 
room cares 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



(67 



And gay toils of the toilet, whijh, God knows, 

I seek, 
From no love of such things, but in humbleness 

meek, 
An't to be, as th' Apostle was, " weak with the 

weak," 
xliou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat 

less busy) 
In th' extracts enclosed, my dear news-loving 

Lizzy. 

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 

Tliur.'day. 
Last night, having nought more holy to do. 
Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Agnew, 
About the " Do-nothing-on-Sunday-Club," 
AVhich we wish by some shorter name to dub : — 
As the use of more vowels and consonants 
Than a Christian, on Sunday, realli/ wants, 
Is a grievance that ought to be done awaj', 
And the Alphabet left to rest, that day. 

Sunday. 
Sir Andrew's answer ! — but shocking to say, 
Being franked unthinkingly yesterday, 
To the horror of Agnews yet unborn, 
It arriv'd on this blessed Sunday morn ! ! — 
IIovv shocking ! — the postman's self cried 

" shame on't," 
Seeing th' immaculate Andrew's name on't ! ! 
What will the Club do ? — meet, no doubt, 
'Tis a matter that touches the Class Devout, 
And the friends of the Sabbath must speak 

out. 

Tuesday, 

Saw to-day, at the raffle — and saw it with 
pain — 

That those styb'sh Fitzwigrams begin to dress 
plain. 

Even gay little Sojohy smart trimmings re- 
nounces — 

She, who long has stood by me through all sorts 
of flounces. 

And showed, by upholding the toilet's sweet 
rites. 

That we, girls, may be Christians, without being 
frights. 



1 Tiie title given by the natives to such of their country- 
men as become converts. 

a Of sucli relapses we find innumerable instances in the 
accounts of the Missionaries. 

3 The god Krishna, one of the incarnations of the god 
Vislinu. " One day (says the Bhagavata) Krishna's play- 



This, I own, much alarms me ; for though one's 

religious. 
And strict and — all that, there's no need to be 

hideous ; 
And why a nice bonnet should stand in the way 
Of one's going to heav'n, 'tisn't easy to say. 

Then, there's Gimp, the poor thing — if her 

custom we drop. 
Pray, what's to become of her soul and her shop i 
If by saints like ourselves no more orders are 

given. 
She'll lose all the interest she now takes ir_ 

heaven ; 
And this nice little •'firebrand, pluck'd from 

the burning," 
Mciy fall in again at the very next turning. 

Wedticsday. 
Mem. — To write to the India Mission Society ; 
And send £20 — heavy tax upon piety ! 

Of all Indian lux'ries we nowadays boast. 
Making " Company's Christians " ' perhaps costs 

the most. 
And the worst of it is, that these converts full 

grown, 
Having lived in our faith mostly die in their 

oion,^ 
Praying hard, at the last, to some god who, they 

say. 
When incarnate on earth, used to steal curds 

and whey.-' 
Think, how horrid, my dear ! — so that all's 

thrown away ; 
And (what is still worse) for the rum and the rice 
They consum'd, while believers, we saints pay 

the price. 

Still 'tis cheering to find that we do save a few — 

The Report gives six Christians for Cunnang- 
cadoo ; 

Doorkotchum reckons seven, Ind four Trevan- 
drum, 

While but one and a half's left at Cooroopadum. 

In this last-mention'd place 'tis the barbers en- 
slave 'em. 

For, once they turn Christians, no barber M'ill 
shave 'em.* 



fellows complained to Tasuda that he had pilfered and ate 
their curds." 

* " Roteen wants .shaving ; but the barber here will not 
do it. He is run away lest he should be compelled, lie 
says he will not shave Yesoo Kreest's people." — Bapt.MiS' 
sion Society, vol. ii. p. 493. 



668 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



To atono for this rather small Heathen amount, 
Some Papists, turn'd Christians,' are tack'd to 

th' account. 
And though, to catch Papists, one needn't go 

so far, 
Such fish are worth hooking, wherever they are ; 
And noic, when so great of such converts the 

lack is. 
One Papist well caught is worth millions of 

Blackies. 

Fridjy. 
Last night had a dream so odd and funny, 

I cannot resist recording it here. — 
Methought that the Genius of Matrimony 

Before me stood, with a joyous leer, 
Leading a husband in each hand. 

And both for me, which look'd rather queer ; 
One I could perfectly understand. 

But why there were tioo wasn't quite so 
clear. 
'Twas meant, however, I soon could see. 

To afford me a choice — a most excellent 
plan ; 
And — who should this brace of candidates be. 

But Messrs. O'Mulligan and Magan : — 
A thing, I suppose, unheard of till then, 
To dream, at once, of ttoo Irishmen ! — 
That handsome Magan, too, with wings on his 
shoulders 

(For all this pass'd in the realms of the Blest,) 
And quite a creature to dazzle beholders ; 

While even O'Mulligan, feather'd and dress'd 

As an elderly cherub, was looking his best. 
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scarce can doubt 
As to ichich of the two I singled out. 



1 In the Reports of the Missionaries, the Roman Catholics 
are ahnost always classed along with the Heathen. " I 
have extended my labors, (says James Venning, in a Re- 
port for 1831,) to the Heathen, Mahomedans, and Roman 
Catholics." " The Heathen and Roman Catholics in this 
ncifihhorhood (says another missionary for tlie year 1832) 
are not indifferent, lAt withstand, rather than yield to, the 
force of triitli." 

2 An account of these Powerscourt Conversaziones (nn- 
■ler the direct presidency of Lord Roden), as well as a list 
of the subjects discussed at the different meetings, may be 
funnd in the Christian Herald (or the month of December, 
1832. The following is a specimen of the nature of the 
questions submitted to the company: — ^^ M.ndaij Evening; 
Six o'ctnck, Sc;;ee»H*er 24, 1832. — ' An examination into the 
quotations given in the New Testament from the Old, with 
their connection and explanation, viz.' &c. &c. — Wedncs- 
daii. — 'Should we expect a personal Anticlirist ? and to 
whom will he be revealed ? ' &c. &c. — Friday. — ' What light 
does Scripture throw on present events, and their moral 
character ? fVkat is next to be looked for or expected ? ' " &c. 

The rapid progress made at these tea parties in settling 



But — awful to tell — when, all in dread 

Of losing so bright a vision's charms, 
I grasp'd at Magan, his image fled. 
Like a mist, away, and I found but the head 
Of O'Mulligan, wings and all, in my arms ! 
The Angel had flown to some nest divine. 
And the elderly Cherub alone was mine ! 
Heighho ! — it is certain that foolish Magan 
Either can't or too7i't see that he might be the 

man ; 
And, perhaps, dear — who knows ? — if nought 

better befall 
But — O'Mulligan may be the man, after all. 



N. B. 
Next week mean to have my first scriptural 

rout, 
For the special discussion of matters devout ; — 
Like those soirdes, at Pow'rscourt,' so justly re- 
nown' d. 
For the zeal with which doctrine and negus 

went round ; 
Those theology routs which the pious Lord 

R_d— n. 
That pink of Christianity, first set the mode 

in ; 
Where, blessed down-pouring ! ^ from tea until 

nine. 
The subjects lay all in the Prophecy line ; — 
Then, supper — and then, if for topics hard 

driven. 
From thence until bedtime to Satan was given ; 
While li — d — n, deep read in each topic and 

tome. 
On all subjects (especially the last) was at home. 



points of Scripture, may be judged from a paragraph in the 
account given of one of their evenings, by the Christian 
Herald : — 

" On Daniel a good deal of light w.is thrown, and there 
was some, I think not so much, perhaps, upon the Revela- 
tions ; though particular parts of it were discussed with con- 
siderable accession of knowledge. There was some very 
interesting iniiuiry as to the quotation of the Old Testament 
in the New ; particularly on the point, whether there waa 
any ' accommodation,' or whether they were quoted accord- 
ing to the inmd of the Spirit in the Old ; this gave occasion 
to some very interesting development of Scripture. The 
progress of the anti-Christian powers was very fully dis- 
cussed." 

3 " About eight o'clock the Lord began to pour down his 
spirit copiously upon us — for they had all by this time as- 
sembled in my room for the purpose of prayer. This dowiv 
pouring continued till about ten o'clock."— Letter from 
Mary Campbell to the Rev. John Campbell, of Row, (dated 
Fernicary, April 4, 1830,) giving an account of her " mirao 
ulous cure." 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



LETTER VII. 

FKOM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS 
KITTY . 

IRREGULAR ODE. 

Bring me the slumbering souls of flowers. 

While yet, beneath some northern sky, 
Ungilt by beams, ungemm'd by showers, 
They wait the breath of summer hours, 
To wake to light each diamond eye. 
And let loose every florid sigh ! 

Bring me the flrst-born ocean waves, 
Frum out those deep primeval caves, 
Where from the dawn of Time they've lain — 
The Embryos of a future Main ! — 
Untaught as yet, young things, to speak 

The language of their Parent Sea 
(Polyphlysbaean ' nam'd, in Greek), 
Though soon, too soon, in bay and creek, 
Hound startled isle and wondering peak. 

They'll thunder long and loud as He ! 

Bring me, from Hecla's iced abode. 
Young fires 

I had got, dear, thus far in my Ode, 

Intending to fill the whole page to the bottom, 

But, having invok'd such a lot of fine things, 

Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, rainbows 

and wings. 

Didn't know what to do with 'em, when I had 

got 'em. 
The truth is, my thoughts are too full, at this 
minute, 
Of past MSS. any new ones to try. 
This very night's coach brings my destiny in it, 

Decides the great question, to live or to die ! 
And, whether I'm henceforth immortal or no. 
All depends on the answer of Simkins and Co. ! 
You'll think, love, I rave, so 'tis best to let out 
The whole secret, at once — I have publish' d 
a Book ! ! ! 
Yes, an actual Book : — if the marvel you doubt. 
You have only in last Monday's Courier to 
look. 
And you'll find " This day publish'd by Simp- 
kins and Co. 
A Romaunt, in twelve Cantos, entitled « Woe, 
Woe!' 

1 If you guess what this word meanss, 'tis more than / 
can : — 
I but give't as I got it from Mr. Magan. F. F. 

* A day coach of that name. 



By Miss Fanny F , known more commonly 

so ^f." 
This I put that my friends mayn't be left in the 

dark. 
But may guess at my writing by knoAving my 

mark. 

How I manag'd, at last, this great deed to 

achieve, 
Is itself a " Romaunt " which you'd scarce, dear, 

believe ; 
Nor can I just now, being all in a whirl, 
Looking out for the Magnet,* explain it, dear 

girl. 
Suffice it to say, that one half the expense 
Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries 

hence — 
(Though " God knows," as aunt says, my hum- 
ble ambition 
Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition,) — 
One half the whole cost of the paper and print- 
ing. 
I've manag'd, to scrape up, this year past, by 

stinting 
My own little wants in gloves, ribbons, and shoes. 
Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the Muse ! 

And who, my dear Kitty, would not do the 

same? 
What's eau de Cologne to the sweet breath of 

fame ? 
Yards of ribbon soon end — but the measures 

of rhyme, 
Dipp'd in hues of the rainbow, stretch out 

through all time. 
Gloves languish and fade away, pair after pair. 
While couplets shine out, but the brighter for 

wear. 
And the dancing shoe's gloss in an evening is 

gone, 
While light-footed lyrics through ages trip on. 

The remaining expense, trouble, risk — and, 

alas ! 
My poor copyright too — into other hands pass ; 
And my friend, the Head Dev'l of the " County 

Gazette " 
(The only Mecsenas I've ever had yet). 
He who set up in type my first juvenile lays, 
Is now set up by them for the rest of his days ; 
And while Gods (as my " Heathen Mythology '' 

says) 
Live on nought but ambrosia, his lot how much 

sweeter 
To live, lucky dev'l, on a young lady's metre ! 



670 



THE FUDGES IX ENGLAND. 



As for puffing — that first of all lit'rary boons, 
And essential alike both to bards and balloons, 
As, unless well supplied with inflation, 'tis found 
Neither bards nor balloons budge an inch from 

the ground ; — 
In this respect, nought could more prosp'rous 

befall ; 
As my friend (for no less this kind imp can I 

call) 
Knows the whole world of critics — the hypers 

and all. 
I suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in rhyme, 
"Which, for imps diabolic, is not the first time ; 
As I've heard uncle Bob say, 'twas known 

among Gnostics, 
That the Dev'l on Two Sticks was a dev'l at 

Acrostics. 

But hark ! there's the Magnet just dash'd in 

from Town — 
How my heart, Kitty, beats ! I shall surely drop 

down. 
That awful Court Journal, Gazette, Athenaeum, 
All full of my book — I shall sink when I see 

'em. 
And then the great point — whether Simpkins 

and Co. 
Are actually pleas'd with their bargain or no ! — 

Five o'clock. 
All's delightful — such praises ! — I really fear 
That this poor little head will turn giddy, my 

dear, 
I've but time now to send you two exquisite 

scraps — 
All the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, perhaps, 



FROM THE " MORNING POST. 

'Tis known that a certain distinguish'd physician 
Prescribes, for dyspepsia, a course of light 
reading ; 

And Rhymes by young Ladies, the first, fresh 
edition 

(Ere critics have injur'd their powers of nutri- 
tion), 
Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, the best 
sort of feeding. 

Satires irritate — love songs are found calorific ; 

But smooth, female sonnets he deems a specific, 

And, if taken at bedtime, a sure soporific. 

Among works of this kind, the most pleasing 
we know. 

Is a volume just publish'd by Simpkins and Co., 



Where all such ingredients — the flowery, the 

sweet. 
And the gently narcotic — are mix'd per receipt, 
With a hand so judicious, we've no hesitation 
To say that — 'bove all, for the young genera- 
tion — 
'Tis an elegant, soothing, and safe preparation. 

Nota bene — for readers, whose object's to sleep, 
And who read, in their nightcaps, the publish- 
ers keep 
Good fire-proof binding, which comes very 
cheap. 

ANECDOTE FROM THE " COURT JOURNAL." 

T'other night, at the Countess of * * *'s rout, 
An amusing event was much whisper'd about. 
It was said that Lord , at the Council, that 

day, 
Had, more than once, jump'd from his seat, 

like a rocket, 
And flown to a comer, where — heedless, they 

say. 
How the country's resources were squander'd 

away — 
He kept reading some papers he'd brought in 

his pocket. 
Some thought Ihem despatches from Spain or 

the Turk, 
Others swore they brought word we had lost 

the Mauritius ; 
But it turn'd out 'twas only Miss Fudge's new 

work, 
Which his Lordship devour'd with such zeal 

expeditious — 
Messrs. Simpkins and Co., to avoid all delay. 
Having sent it in sheets, that his Lordship might 

say, 
He had distanc'd the whole reading world by a 

day! 



LETTER VIII. 

from isob fudge, esq., to the rev. mortimer 
o'mulligan. 

T'le.'dgy tuentng. 
I MUCH regret, dear Reverend Sir, 

I could not come to * * * to meet you ; 
But this curs'd gout won't let me stir — 

Ev'n now I but by proxy greet you ; 
As this vile scrawl, whate'er its sense is, 
Owes all to an amanuensis. 



THE FUDGES IX ENGLAND. 



671 



Most roller scourges of disease 

Reduce men to extremities — 

But gout won't leave one even these. 

From all mj' sister -writes, I see 
That you and I will quite agree. 
I'm a plain man, who speak the truth, 

And trust j'ou'U think me not uncivil, 
"When I declare that, from my youth, 

I've wish'd your country at the devil ; 
Nor can I doubt, indeed, from all 

I've heard of your high patriot fame — 
From every word your lips let fall — 

That you most truly wish the same. 
It plagues one's life out — thirty years 
Have I had dinning in my ears, 

" Ireland wants this, and that, and t'other,' 
And, to this hour, one nothing hears 

But the same vile, eternal bother. 
"While, of those countless things she wanted, 
Thank God, but little has been granted, 
And ev'n that little, if we're men 
And Britons, we'll have back again ! 

I really think that Catholic question 
Was what brought on my indigestion ; 
And still each year, as Popery's curse 
Has gather'd round us, I've got worse ; 
Till ev'n ray pint of port a day 
Can't keep the Pope and bile away. 
And whereas, till the Catholic bill, 
I never wanted draught or pill, 
The settling of that cursed question 
Has quite wwsettled my digestion. 

Look what has happen'd since — the Elect 
Of all the bores of every sect, 
Tl^e chosen triers of men's patience. 
From all the Three Denominations, 
Let loose ujion us ; — even Quakers 
Turn'd into speechers and law makers, 
Wlio'll move no question, stiff-rump'd elves, 
Till first the Spirit moves themselves ; 
And whose shrill Yeas and Nays, in chorus, 
Conquering our Ayes and Noes sonorous. 
Will soon to death's own slumber snore us. 
Then, too, those Jews ! — I really sicken 

To think of such abomination ; 
Fellows, who won't eat ham with chicken. 

To legislate for this great nation ! — 



1 This appears to have been the opinion also of an elo- 
quent writer in tlie Morning Watch. " One great object of 
Christ's second Advent, as the Man and as the King of the 
'tews, is to punish, tke Kmgs who do not acknowledge Uiat 



Depend upon't, when once they've sway, 
With rich old Goldsmid at the head o' them 

Th' Excise laws will be done away. 

And Circumcise ones pass'd instead o' them ! 

In short, dear sir, look where one will. 
Things all go on so devilish ill. 
That, 'pon my soul, I rather fear 

Our Reverend Rector may be right, 
Who tells me the Millennium's near ; 
Nay, swears he knows the very year. 

And regulates his leases by't ; — 
Meaning their terms should end, no doubt, 
Before the world's own lease is out. 
He thinks, too, that the whole thing's ended 
So much more soon than was intended. 
Purely to scourge those men of sin 
Who brought th' accurs'd Reform Bill in.' 

However, let's not yet despair ; 

Though Toryism's eclips'd, at present, 
And — like myself, in this old chair — 

Sits in a state by no means pleasant ; 
Feet crippled — hands, in luckless hour, 
Disabled of their grasping power ; 
And all that rampant glee, which revell'd 
In this world's sweets, bedull'd, bedevill'd — 
Yet, though condemn'd to frisk no more, 

And both in Chair of Penance set. 
There's something tells me, all's not o'er 

With Torjdsm or Bobby yet ; 
That though, between us, I allow 
We've not a leg to stand on now ; 
Though curs'd Reform and colchicum 
Have made us both look deused glum, 
Yet stQl, in spite of Grote and Gout, 
Again we'll shine triumphant out ! 

Yes — back again shall come, egad, 
Our turn for sport, my reverend lad. 
And then, O'MuUigan — then. 
When mounted on our nags again. 
You, on your high-flown Rosinante, 
Bcdizen'd out, like Show Gallantee 
(Glitter great front substance scanty) ; — 
While I, Bob Fudge, Esquire, sha'' rlla 
Yoiir faithful Sancho, by your side ; 
Then — talk of tilts and tournaments ! 
Dam'me, we'll 



their authority is derived from him, and who submit to r« 
ceive it from that many-headed monster, the mob." No. z. p 
373. 



672 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



Squire Fudge's clerk presents 
To Reverend Sir his compliments ; 
Is griev'd to say an accident 
Has just occurr'd which will prevent 
The Squire — though now a little better — 
From finishing this present letter. 

Just when he'd got to " Dam'me, we'll " 

His Honor, full of martial zeal, 
Grasp' d at his crutch, but not being able 
To keep his balance or his hold. 
Tumbled, both self and crutch, and roll'd 
Like ball and bat, beneath the table. 

All's safe — the table, chair, and crutch ; — 
Nothing, thank God, is broken much, 
But the Squire's head, which, in the fall, 
Got bump'd consid'rably — that's all. 
At this no great alarm we feel, 
As the Squire's head can bear a deal. 



1 

L 



Wednesday 

Squire much the same — head rather light - 
Eav'd about " Barbers' Wigs " aU night. 

Our housekeeper, old Mrs. Griggs, 
Suspects that he' meant " barbarous Whigs.' 



LETTER IX. 

FROM LARRY o'bRANIGAN, TO HIS WIFE JUDY. 

As it was but last week that I sint you a letther, 
You' 11 wondher, dear Judy, what this is about ; 

And, throth, it's a letther myself would like 
bctther, 
Could I manage to lave the contints of it out ; 

For sure, if it makes even me onaisy, 

Who takes things quiet, 'twill dhrive you crazy. 

O, Judy, that riverind Murthagh, bad scran to 

him ! 
That e'er I should come to've been sarvant man 

to him, 
Or so far damane the O'Branigan blood, 
And my Aunts, the Diluvians (whom not ev'n 

the Flood 
Was able to wash away clane from the earth) ' 
As to sarve one whose name, of mere yesther- 

day's birth, 
Can no more to a great O, before it, purtend, 
Than mine can to wear a great Q at its end. 

1 " I am of your Patriarclis, I, a branch of one of your 
Antediluvian families — fellows that the Flood could not 
wash away." — Congkeve, Love for Love. 

i To balrai; is to abuse — Mr. Lover makes it ballyrag. 



But that's now all over — last night I gov warr- 

in'. 
And, masth'r as he is, wiU. discharge him this 

mornin'. 
The thief of the world ! — but it's no use bal- 

raggin' ; ^ — 
All I know is, I'd fiftj' times rathei be draggin' 
Owld ladies up hill to the ind of mj daj's. 
Than with Murthagh to rowl in a chaise, at my 

aise, 
And be forc'd to discind through the same dirty 

ways. 
Arrah, sui'e, if I'd heerd where he last show'd 

his phiz, 
I'd have known what a quare sort of monsther 

he is ; 
For, by gor, 'twas at Exether Change, sure 

enough. 
That himself and his other wild Irish show'd 

off; 
And it's pity, so 'tis, that they hadn't got no 

man 
Who knew the wild crathurs to act as their 

showman — 
Sayin", •' Ladies and Gintlemen, plaze to take 

notice, 
" How shlim and how shleek this black animal's 

coat is ; 
<' All by raison, we're towld, that the nathur r>' 

the baste 
" Is to change its coat oiice in its lifetime, a< 

laste ; 
" And such objiks, in our counthry, not bein' 

common ones, 
" Are bought up, as this was, by way of Fine 

Nomenons. 
" In regard of its name — why, in thi-oth, I'm 

consarn'd 
•' To diifer on this point so much with the Larn'd, 
"Who call it a • Morthimer,' whereas the cray- 

thur 
" Is plainly a ' Murthagh,' by name and by na- 
thur." 

This is how I'd have towld them the rights of 

it all. 
Had I been their showman at Exether Hall — 
Not forgettin' that other great wondher of 

Airin 
(Of th' owld bitther breed which they call Pros* 

betairin), 

and he is high authority : but if I remember rightly, Curran 
in his national stories used to employ the word as al)ove. — 
See Lover's most amusing and genuinely Irish v/cik, tba 
" Legends and Stories of Ireland " 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



673 



The fam'd Daddy C — ke — who, by gor, I'd have 

shown 'em 
As proof how such bastes may be tam'd, when 

you've thrown 'em 
A good frindly sop of the rale Raighi Donem.^ 

But, throth, I've no laisure just now, Judy 
dear, 

For any thing, barrin' our own doings here, 

And the cursin' and dammin' and thund'rin', 
like mad, 

"We Papists, God help us, from Murthagh have 
had. 

He says we're all murtherers — div'l a bit less — 

And that even our priests, when we go to con- 
tess, 

Give us lessons in murth'ring, and wish us suc- 
cess ! 

When ax'd how he daar'd, by tongue or by 

pen. 
To belie, in this way, seven millions of men. 
Faith, he said 'twas all towld him by Docthor 

Den!« 
"And who the div'l's he?" was the question 

that flew 
From Chrishtian to Chrishtian — but notasowl 

knew. 
While on went Murthagh, in iligant style, 
Blasphaming us Cath'lics all the while. 
As a pack of desaivers, parjurers, villians, 
All the whole kit of th' aforesaid millions,' — 
Yourself, dear Judy, as well as the rest. 
And the innocent craythur that's at your breast. 
All rogues together, in word and deed, 
Owld Den our insthructor and Sin our creed ! 

When ax'd for his proofs again and again, 
Div'l an answer he'd give but Docthor Den. 
Couldn't he call into coort some lioiii men ? 
"No, thank you" — he'd stick to Docthor 

Den — 
An owld gintleman dead a century or two, 
Who all about us, live Cath'lics, knew ; 

1 Larry evinently means the Reirium Doiiuiii; — a sum 
contributed by the government aiiiuially to the support of 
the Presbyterian churches in Irelanil. 

2 Correctly, Dens — Larry not being very particular in his 
nomenclature. 

3 " The deeds of darkness which are reduced to horrid 
practice over the drunken debauch of the midnight assassin 
are debated, in principle, in the sc^ber morning religious con- 
ferences of the priest,.-." — S/JcecA of the Re.o. Mr. M'Oliee. 
— " The character of the Irish people generally is, that they 
are given to lying and to acts of tlieft." — Speech of the Rev. 
Robert Daly. 

85 



And of coorse was more handy, to call in a hurry, 
Than Docthor Mac Hale or Docthor Murray ! 

But, throth, it's no case to be jokin' upon, 
Though myself, from bad habits, is makiu it one. 
Even you, had you witness'd his grand climac- 

therics. 
Which actially threw one owld maid in hyster- 
ics — 
Or, och ! had you hecrd such a purty remark as 

his. 
That Papists are only " Ilumaniti/'s carcasses, 
" Ris'n" — but, by dad, I'm afeard I can't give 

it ye — 
" Ris'n from the sepulchre of — inactivity ; 
" And, like owld corpses, dug up from antikity, 
" Wandriu about in all sorts of inikity .' .'" * 
Even you, Judy, true as you are to the Owld 

Light, 
Would have laugh'd, out and out, at this iligant 

flight 
Of that tigure of speech call'd the Blatherum- 

skite. 
As for me, though a funny thought now and then 

came to me. 
Rage got the betther at last — and small blame 

to me ! 
So, slapping my thigh, " by the Powers of Delf," 
Says I bowldly, " I'll make a noration myself." 
And with that up I jumps — but, my darlint, 

the minit 
I cock'd up my head, div'l a sinse remain'd in it 
Though, suited, I could have got be.autiful on, 
When I tuk to my legs, faith, the gab was all 

gone : — 
Which was odd, for us, Pats, who, whate'er 

we've a hand in, 
At laste in our legs show a sthrong under - 

standin'. 

Ilowsumdevcr, detarmin'd the chaps should 

pursaive 
What I thought of their doin's, before I tuk 

lave, 

4 " But she (Popery) is no longer the tenant of the tcpul- 
chre of inactioily. She has come from the burial-place, walk- 
ing forth a monster, as if the spirit of evil had corrupted the 
carcass nf her departed humanity ; noxious and noisome, an 
object of abhorrence and dismay to all who are not leagued 
with her in iniqidly." — Report of the Rev. Gentleman's 
Speech, June 20, in the Record Newspaper. 

We may well ask, after reading this and other such rev- 
erend ravings, " Uuis dubitat quin omne sit hoc rationia 
egestas i " 



674 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



« In regard of all that," says I — there I stopp'd 

short — 
Not a word more would come, though I shtrug- 

glcd hard for't. 
So, shnapping my fingers at what's called the 

Chair, 
And the owld Lord (or Lady, I b'lieve) that sat 

there — 
" In regard of all that," says I bowldly again — 
"To owld Nick I pitch Mortimer — and Doc- 

thor Den ; " — 
Upon which the whole company cried out 

♦' Amen ; " 
And myself was in hopes 'twas to what I had 

said, 
But, by gor, no such thing — they were not so 

well bred : 
For, 'twas all to a pray'r Murthagh just had 

read out. 
By way of fit finish to job so devout ; 
That is — afther well damning one half the com- 
munity, 
To pray God to keep all in pace an' in unity ! 

This is all I can shtufi" in this letthcr, though 

plinty 
Of news, faith, I've got to fill more — if 'twas 

twinty. 
But I'll add, on the outside, a line, should I 

need it, 
(Writin' " Private " upon it, that no one may 

read it,) 
To tell you how Mot-timer (as the Saints chrishten 

him) 
Bears the big shame of his sarvant's dismisshin' 

hira. 

(^Private outside.) 
Just come from his riv'rence — the job is all 

done — 
By the powers, I've discharg'd him as sure as a 

gun! 
And now, Judy dear, what on earth I'm to 

do 
With myself and my appetite — both good as 

new — 
Without ev'n a single traneen in my pocket, 
Let alone a good, dacent pound starlin' to stock 

it — 
Is a mysht'ry I lave to the One that's above, 
Who takes care of us, dissolute sowls, when 

hard dhrove ! 



LETTER X. 

FROM THE REV. MORTIMER o'MTJLLIGAN, TO THB 
REV. . 

These few brief lines, my reverend firiend, 
By a safe, private hand I send 
(Fearing lest some low Catholic wag 
Should pry into the I^etter bag), 
To tell you, far as pen can dare, 
How we, poor errant martyrs, fare ; — 
Martyrs, not quite to fire and rack, 
As Saints were, some few ages back, 
But — scarce less trj-ing in its way — 
To laughter, wheresoe'er we stray ; 
To jokes, which Providence mysterious 
Permits on men and things so serious, 
Lowering the Church still more each minute, 
And — injuring our preferment in it. 
Just think, how worrying 'tis, my friend, 
To find, where'er our footsteps bend, 

SmaU jokes, like squibs, around us whi8» 
zing; 
And bear the eternal torturing play 
Of that great engine of our day. 

Unknown to th' Inquisition — quizzing 1 

Your men of thumbscrews and of racks 
Aim'd at the body their attacks ; 
But modern torturers, more refin'd. 
Work their machinery on the mitid. 
Had St. Sebastian had the luck 

With me to be a godly rover, 
Instead of arrows, he'd be stuck 

"With stings of ridicule all over ; 
And poor St. Lawrence, who was kill'd 
By being on a gridir'n grill'd, 
Had he but shar'd tny errant lot. 
Instead of grill on gridir'n hot, 
A moral roasting would have got. 
Nor should I (trj-ing as all this is) 

Much heed the suffering or the shame — 
As, like an actor, used to hisses, 

I long have known no other fame, 
But that (as I may own to you, 
Though to the world it would not do,) 
No hope appears of fortune's beams 
Shining on any of my schemes ; 
No chance of something more per ann. 
As supplement to K— llym — n ; 
No prospect that, by fierce abuse 
Of Ireland, I shall e'er induce 
The rulers of this thinking nation 
To rid us of Emancipation ; 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



675 



To forge anew the sever'd chain. 
And bring back Penal Laws again. 
Ah happy time ! when wolves and priests 
Ahke were hunted, as wild beasts ; 
And five pounds was the price, per head, 
For bagging either, live or dead ; ' — 
Though oft, we're told, one outlaw'd brother 
Sav'd cost, by eating up the other. 

Finding thus all those schemes and hopes 
I built upon my flowers and tropes 
All scatter'd, one by one, away, 
As flashy and unsound as they. 
The question comes — what's to be done ? 
And there's but one course left me — one. 
Heroes, when tir'd of war's alarms. 
Seek sweet repose in Beauty's arms. 
The weary Day-God's last retreat is 
The breast of silv'ry-footed Thetis ; 
And mine, as mighty Love's my judge. 
Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge ! 

Start not, my friend, — the tender scheme, 

Wild and romantic though it seem. 

Beyond a parson's fondest dream. 

Yet shines, too, with those golden dyes, 

So pleasing to a parson's eyes — 

That only gilding which the Muse 

Cannot around her sons diffuse ; — 

Which, whencesoever flows its bliss, 

From wealthy Miss or benefice, 

To Mortimer indifFrent is. 

So he can only make it his. 

There is but one slight damp I see 

Upon this scheme's felicity, 

And that is, the fair heroine's claim 

That I shall take her family name. 

To this (though it may look henpeck'd), 

I can't quite decently object. 

Having myself long chos'n to shine 

Conspicuous in the alias '^ line ; 

So that henceforth, by wife's decree, 

(For Biddy from this point won't budge) 
Your old friend's new address must be 

The Rev. Mortimer O' Fudge — 
The " O " being kept, that all may see 
We're both of ancient family. 

1 " Among other amiable enactments against the Catho- 
lics at this period (1649), the price of five pounds was set on 
tlie head of a Romish priest — being exactly the same sum 
offered by the same legislators for the head of a wolf." 

Memoirs of Captain Rock, book i. chap. 10. 

2 In the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. Johnson very 
eignificantly exemplified the meaning of the word "alias" 
by the instance of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for 
Jiis more refined name his original Scotch patronymic, Mal- 



Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you, 

My public life's calm Euthanasia. 

Thus bid I long farewell to all 

The freaks of Exeter's old Hall — 

Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, 

And rivalling its bears in breeding. 

Farewell, the platform fiU'd with preachers — 

The pray'r giv'n out, as grace,' by speechers, 

Ere they cut up their fellow-creatures : — 

Farewell to dead old Dens's volumes, 

And, scarce less dead, old Standard's columns . 

From each and all I now retire. 

My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire, 

To bring up little filial Fudges, 

To be M. P.'s, and Peers, and Judges — 

Parsons I'd add too, if, alas ! 

There yet were hope the Church could pasa 

The gulf now oped for hers and her. 

Or long survive what Exeter — 

Both Hall and Bishop, of that name — 

Have done to sink her reverend fame. 

Adieu, dear friend — you'll oft hear /rom me. 

Now I'm no more a travelling drudge ; 

Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge 
How well the surname will become me) 
Yours truly, 

Mortimer 'Fudge. 



LETTER XI. 

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. 
RICHARD . 

, Ireland. 

Dear Dick — just arriv'd at my own humble 
glte, 

I enclose you, post haste, the account, all com- 
plete, 

Just arriv'd, per express, of our late noble feat. 

[Extract from the " County Gazette.'^] 

This place is getting gay and full again. 

******* 

Last week was married, " in the Lord," 
The Reverend Mortimer O'Mulligan, 
Preacher, in Irish, of the Word, 

loch. " What other proofs he gave (says Johnson) of disre- 
spect to his native country, I know not ; but it was remarked 
of him that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not 
commend." — Life of Mullet. 

3 " I think 1 am acting in unison with the feelings of a 
Meeting assembled for this solemn object, when 1 call on 
the Rev. Doctor Holloway to open it by prayer." — Speech 
of Lord Kenyan. 



676 



THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 



(He, who tlie Lord's force lately led on — 
Exeter Hall his Arma/z/i-geddon,)' 
To Miss B. Fudge of Pisgah Place, 
Ono of the chos'n, as " heir of grace," 
And likewise heiress of Phil. Fudge, 
Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge. 

Same evening, Miss F. Fudge, 'tis hinted — 

Niece of the above, (whose " Sylvan Lyre," 
In our Gazette, last week, we printed,) 

Elop'd with Pat. Magan, Esquire, 
The fugitives were track'd, some time. 

After they'd left the Aunt's abode. 
By scraps of pajier, scrawl'd with rhyme. 

Found strew'd along the Western road : — 
Some of them, ci-devant curl papers. 
Others, half burnt in lighting tapers. 
This clew, however, to their flight. 

After some miles was seen no more ; 
And, from inquiries made last night, 

We find they've reach'd the Irish shore. 

Every word of it true, Dick — th' escape from 

Aunt's thrall — 
Western road — lyric fragments — curl papers 

and all. 
My sole stipulation, ere liiik'd at the shrine 
(As some balance between Fanny's numbers and 

mine), 
Was that, when we were one, she must give up 

the Nine ; 
Nay, devote to the Gods her whole stock of MS. 
With a vow never more against prose to trans- 
gress. 
This she did, like a heroine; — smack went to 

bits 
The whole produce sublime of her dear little 

wits — 
Sonnets, elegies, epigrams, odes, canzonets — 
Some twisted up neatly, to form allumettes, 

1 The rectory which the Rev. gentleman holds is situated 
In the county o( Armagh! — a most remarkable coincidence 



Some turn'd into papillotes, worthy to rise 
And inwreathe Berenice's bright locks in tli* 

skies ! 
While the rest, honest Larry (who's now in my 

pay), 

Begg'd as " lover oipo'thnj," to read on the way. 

Having thus of life's poetry dar'd to dispose. 
How we now, Dick, shall manage to get through 

its prose, 
With such slender materials for style, Heaven 

knows ! 
But — I'm call' doff abruptly — another Express ! 
What the dense can it mean ? — I'm alarm'd, I 

confess. ' 

P. S. 

Hurrah, Dick, hurrah, Dick, ten thousand hur- 
rahs ! 

I'm a happy, rich dog to the end of my days. 

There — read the good news — and while glad, 
for my sake, 

That Wealth should thus follow in Love's shin- 
ing wake, 

Admire also the moral — that he, the sly elf. 

Who has fudg'd all the world, should be now 
fudg'd himself! 

EXTRACT FROM LETTER ENCLOSED. 

With pain the mournful news I writn, 
Miss Fudge's uncle died last night ; 
And much to mine and friends' surprise, 
By will doth all his wealth devise — 
Lands, dwellings — rectories likewise — 
To his "belov'd grard niece," Miss Fanny, 
Leaving Miss Fudge herself, who many 
Long j'ears hath waited — not a penny ! 
Have notified the same to latter. 
And wait instructions in the matter. 

For self and partners, &c. &c. 

— and well worthy of the attention of ci rtain expounden 
of the Apocalypse 



S0NG9 FROM M. P.; OR. THE BLUE STOCKING. 677 


SONGS FROM M. P.; OR 


, THE BLUE STOCKING 


SONG. 


This is love, faithful love. 




Such as saints might feel above. 


8USA.N. 




I'ouNG Love liv'd once in a humble shed, 




Where roses breathing, 


Spirit of Joy, thy altar lies 


And Avoodbines wreathing 


In youthful hearts that hope like mine ; 


Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 


And 'tis the light of laughing eyes. 


As wild and sweet as the life he led. 


That leads us to thy fairy shrine. 


His garden flourish'd, 


There if we find the sigh, the tear. 


For young Hope nourish'd 


They are not those to Sorrow known ; 


The infant buds with beams and showers ; 


But breath so soft, and drops so clear. 


But lips, though blooming, must still be fed. 


That Bliss may claim them for her own. 


And not even Love can live on flowers. 


Then give me, give me, while I weep. 




The sanguine hope that brightens woe, 


Alas ! that Poverty's evil eye 


And teaches ev'n our tears to keep 


Should e'er come hither. 


The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 


Such sweets to wither ! 




The flowers laid down their heads to die, 


The child, who sees the dew of night 


And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh. 


Upon the spangled hedge at morn, 


She came one morning, 


Attempts to catch the drops of light, 


Ere Love had warning, 


But wounds his finger with the thorn. 


And rais'd the latch, where the young god lay ; 


Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, 


»* ho ! " said Love — "is it you ? good by ; " 


Are lost, when touch' d, and turn to pain , 


So he oped the window, and flew away ! 


The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, 




The tears they waken long remain. 




But give me, give me, &c. &c 


To sigh, yet feel no pain. 


"When Leila touch'd the lute, 


To weep, yet scarce know why; 


Not then alone 'twas felt, 


To sport an hour with Beauty's chain. 


But, when the sounds were mute, 


Then throw it idly by. 


In memory still they dwelt. 


To kneel at many a shrine. 


Sweet lute ! in nightly slumbers 


Yet lay the heart on none ; 


Still we heard thy morning numbers. 


To think all other charms divine. 




But those we just have won. 


Ah, how could she, who stole 


This is love, faithless love. 


Such breath from simple wire. 


Such as kindleth hearts that rove. 


Be led, in pride of soul. 




To string with gold her lyre ? 


To keep one sacred flame, 


Sweet lute ! thy chords she breaketh , 


Through life unchill'd, unmov'd, 


Golden now the strings she waketh I 


To love, in wintry age, the same 




As first in youth we lov'd ; 


But where are all the tales 


To feel that we adore. 


Her lute so sweetly told ? 


Ev'n to such fond excess, 


In lofty themes she fails. 


That, th:,ugh the heart would break, with 


And soft ones suit not gold. 


more. 


Rich lute ! we see thee glisten, 


It could not Uve with less. 


But, alas I no more we listen ! 



678 SONGS FROM M. P. ; OR, THE BLUE STOCKING. 




Which weren't very hard to win. 


BOAT GLEE. 


For he, who won 




The eyes of fun, 


The song that lightens our languid way 


Was sure to have the kisses in. 


When brows are glowing, 


A Lottery, a Lottery, &c. 


And faint with rowing, 




Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay. 


This Lottery, this Lottery, 


To whose sound through life we stray. 


In Cupid's Court went merrily, 


The beams that flash on the oar a while, 


And Cupid play'd 


As we row along through waves so clear, 


A Jemsh trade 


Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile 


In this his scheming Lottery ; 


That shines o'er Sorrow's tear. 


For hearts, we're told. 




In shares he sold 


Nothing is lost on him who sees 


To many a fond believing drone, 


With an eye that Feeling gave ; — 


And cut the hearts 


For him there's a story in every breeze, 


So well in parts. 


And a picture in every wave. 


That each believ'd the whole his own. 


Then sing to lighten the languid way ; — 




When brows are glowing, 


Chor. — A Lottery, a Lottery, 


And faint with rowing : 


In Cupid's Court there used to be •, 


'Tis like the spell of Hope's airy lay, 


Two roguish eyes 


To whose sound through life we stray. 


The highest prize 




In Cupid's scheming Lottery. 


THINK, when a hero is sighing, 


SONG.' 


What danger in such an adorer ! 




What woman could dream of denying 


Though sacred the tie that our country in 


The hand that lays laurels before her. 


twineth. 


No heart is so guarded around, 


And dear to the heart her remembrance re* 


But the smile of a victor would take it ; 


mains. 


No bosom can slumber so sound, 


Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, 


But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. 


And sad the remembrance that slavery stains. 




Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant. 


Love sometimes is given to sleeping, 


But dying of languor in luxury's dome. 


And woe to the heart that allows him ; 


Our vision, when absent — our glory when 


For soon neither smiling nor weeping 


present — 


Will e'er from such slumber arouse him. 


Where thou art, Liberty ! there is my home. 


But though he were sleeping so fast, 




That the life almost seem'd to forsake him, 


Farewell to the land where in childhood I wan- 


Ev'n then, one soul-thrilling blast 


der' d ! 


From the trumpet of Glory would wake him. 


In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave ; 




Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is squan- 




der' d. 




And Fame has no wreaths for the brow of the 


CUPID'S LOTTERY. 


slave. 
But hail to thee, Albion ! who meet'st the com- 


A Lottery, a Lottery, 


motion 


In Cupid's Court there used to be ; 


Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam ; 


Two roguish eyes 


With no bonds but the law, and no slave but 


The highest prize, 


the ocean. 


In Cupid's scheming Lottery ; 


Hail, Temple of Liberty ! thou art my home. 


And kisses, too. 




As good as new, 
I 


1 Sung in the character cf a Frenchman. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



679 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



AT NIGHT.' 

At night, when aU is still around, 
How sweet to hear the distant sound 

Of footstep, coming soft and light ! 
What pleasure in the anxious beat, 
With which the bosom flies to meet 

That foot that comes so soft at night ! 

And then, at night, how sweet to say 
" 'Tis late, my love ! " and chide delay, 

Though still tiie western clouds are bright ; 
O, happy, too, the silent press. 
The eloquence of mute caress. 

With those we love exchang'd at night ! 



TO LADY HOLLAND. 
ON napoleon's legacy op a snuffbox. 

Gift of the Hero, on his dying day, 

To her, whose pity watch' d, forever nigh ; 
O, could he see the proud, the happy ray, 

This relic lights up on her generous eye, 
Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay 

A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy. 

Paris, July, 1821. 



EPILOGUE. 

WRITTEN FOR LADY DACRE's TRAGEDY OF INA. 

Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, 
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and — all that. 
And wondering much what little knavish sprite 
Had put it first in women's heads to write : — 
Sudden I saw — as in some witching dream — 
A bright-blue glory round my bookcase beam, 
From whose quick opening folds of azure 

light 
Out flew a tiny form, as smaU and bright 
As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his head, 
Some sunny morning from a violet bed. 



1 These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its 
device a Cupid, with the words "at night" written over 
bim. 



«' Bless me ! " I starting cried, " what imp are 
you ? " — 

" A small he-devil. Ma'am — my name Pas 
Bleu — 

" A bookish sprite, much given to routs and 
reading ; 

♦' 'Tis I who teach your spinsters of good breed- 
ing, 

" The reigning taste in chemistry and caps, 

" The last new bounds of tuckers and of maps, 

" And, when the waltz has twirl'd her giddy 
brain, 

" With metaphysics twirl it back again ! " 

I view'd him, as he spoke — his hose were blue, 
His wings — the covers of the last Review — 
Cerulean, border'd with a jaundice hue, 
And tinsell'd gayly o'er, for evening wear, 
Till the next quarter brings a new-fledg'd pair 
" Inspir'd by me — (pursued this waggish 

Fairy) — 
" That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady Mary, 
" Votary alike of Crispin and the Muse, 
" Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes. 
" For me the eyes of young Camilla shine, 
" And mingle Love's blue brilliances -with. 

mine; 
" For me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrink- 
ing, 
•' Looks wise — the pretty soul ! — and thinka 

she's thinking. 
" By my advice Miss Indigo attends 
" Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends, 
" • 'Pon honor ! — {mimics) — nothing can sur- 
pass the plan 
" ' Of that professor — {trying to recollect) — 

pshaw ! that memory man — 
"'That — what's his name? — him I attended 

lately — 
" ' 'Pon honor, he improv'd my memory great- 
ly.'" 

Here, courtesying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd 
sprite. 

What share he had in this our play to-night. 

" Nay, there — (he cried) — there I am guilt- 
less quite — 

" What ! choose a heroine from that Gothic time, 

" When no one waltz'd, and none but monks 
could rhyme ; 



180 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



" When lovely woman, all unschool'd and wild, 
*' Blush'd without ait, and without culture 

smil'd — 
" Simple as flowers, while yet unclass'd they 

shone, 
" Ere Science call'd their brilliant world her own, 
" llang'd the wild, rosy things in learned orders, 
" And fill'd with Greek the garden's blushing 

borders ! — 
«' No, no — your gentle Inas will not do — 
" To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue, 
♦' 111 come — {pointing dotonwnrds) — you un- 
derstand — till then adieu ! " 

And has the sprite been here ? No — jests 
apart — 
Howe'er man rules in science and in art, 
The sphere of woman's glories is the heart. 
And, if our Muse have sketch'd with pencil true 
The wife — the mother — firm, yet gentle too — 
Whose soul, wrapp'd up in ties itself hath spun, 
Trembles, if touch'd in the remotest one ; 
Who loves — yet dares even Love himself dis- 
own. 
When Honor's broken shaft supports his throne ; 
If such our Ina, she may scorn the evils. 
Dire as they are, of Critics and — Blue Devils. 



THE DAYDREAM.' 

HEY both were hush'd, the voice, the chords, 
I heard but once that witching lay ; 
And few the notes, and few the words. 
My spell-bound memory brought away ; 

Traces, remember'd here and there, 
Like echoes of some broken strain ; — 

Links of a sweetness lost in air, 
That nothing now could join again. 

Ev'n these, too, ere the morning, fled ; 

And, though the charm still linger'd on, 
That o'er each sense her song had shed. 

The song itself was faded, gone ; — 

Gone, like the thoughts that once were ours. 
On summer days, ere youth had set ; 

Thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, 
Though xchat they were, we now forget. 



1 In.these stanzas I have done little more than relate a 
lact in verse j and the lady, whose singing gave rise to this 



In vain, with hints from other strains, 
I woo'd this truant air to come — 

As birds are taught, on eastern plains, 
To lure their wilder kindred home. 

In vain : — the song that Sappho gave. 

In dying, to the mournful sea. 
Not muter slept beneath the wave. 

Than this within my memuiy. 

At length, one morning, as I lay 

In that half-waking mood, when dreams 

Unwillingly at last give way 

To the full truth of daylight's beams, 

A face — the very face, methought. 

From which had breath' d, as from a shrine 

Of song and soul, the notes I sought — 
Came with its music close to mine ; 

And sung the long-lost measure o'er, — 
Each note and word, with every tone 

And look, that lent it life before, — 
All perfect, all again my own ! 

Like parted souls, when, 'mid the Blest 
They meet again, each widow'd sound 

Through memory's realm had wing'd in quest 
Of its sweet mate, till all were found. 

Nor ev'n in waking did the clew. 
Thus strangely caught, escape again ; 

For never lark its matins knew 
So weU as now I knew this strain. 

And oft, when memory's wondrous spell 
Is talk'd of in our tranquil bower, 

I sing this lady's song, and tell 
The vision of that morning hour. 



SONG. 

Where is the heart that would not give 

Years of drowsy days and nights. 
One little hour, like this, to live — 
Full, to the brim, of life's deligms ? 
Look, look around. 
This fairy ground. 
With love lights glittering o'er; 



curious instance of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. 
Robert Arkwright. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 681 


While cups that shine 


For wealthy men, who keep their mines 


With freight divine 


In darkness hid, and share not 


Go coasting round its shore. 


Tlie paltry ore with him who pines 




In honest want — We care not. 


Hope is the dupe of future hours, 




Memorj- lives in those gone by ; 


For prudent men, who hold the power 


Neither can see the moment's flowers 


Of Love aloof, and bare not 


Spriniring up fresh beneatli the eye. 


Their hearts in any guardless hour 


Wouldst thou, or thou, 


To Beauty's shaft — We care not 


Forego what's now, 




For all that Hope may say ? 


For all, in short, on land or sea, 


No — Joy's reply, 


In camp or court, who are not, 


From every eye. 


Who never we7-e, or e'er will be 


Is, " Live we while we may." 


Good men and true — We care not. 


PONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE 


ANNE BOLEYN. 


SOCIETY. 


TRANSLATION FROM THE METRICAL «' HISTOIBB 


Haud curat Hippoclides. 


D'aNNE BOLEYN." 


Erasm. Adag. 


" S'plle estoit belle et de taille elegante. 


. To those we love we've drank to-night ; 


Estoit des yeiilx encor plus attiiante, 


But now attend, and stare not. 
While I the ampler list recite 


Lesquelz t^avoit bien conduyie 4 propoa 
En les tenant quelqiiefoys en repos ; 
Auciuiefoys envoyant en message 


Of those for whom We care not. 


Purter du cueur le secret tesnioignage." 


For royal men, howe'er they frown, 
If on their fronts they bear not 

That noblest gem that docks a crown, 
The People's Love — We care not. 


Much as her form seduc'd the sight. 
Her eyes could ev'n more surely woo ; 

And when, and how to shoot their light 
Into men's hearts full well she knew. 

For sometimes, in repose, she hid 


For slavish men, who bend beneath 
A despot yoke, yet dare not 

Pronounce the will, whose very breath 
Would rend its links — We care not. 


Their rays beneath a downcast lid ; 
And then again, with wakening air. 

Would send their sunny glances out, 
Like heralds of delight, to bear 

Her heart's sweet messages about. 


For priestly men, who covet sway 




And wealth, though they declare not ; 




Who point, like finger posts, the way 


THE DREAM OF THE TWO SISTERS, 


Thoy never go — We care not. 


FROM DANTE. 


For martial men, who on their sword. 


Nell ora, credo, die dell' oriente 


Howo'er it conquers, wear not 
The pledges of a soldier's word, 

Kedeem'd and pure — We care not. 


Prima raggio nel moiile Citerea, 
Che di t'luico d' amor par serupre ardente, 
Giovane e bclla in sognn mi parea 
Donna vedere andar per una landa 




Cogliendo tiori ; e cantando dicea: — 


For legal men, who plead for wrong, 
And, though to lies they swear not. 


Sap|)ia qiialunqiie 'I mio nome dimanda, 
Ch' io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntomo 


Are hardly better than the throng 


Le belle matii a farini una gliirlaiida — 


Of those who do — We care not. 


Per piacermi alio specchio qui m' adorno; 
Ma niia suora Rachel ma: non si smaga 


For courtly men, who feed upon 

The land, like grubs, and spare not 
The smallest leaf, where they can sun 


Dal suo aminiraglio, e siede tulto il giomo. 

Ell' e de' suoi begli occhi veder vaga. 
Com' io dell' adornaruii tun le mani ; 
Lei Io vedere e nie I'ovrare appag.i. 


Their crawling limbs — We care not. 
86 


Dante, Purj,' canto xxviu 



683 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



'TwAS eve's soft hour, and bright, above, 

The star of Beauty beam'd. 
While luU'd by light so full of love 

In slumber thus I dream'd — 
Mcthought, at that sweet hour, 

A nymph came o'er the lea, 
"Who, gath'ring many a flow'r, 

Thus said and sung to me : — 
" Should any ask what Leila loves, 

" Say thou, To wreathe her hair 
" With flow'rets cuU'd from glens and groves, 

" Is Leila's only care. 

" While thus in quest of flow'rets rare, 

" O'er hill and dale I roam, 
" My sister, Rachel, far more fair, 

" Sits lone and mute at home. 
" Before her glass untiring, 

" With thoughts that never stray, 
' Her own bright eyes admiring, 

" She sits the livelong day ; 
«< While I ! — O, seldom ev'n a look 

" Of self salutes my eye ; — 
" My only glass, the limpid brook, 

" That shines and passes by." 



SOVEREIGN WOMAN. 



The dance was o'er, yet still in dreams, 

That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds still flush'd with daylight gleams. 

Though day itself is gone. 
And gracefully to music's sound. 
The same bright nymphs went gliding round ; 
While thou, the Queen of all, wert there — 
The Fairest stiU, where all were fair. 

The dream then chang'd — in halls of state, 

I saw thee high enthron'd ; 
While, rang'd around, the wise, the great 

In thee their mistress own'd : 
And still the same, thy gentle sway 
O'er willing subjects won its way-- 
Till all confess'd the Right Divine 
To rule o'er man was only thine J 



But, lo, the scene now chang'd again — 

And borne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o'er the battle plain 

Our land's defenders lead : 
And stronger in thy beauty's charms, 
Than man, with countless hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like music, cheer'd the Free, 
Thy very smile was victory ! 

Nor reign such queens on thrones alone — 

In cot and court the same. 
Wherever woman's srade is known, 

Victoria's still her name. 
For though she almost blush to reign. 

Though Love's oAvn flow'rets wreathe the chain, 
Disguise our bondage as we will, 
'Tis woman, woman, rules us still. 



COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR 
AGAIN. 

A BALLAD. 

Come, play me that simple air again, 

I us'd so to love, in life's young day. 
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then 
Were waken'd by that sweet lay. 
The tender gloom its strain 

Shed o'er the heart and brow, 
Grief's shadow, without its pain — 
Say where, where is it now ? 
But play mc the well-known air once more. 

For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain. 
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see again. 

Sweet air, how every note brings back 

Some sunny hope, some daydream bright, 
That, shining o'er life's early track, 
Fill'd ev'n its tears with light. 

The new-found life that came 

With love's first echo'd vow ; — • 
The fear, the bliss, the shame — 
Ah — where, where are they now ? 
But, stUl the same lov'd notes prolong. 

For sweet 'twere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of youth and love and song, 
To breathe life's hour away. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



THE EPICUREAN. 

A TALE. 



PREFACE 

TO THE TENTH VOLUME. 

The Story -which occupies this volume was 
intended originally to be told in verse ; and a 
great portion of it was at first written in that 
form. This fact, as well as the character, per- 
haps, of the whole work, which a good deal 
partakes of the cast and coloring of poetry, have 
been thought sufficient to entitle it to a place in 
this general collection of my poetical writings. 

How little akin to romance or poesy were 
some of the circumstances under which this 
work was first projected by me, the reader may 
have seen from a preceding preface ; ' and the 
following rough outline, which I have found 
among my papers, dated Paris, July 25, 1820, 
will show both my first general conception, or 
foreshadowing of the story, and likewise the 
extent to which I thought right, in afterwards 
working out this design, to reject or modify 
some of its details. 

" Began my Egyptian Poem, and wrote about 
thirteen or fourteen lines of it. The story to be 
told in letters from a young Epicurean philoso- 
pher, who, in the second century of the Christian 
era, goes to Egypt for the purpose of discovering 
the elixir of immortality, which is supposed to 
be one of the secrets of the Egyptian priests. 
During a Festival on the Nile, he meets with a 
beautiful maiden, the daughter of one of the 
priests lately dead. She enters the catacombs, 
and disappears. He hovers around the spot, 
and at last finds the well and secret passages, 
&c. by which those who are initiated enter. 
He sees this maiden in one of those theatrical 
spectacles which formed a part of the subter- 
ranean Elysium of the Pyramids — finds op- 
portunities of conversing with her — their in- 
tercourse in this mysterious region described. 
They are discovered ; and he is thrown into 
those subterranean prisons, where they who 
violate the rules of Initiation are confined. He 
is liberated from thence by the young maiden, 
and taking flight together, they reach some 

1 Preface to the Eighth Volume, p. 527 of thia edition. 



beautiful region, where they linger, for a time, 
delighted, and she is near becoming a victim tj 
his arts. But taking alarm, she flies ; and seeks 
refuge with a Christian monk, in the Thcbaid, 
to whom her mother, who was secretly a Chris- 
tian, had consigned her in dying. The strug- 
gles of her love with her religion. A persecu- 
tion of the Christians takes place, and she is 
seized (chiefly through the unintentional means 
of her lover), and suffers martyrdom. The scene 
of her martyrdom described, in a letter from the 
Solitary of the Thebaid, and the attempt made 
by the young philosopher to rescue her. He is 
carried off" from thence to the cell of the Soli- 
tary. His letters from that retreat, after he has 
become a Christian, devoting his thoughts en- 
tu-ely to repentance and the recollection of the 
beloved saint who had gone before him. — If I 
don't make something out of all this, the deusc 
is in't." 

According to this plan, the events of the story 
were to be told in Letters, or Epistolary Poems, 
addressed by the philosopher to a young Athe- 
nian friend ; but, for greater variety, as well as 
convenience, I afterwards distributed the task 
of narration among the chief personages of the 
Tale. The great difficulty, however, of man- 
aging, in rhyme, the minor details of a story, so 
as to be clear without growing prosaic, and still 
more, the difl"use length to which I saw narra- 
tion in verse would extend, deterred me from 
following this plan any further; and I then 
commenced the tale anew in its present shape. 

Of the Poems written for my first experiment, 
a few specimens, the best I could select, were in- 
troduced into the prose story ; but the remainder 
I had thrown aside, and nearly forgotten even 
their existence, when a circumstance somewhat 
characteristic, perhaps, of that trading spirit, 
which has now converted Parnassus itself into 
a market, again called my attention to them. 
The late Mr. Macrone, to whose general talents 
and enterprise in business all who knew him 
will bear ready testimony, had long been anx- 
ious that I should undertake for him some new 
Poem or Story, aff"ording such subjects for illus- 
tration as might call into play the fanciful pencil 
of Mr. Turner. Other tasks and ties, however, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



had rendered my compliance with this wish 
impracticable ; and he was about to give up all 
thoughts of attaining his object, when on learn- 
ing from me accidentally that the Epicurean was 
Btill my own property, he proposed to purchase 
of me the use of the copyright for a single illus- 
trated edition. 

The terms proifcred by him being most liberal, 
I readily acceded to the proposed arrangement ; 
but, on further consideration, there arose some 
difficulty in the way of our treaty — the work 
itself being found insufficient to form a volume 
of such dimensions as would yield any hope of 
defraying the cost of the numerous illustrations 
then intended for it. Some modification, there- 
fore, of our terms was thought necessary ; and 
then first was the notion suggested to me of 
bringing forth from among my papers the origi- 
nal sketch, or opening of the story, and adding 
these fragments, as a sort of makeweight, in the 
mutual adjustment of our terms. 

That I had myself regarded the first experi- 
ment as a failure, was sufficiently shown by my 
relinquishment of it. But, as the published 
work had then passed through several editions, 
and had been translated into most of the lan- 
guages of Europe, it was thought that an insight 
into the anxious process by w^hich such success 
had been attained, might, as an encouragement, 
at least, to the humble merit of painstaking, be 
deemed of some little use. 

The following are the translations of this Tale 
which have reached me : viz. two in French, two 
in Italian (Milan, 1836 — Venice, 1835), one in 
German (Inspruc, 1828), and one in Dutch, by 
M. Herman van Loghem (Deventer, 1829). 



LOUD JOHN RUSSELL, 
•THIS VOLUME 

18 INSCRtCED BY ONE WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER AND 
lALESTS, ANU IS rROOD OF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 



LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR, 

FROM 

, Esq. 

Cairo, June 19, 1800. 
My DEAR Sir, 

During a visit lately paid by me to the 
monastery of St. Macarius — which is situated, 



as you know, in the Valley of the Lakes of Na- 
tron — I Avas lucky enough to obtain possession 
of a curious Greek manuscript which, in the 
hope that you may be induced to translate it, I 
herewith transmit to you. Observing one of 
the monks very busily occupied in tearing up 
into a variety of fantastic shapes some papers 
which had the appearance of being the leaves 
of old books, I inquired of him the meaning 
of his task, and received the following explana- 
tion : — 

The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond of pigeons 
as the ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious 
notion that, if they place in their pigeon houses 
small scraps of paper, written over with learned 
characters, the birds are always sure to thrive 
the better for the charm ; and the monks, who 
are never slow in profiting by superstition, have, 
at all times, a supply of such amulets for pur- 
chasers. 

In general, the fathers of the monastery have 
been in the habit of scribbling these fragments 
themselves ; but a discovery lately made by 
them, saves all this trouble. Having dug up 
(as my informant stated) a chest of old manu- 
scripts, which, being chiefly on the subject of 
alchemy, must have been buried in the time of 
Diocletian, •' we thought," added the monk, 
" that we could not employ such rubbish more 
properly, than in tearing it up, as you see, for 
the pigeon houses of the Arabs." 

On my expressing a wish to rescue some part 
of these treasures from the fate to which his 
indolent fraternity had consigned them, he pro- 
duced the manuscript which I have now the 
pleasure of sending you — the only one, he said, 
remaining entire — and I very readily paid the 
price which he demanded for it. 

You will find the story, I think, not altogether 
uninteresting ; and the coincidence, in many 
respects, of the curious details in Chap. VI. 
with the description of the same ceremonies in 
the Romance of Set/tos,^ will, I have no doubt, 
strike you. Hoping that you may be induced 
to give a translation of this Tale to the world, 
I am, my dear Sir, 

Very truly yours, 



1 The description, here alluded to, may also be found, 
copied verbatim from Sethos, in the " Voyages d'Antenor." 
— " In that philosophical romance, called ' La Vie de Se- 
thos,' " says Warburton, " we find a much juster account of 
old Ej.'yptian wisdom, than in all the pretended ' Uistoiro 
du Ciel.' " — J)m. Leg. book iv. sect. 14. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



CHAPTER I. 

It wns in the fourth year of the reign of thf 
late Emperor Valerian, that the followers ct* 
Epicurus, -who were at that time numerous m 
Athens, proceeded to the election of a person to 
fill the vacant chair of their sect ; — and, by the 
unanimous voice of the School, I was the indi- 
vidual chosen for their Chief. I was just then 
entering on my twenty-fourth year, and no in- 
stance had ever before occurred, of a person 
so young being selected for that high office. 
Youth, however, and the personal advantages 
that adorn it, could not but rank among the 
most agreeable recommendations to a sect that 
included within its circle all the beauty as well 
as the wit of Athens, and which, though digni- 
fying its pursuits with the name of philosophy, 
was little else than a plausible pretext for the 
more refined cultivation of pleasure. 

The character of the sect had, indeed, much 
changed, since the time of its wise and virtuous 
founder, who, while he asserted that Pleasure 
is the only Good, inculcated also that Good is 
the only source of Pleasure. The purer part 
of this doctrine had long evaporated, and the 
temperate Epicurus would have as little recog- 
nized his own sect in the assemblage of refined 
voluptuaries who now usurped its name, as he 
would have known his own quiet Garden in the 
luxurious groves and bowers among which the 
meetings of the School were now held. 

Many causes concurred, at this period, be- 
sides the attractiveness of its doctrines, to ren- 
der our school by far the most popular of any 
that still survived the glory of Greece. It may 
generally be observed, that the prevalence, in 
one half of a community, of very rigid notions 
on the subject of religion, produces the oppo- 
site extremity of laxity and infidelity in the 
other ; and this kind of reaction it was that now 
mainly contributed to render the doctrines of 
the Garden the most fashionable philosophy of 
the day. The rapid progress of the Christian 
faith had alarmed all those, who, either from 
piety or worldliness, were interested in the con- 
tinuance of the old established creed — all who 
beheved in the Deities of Olympus, and all who 
lived by them. Tbe natural consequence was, 
a considerable itf rease of zeal and activity, 
throughout the onstituted authorities and 
priesthood of the whole Heathen world. What 
was wanting in sincerity of belief was made up 
in rigor ; — the weakest parts of the Mythology 



were those, of course, most angrily deiended, 
and any reflections, tending to bring Saturn, or 
his wife Ops, into contempt, were punished 
with the utmost severity of the law. 

In this state of aff"airs, between the alarmed 
bigotry of the declining Faith and the simple, 
sublime austerity of her rival, it was not won- 
derful that those lovers of ease and pleasure, 
who had no interest, reversionary or otlierwise, 
in the old religion, and were too indolent to in- 
quire into the sanctions of the new, should take 
refuge from the severities of both in the arms 
of a luxurious pliilosophy, which, leaving to 
others the task of disputing about the future, 
centred all its wisdom in the full enjoyment of 
the present. 

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever since 
the death of their founder, been accustomed to 
dedicate to his memory the twentieth day of 
every month. To these monthly rites had, for 
some time, been added a grand annual Festival, 
in commemoration of his birth. The feasts, 
given on this occasion by my predecessors in 
the Chair, had been invariably distinguished for 
their taste and splendor ; and it was my ambi- 
tion, not merely to imitate this example, but 
even to render the anniversary, now celebrated 
under my auspices, so lively and brilliant as to 
efiace the recollection of all that had preceded it. 

Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed so 
bright a scene. The grounds that formed the 
original site of the Garden had received, from 
time to time, considerable additions ; and the 
whole extent was now laid out with that perfect 
taste, which understands how to wed Nature 
with Art, without sacrificing any of her sim- 
plicity to the alliance. Walks, leading through 
wildernesses of shade and fragrance — glades, 
opening, as if to aff'ord a playground for the 
sunshine — temples, rising on the very spots 
where Imagination herself would have called 
them up, and fountains and lakes, in alternate 
motion and repose, either wantonly courting the 
verdure, or calmly sleeping in its emorace — 
such was the variety of feature that diversified 
these fair gardens ; and, animated as they were 
on this occasion, by all the living wit and love- 
liness of Athens, it aff"orded a scene such as my 
own youthful fancy, rich as it was then in im- 
ages of luxury and beauty, could hardly have 
anticipated. 

The ceremonies of the day began with the 
very dawn, when, according to the form of sim- 
pler and better times, those among the disciplea 
who had apartments within the Garden, bore 



386 



THE EPICUREAN. 



the image of our Founder in procession from 
chamber to chamber, chanting verses in praise 
of what had long ceased to be objects of our 
iriitation — his frugality and temperance. 

Round a beautiful lake, in the centre of the 
Garden, stood four white Doric temples, in one 
of which was collected a library containing all 
the flowers of Grecian literature ; while, in the 
remaining three. Conversation, the Song, and 
the Dance, held, uninterrupted by each other, 
their respective rites. In the Library stood 
busts of all the most illustrious Epicureans, 
both of Rome and Greece — Horace, Atticus, 
Pliny the elder, the poet Lucretius, Lucian, 
and the lamented biographer of the Philoso- 
phers, lately lost to us, Diogenes Laertius. 
There were also the portraits, in marble, of all 
the eminent female votaries of the school — 
Leontium and her fair daughter Danac, The- 
mista, PhilaL'nis, and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of Heresiarch, 
on the morning of the Festival. I received the 
felicitations of the day from some of the fairest 
lips of Athens ; and, in pronouncing the cus- 
tomary oration to the memory of our Master 
(in which it was usual to dwell upon the doc- 
trines he had inculcated) endeavored to attain 
that art, so useful before such an audience, of 
lending to the gravest subjects a charm, which 
secures them listeners even among the simplest 
and most volatile. 

Though study, as may be supposed, engrossed 
but little the nights or mornings of the Garden, 
yet all the lighter parts of learning — that por- 
tion of its attic honey, for which the bee is not 
compelled to go very deep into the flower — was 
somewhat zealously cultivated by us. Even 
here, however, the young student had to en- 
counter that kind of distraction, which is, of 
all others, the least favorable to composure of 
thought; and, with more than one of my fair 
disciples, there used to occur such scenes as the 
foliov.'ing, which a poet of the Garden, taking 
his picture from the life, thus described : — 

" As o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 

That temple threw its lengthening shade, 
U|)iin the marble steps below 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 
Grarefiilly o'er some volume bending ; 

While, by her side, the youthful Sage 
Held back her ringlets, lest, descending. 

They should o'ershadow all the page." 

But it was for the evening of that day, that the 
richest of our luxuries were reserved. Every 



part of the Garden was illuminated, with the 
most skilful variety of lustre ; while over the 
Lake of the Temples were scattered wreaths of 
flowers, through which boats, filled with beau- 
tiful children, floated, as through a liquid par- 
terre. 

Between two of these boats a mock combat 
was perpetually carried on; — their respective 
commanders, two blooming youths, being hab- 
ited to represent Eros and Anteros : the former, 
the Celestial Love of the Platonists, and the 
latter, that more earthly spirit, which usurps 
the name of Love among the Epicureans. 
Throughout the whole evening their conflict 
was maintained with various success ; the timid 
distance at which Eros kept aloof from his live- 
ly antagonist being his only safeguard against 
those darts of fire, with showers of which the 
other assailed him, but which, falling short of 
their mark upon the lake, only scorched the 
few flowers on which they fell, and were ex- 
tinguished. 

In another part of the gardens, on a -wide 
glade, illuminated only by the moon, was per- 
formed an imitation of the torch race of the 
Panathensea by young boys chosen for their 
fleetness, and arrayed with wings, like Cupids ; 
while, not far off", a group of seven nj-mphs, 
with each a star on her forehead, represented 
the movements of the planetary choir, and em- 
bodied the dream of Pythagoras into real mo- 
tion and song. 

At every turning some new enchantment 
broke unexpectedly on the eye or ear ; and 
now, from the depth of a dark grove, from 
which a fountain at the same time issued, there 
came a strain of sweet music, which, mingling 
with the murmur of the water, seemed like the 
voice of the spirit that presided over its flow ; — 
while, at other times, the same strain appeared 
to come breathing from among flowers, or was 
heard suddenly from under ground, as if the 
foot had just touched some spring that set its 
melody in motion. 

It may seem strange that I should now dwell 
upon these trifling details ; but they were to me 
full of the future ; and every thing connected 
with that memorable night — even its Iwng- 
repentcd follies — must forever live fondly and 
sacredly in mj^ memory. The festival con- 
cluded with a banquet, at which, as master of 
the Sect, I presided ; and being, myself, in 
every sense, the ascendant spirit of the whole 
scene, gave life to all around me, and saw my 
own happiness reflected in that of others. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



CHAPTER n. 

The festival was over ; — the sounds of the 
song and dance had ceased, and I was now left 
in those luxurious gardens, alone. Though so 
ardent and active a votary of pleasure, I had, 
by nature, a disposition full of melancholy ; — 
an imagination that, even in the midst of mirth 
and happiness, presented saddening thoughts, 
and threw the shadow of the future over the 
gayest illusions of the present. Melancholy 
was, indeed, twin born in my soul with Pas- 
sion ; and not even in the fuUest fervor of the 
latter were they ever separated. From the first 
moment that I was conscious of thought and 
feeling, the same dark thread had run across 
the web ; and images of death and annihilation 
came to mingle themselves with even the most 
smiling scenes through which love and enjoy- 
ment led me. My very passion for pleasure but 
deepened these gloomy thoughts. For, shut 
out, as I was by my creed, from a future life, 
and having no hope beyond the narrow horizon 
of this, every minute of earthly delight as- 
sumed, in my eyes, a mournful prcciousness ; 
and pleasure, like the flower of the cemetery, 
grew but more luxuriant from the neighborhood 
of death. 

This very night my triumph, my happiness 
liad seemed complete. I had been the presiding 
genius of that voluptuous scene. Both my am- 
bition and my love of pleasure had drunk deep 
of the rich cup for which they thirsted. Looked 
up to as I was by the learned, and admired and 
loved by the beautiful and the young, I had 
seen, in every eye that met mine, either the 
acknowledgment of bright triumphs already 
won, or the promise of others, still brighter, 
that awaited me. Yet, even in the midst of all 
this, the same dark thoughts had presented 
themselves ; — the perishableness of myself and 
all around me had recurred every instant to my 
mind. Those hands I had pressed — those 
eyes, in Avhich I had seen sparkling a spirit of 
light and life that ought never to die — those 
voices, that had spoken of eternal love — all, all, 
I felt, were but a mockery of the moment, and 
would leave nothing eternal but the silence of 
Ihcir dust ! 

O, were it not for this sad voice, 
Stealing amid our mirtli to say, 

Tliat all, in wliicli we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earthworm's prey ; — 

Bat for this bitter — only tliis — 

Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 



And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its depth tlie whole, 
I should turn earth to heaven, and be. 
If bliss made gods, a deity ! 

Such was the description I gave of my own 
feelings, in one of those wild, passionate songs, 
to which this mixture of mirth and melancholy^ 
in a spirit so buoyant, naturally gave birth. 

And seldom had my heart so fuUy surren- 
dered itself to this sort of vague sadness as at 
that very moment, when, as I paced thought- 
fully among the fading lights and flowers 
of the banquet, the echo of my own step was 
all that now sounded, where so many gay forms 
had lately been revelling. The moon was 
still up, the morning had not yet glimmered, 
and the calm glories of the night still rested on 
all around. Unconscious whither my pathway 
led, I continued to wander along, till I, at 
length, found myself before that fair statue of 
Venus, with which the chisel of Alcamenes had 
embellished our Garden ; — that image of deified 
woman, the only idol to which I had ever yet 
bent the knee. Leaning against the pedestal 
of the statue, I raised my eyes to heaven, and 
fixing them sadly and intently on the ever- 
burning stars, as if seeking to read the mourn- 
ful secret in their light, asked, wherefore was it 
that Man alone must fade and perish, while 
they, so much less wonderful, less godlike than 
he, thus still lived on in radiance unchangeable 
and forever ! — " O, that there were some spell, 
some talisman," I exclaimed, " to make the 
spirit that burns within us deathless as those 
stars, and open to it a career like theirs, as 
bright and inextinguishable throughout all 
time ! " 

While thus indulging in wild and melancholy 
fancies, I felt that lassitude which earthly pleas- 
ure, however sweet, still leaves behind, come 
insensibly over me, and at length sunk at the 
base of the statue to sleep. 

But even in sleep, the same fancies continued 
to haunt me ; and a dream,' so distinct and 
vivid as to leave behind it the impression of 
reality, thus presented itself to my mind. I 
found myself suddenly transported to a wiae 
and desolate plain, where nothing appeared to 
breathe, or move, or live. The very sky that 
hung above it looked pale and extinct, giving 
the idea, not of darkness, but of light that had 
become dead ; — and had that whole region 
been the remains of some older world, left 

1 For the importance attached to dreams by the ancients 
see Jortin, Remarks on Ecclesiasticil History, vol. i. p. 90 



THE EPICUREAN. 



broken up and sunless, it could not have pre- 
sented an aspect more quenched and desolate. 
The only thin"; that bespoke life, throughout 
this melancholy waste, was a small spark of 
light, tliat at first glimmered in the distance, 
but, at length, slowly approached the bleak spot 
where I stood. As it drew nearer, I could see 
that its small but steady gleam came from a 
taper in the hand of an ancient and venerable 
man, who now stood, like a pale messenger 
from the grave, before me. AJ"ter a few mo- 
ments of awful silence, during which he looked 
at me with a sadness that thrilled my very soul, 
he said, "Thou, who seekest eternal life, go 
unto the shores of the dark Nile — go unto the 
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the 
eternal life thou seekest ! " 

No sooner had he uttered these words than 
the deathlike hue of his cheek at once bright- 
ened into a smile of more than earthly promise ; 
while the small torch he held in his hand sent 
forth a glow of radiance, by which suddenly 
the whole surface of the desert was illumi- 
nutcd ; — the light spreading even to the distant 
horizon's edge, along whose line I could now 
see gardens, palaces, and spires, all as bright as 
the rich architecture of the clouds at sunset. 
Sweet music, too, came floating in every direc- 
tion through the air, and, from all sides, such 
varieties of enchantment broke upon me, that, 
with the excess alike of harmony and of ra- 
diance, I awoke. 

That infidels should be superstitious is an 
anomaly neither unusual nor strange. A belief 
in superhuman agency seems natural and neces- 
sary to the mind ; and, if not suffered to flow in 
the obvious channels, it will find a vent in some 
other. Hence, many who have doubted the ex- 
istence of a God, have yet implicitly placed 
themselves under the patronage of Fate or the 
stars. Much the same inconsistency I was con- 
scious of in my own feelings. Though reject- 
ing all belief in a Divine Providence, I had yet 
a faith in dreams, that all my philosophy could 
not conquer. Nor was experience wanting to 
' onfirm me in my delusion; for, by some of 
those accidental coincidences, which make the 
fortune of soothsayers and prophets, dreams, 
more than once, had been to me 

Oracles, truer far than oak. 
Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 

It was not wonderful, therefore, that the vision 
of that night — touching, as it did, a chord so 
rpady to vibrate — should have affected me 



with more than ordinary power, and even sunk 
deeper into my memory with every ettbrt I made 
to forget it. In vain did I mock at my own 
weakness ; — such self-derision is seldom sin- 
cere. In vain did I pursue :ny accustomed 
pleasures. Their zest was, as usual, forever 
new ; but still, in the midst of all my enjoy- 
ment, came the cold and saddening conscious- 
ness of mortality, and, with it, the recollection 
of that visionary promise, to which my fancy, 
in defiance of reason, still continued to cling. 

At times indulging in reveries, that were little 
else than a continuation of my dream, I even 
contemplated the possible existence of some 
mighty secret, by which youth, if not perpet- 
uated, might be at least prolonged, and that 
dreadful vicinity of death, within whose circle 
love pines and pleasure sickens, might be for a 
while averted. " Who knows," I would ask, 
" but that in Egypt, that region of wonders, 
where Mystery hath yet unfolded but half her 
treasures — where still remain, undeciphered, 
upon the pillars of Seth, so many written 
secrets of the antediluvian world — who can 
tell but that some powerful charm, some amu- 
let, may there lie hid, whose discovery, as this 
phantom hath promised, but awaits my coming 

— some compound of the same pure atoms, that 
form the essence of the living stars, and whose 
infusion into the frame of man might render 
him also unfading and immortal ! " 

Thus fondly did I sometimes speculate, in 
those vague moods of mind, when the life of 
excitement in which I was engaged, acting 
upon a warm heart and vivid fancy, pro- 
duced an intoxication of spirit, during which I 
was not wholly myself. This bewilderment, 
too, was not a little increased by the constant 
struggle I experienced between my own natural 
feelings, and the cold, mortal creed of my sect 

— in endeavoring to escape from whose deaden- 
ing bondage I but broke loose into the realms 
of fantasy and romance. 

Even in my soberest moments, however, that 
strange vision forever haunted me ; and every 
effort I made to chase it from my recollection 
was unavailing. The deliberate conclusion, 
therefore, to which I at last came, was, that to 
visit Egypt was now my only resource ; that, 
without seeing that land of wonders, I could 
not rest, nor, until convinced of my folly by dis- 
appointment, be reasonable. "Without delay, 
accordingly, I announced to my friends of the 
Garden, the intention I had formed to pay a 
visit to the land of Pyramids. To none o( 



THE EPICUREAN. 



them, however, did I dare to confess the vague, 
visionary impulse that actuated me ; — knowl- 
edge being the object that I alleged, while 
Pleasure was that for which they gave me 
credit. The interests of the School, it was 
feared, might suffer by my absence ; and there 
were some tenderer ties, which had still more 
to fear from seimration. But for the former in- 
convenience a temporary remedy was provided ; 
while the latter a skilful distribution of vows 
and sighs alleviated. Being furnished with 
recommendatory letters to all parts of Egypt, I 
set sail in the summer of the year 257, a. d., 
for Alexandria. 



CHAPTER III. 

To one, who so well knew how to extract 
pleasure from every moment on land, a sea 
voyage, however smooth and favorable, appeared 
the least agreeable mode of losing time that could 
be devised. Often, indeed, did my imagination, 
in passing some isle of those seas, people it with 
fair forms and loving hearts, to which most will- 
ingly would I have paused to offer homage. 
But the wind blew direct towards the land of 
Mystery ; and, still more, I heard a voice within 
me, whispering forever " On." 

As we approached the coast of Egypt, our 
course became less prosperous ; and we had a 
specimen of the benevolence of the divinities 
of the Nile, in the shape of a storm, or rather 
whirlwind, which had nearly sunk our vessel, 
and which the Egyptians on board declared to 
be the work of their deity, Typhon. After a 
day and night of danger, during which we were 
driven out of our course to the eastward, some 
benigner influence prevailed above ; and, at 
length, as the morning freshly broke, we saw 
the beautiful city of Alexandria rising from the 
sea, with its proud Palace of Kings, its portico 
of four hundred columns, and the fair Pillar of 
Pillars,^ towering in the midst to heaven. 

After passing in review this splendid vision, 
we shot rapidly round the Rock of Pharos, and, 
in a few minutes, found ourselves in the harbor 
of Eunostus. The sun had risen, but the light 
on tlie Great Tower of the Rock was still burn- 

1 More properly, perhaps, " the Column of the Pillars." 
Vide Ahda'Jalif, Relation de I'Egypte, and the notes of M. 
de Sacy. The great portico around this column (formerly 
designated Pompey's, but now known to have been erected 
in honor of Diocletian) was still standing, M. de Sacy says, 
in Uie time of Saladin. Vide Lord Valentia's Travels. 
87 



ing J and there was a languor in the first waking 
movements of that voluptuous city — whose 
houses and temples lay shining in silence around 
the harbor — that sufhcienlly attested the fes- 
tivities of the preceding night. 

We were soon landed on the quay ; and, as I 
walked, through a line of palaces and shrines, up 
the street which leads from the sea to the Gate 
of Canopus, fresh as I was from the contempla- 
tion of my own lovely Athens, I yet felt a glow 
of admiration at the scene around me, which 
its novelty, even more than its magnificence, in- 
spired. Nor were the luxuries and delights, 
which such a city promised, among the least of 
the considerations upon which my fancy dwelt. 
On the contrary, every thing around me seemed 
prophetic of love and pleasure. The very forms 
of the architecture, to my Epicurean imagina- 
tion, appeared to call up images of living grace ; 
and even the dim seclusion of the temples and 
groves spoke only of tender mysteries to my 
mind. As the whole bright scene grew ani- 
mated around me, I felt that though Egypt might 
not enable me to lengthen life, she could teach 
the next best art — that of multiplying its en- 
joyments. 

The population of Alexandria,^ at this period, 
consisted of the most motley miscellany of na- 
tions, religions, and sects, that had ever been 
brought together in one city. Beside the school 
of the Grecian Platonist was seen the oratory 
of the cabalistic Jew ; while the church of the 
Christian stood, undisturbed, over the crypts oi 
the Egyptian Hierophant. Here, the adorer of 
Fire, from the East, laughed at the less elegant 
suijerstition of the worshipper of cats from the 
West. Here Christianity, too, had learned to 
emulate the pious vagaries of Paganism ; and 
while, on one side, her Ophite professor was 
seen bending his knee gravely before a serpent, 
on the other, a Nicosian Christian was heard 
contending, with no less gravity, that there could 
be no chance whatever of salvation out of the 
pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, the 
uncharitableness of Christian schism Avas already, 
with equal vigor, distinguishing itselt ; and I 
heard every where, on my arrival, of the fierce 
rancor and hate, with which the Greek and 
Latin churchmen were then persecuting each 

- Ammianus thus speaks of the state of Alexandria in his 
time, which was, I believe, as late as the end of ihe fourth 
century: — " Ne nunc quidem in eadem urbe Doctiina; va- 
riae silent, non apud nos ex:iruit iVlusica nee Harmonia con- 
ticuit." — Lib. 22. 



THE EPICIFREAN. 



other, because, forsooth, the one fasted on the 
seventh day of the week, and the others fasted 
upon the fourth and sixth ! 

To none, however, of these different creeds 
and sects, except in as far as they furnished food 
for ridicule, had I time to pay much attention. 
I was now in the most luxurious city of the 
universe, and accordingly gave way, without 
reserve, to the various seductions that sur- 
rounded me. My reputation, both as a philoso- 
pher and a man of pleasure, had preceded my 
coming ; and Alexandria, the second Athens of 
the world, welcomed mo as her own. I found 
my celebrity, indeed, act as a talisman, that 
opened all hearts and doors at my approach. 
The usual novitiate of acquaintance was dis- 
pensed with in mj' favor, and not only intimacies, 
but loves and friendships, ripened as rapidly in 
my path, as vegetation springs up where the 
Nile has flowed. The dark beauty of the Egyp- 
tian women ' possessed a novelty in my eyes 
that enhanced its other charms ; and the hue 
left by the sun on their rounded cheeks seemed 
but an earnest of the genial ardor he must have 
kindled in their hearts — 

Th' imbrowiiiiig of the fruit, that tells, 

How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 

Some weeks had now passed in such constant 
and ever-changing pleasures, that even the mel- 
ancholy voice deep within my heart, though it 
still spoke, was but seldom listened to, and soon 
died away in the sound of the siren songs that 
surrounded me. At length, as the novelty of 



1 From the character of the features of the Sphinx, and a 
passage in Herodotus, describing the Esyptians as fitAaj-- 
X/? '£? nat oyXorpix^?, Volney, Bruce, and a few others, 
have concluded that the ancient inhabitants of Egypt were 
negroes. But this opinion is contradicted hy a liost of au- 
thorities. See Caslera's notes upon Broiaiie's Travt.ls, for 
the result of Blunienbach's dissection of a variety of mum- 
mies. Dcnon, speaking of the character of the heads repre- 
sented in the ancient sculpture and painting of Egypt, says, 
"C'elle des femmes ressemhle encore k la figure des jolles 
femincs d'aujourd'hui : de la rondeur, de la volupte, le nez 
petit, les yeux longs, pen ouverts," &c. &c. He could judge, 
too. he says, from the female mummies, "que leurs cheveux 
6loient longs et lisses, que le caractere de tete de la plupart 
teniiit du beau style." — " Je rapportai," he adds, " une tete 
de vieille femme qui etoit aussi belle que celles de Michel- 
Ange, et leur ressembloit beaucoup." 

In a " Description generate de Tliibes," by Messrs. JoUois 
et DcsviUiers, they say, " Toutes les sculptures Egyptiennes, 
depuis les plus grands colosses de Thebes jusqu'aux plus pe- 
tites idoles, ne rappelent en aucune maniere les traits de la 
figure des negres ; outre que les tetes des inomies des cata- 
combes de Thebes presentent des profils droits." (See also 
M. Jomard's " Description of Syene and the Cataracts," 
Baron Larrey, on the " conformation physique " of the Egyp- 



these gay scenes wore off, the same vague and 
gloomy bodings began to mingle with all my 
joys ; and an incident that occurred, at this 
time, during one of my gayest revels, conduced 
still more to deepen their gloom. 

The celebration of the annual festival of 
Serapis happened to take place during my stay, 
and I was, more than once, induced to mingla 
with the gay multitudes that flocked to Iha 
shrine at Canopus on the occasion. Day and 
night, as long as this festival lasted, the great 
canal, which led from Alexandria to Canopus, 
was covered with boats full of pilgrims of both 
sexes, all hastening to avail themselves of this 
pious license, which lent the zest of a religious 
sanction to pleasure, and gave a holiday to the 
follies and passions of earth, in honor of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexan- 
dria. The north wind, that welcome visitor, had 
cooled and freshened the air, while the banks, 
on either side of the stream, sent forth, from 
groves of orange and henna, the most delicious 
odors. As I had left all the crowd behind me 
at Canopus, there was not a boat to be seen on 
the canal but my oym ; and I was just yield- 
ing to the thoughts which solitude at such an 
hour inspires, when my reveries were suddenly 
broken by the sound of some female voices, 
coming mingled with laughter and screams, 
from the garden of a pavilion, that stood, bril- 
liantly illuminated, upon the bank of the canal. 

On rowing nearer, I perceived that both the 
mirth and the alarm had been caused by the 



tians, &;c.) But the most satisfactory refutation of the opin- 
ion of Vulney has been afforded within these few years, by 
Doctor Oranville, who having been Incky enough to obtain 
possession of a perfect female mummy, has, by the dissec 
tion and admeasurement of its form, completely established 
the fact, that the ancient Egyptians were of the Caucasian 
race, not of the Ethiopian. See this gentleman's curious 
" Eisay on Egyptian Mammies," read before tlie Royal Soci- 
ety, April 14, 1825. 

De Pauw, the great depredator of every thing Egj-ptian, 
has, on the authority of a passage in ./Elian, presumed tc 
affix to the countrywomen of Cleopatra the stigma of c in- 
plete and unredeemed ugliness. The following line of E »- 
ripides, however, is an answer to such charges : — 

NeiAou itcv alSc KaWtirapdevoi poai. 

In addition to the celebrated instances of Cleopatra, Rho- 
dope, &.C. we are told, n the authority of Manetlio (as given 
by Zoega from Georgius 5y,icellus). of a beautiful queen of 
Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, who, in addition to 
other charms and perfections, was (rather inconsistently 
with the negro hypothesis) ^auOn rnv xP<"a>', i- e. yellow 
haired. 

See for a tribute to the beauty of the Egyptian women, 
Montesquieu's Temple de Guide. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



691 



efforts of s' ne playful girls to reach a hedge of 
jasmine w) ich grew near the water, and in 
bending towards whioh they had nearly fallen 
into the stream. Hastening to proffer my as- 
sistance, I soon recognized the voice of one of 
my fair Alexandrian friends, and, springing on 
the bank, was surrounded by the whole group, 
who insisted on my joining their party in the 
pavilion, and having flung around me, as fetters, 
the tendrils of jasmine, which they had just 
plucked, conducted me, no unwilling captive, 
to the banquet room. 

I found here an assemblage of the very flower 
of Alexandrian society. The unexpectedness of 
the meeting added new zest to it on both sides ; 
and seldom had I ever felt more enlivened my- 
self, or succeeded better in infusing life and 
gayety into others. 

Among the company were some Greek women, 
who, according to the fashion of their country, 
wore veils ; but, as usual, rather to set off than 
to conceal their beauty, some bright gleams of 
which were constantly escaping from under the 
cloud. There was, however, one female, who 
particularly attracted mj attention, on whose 
head was a chaplet of dark-colored flowers, and 
who sat veiled and silent during the whole of 
the banquet. She took no share, I observed, in 
what was passing around : the viands and the 
wine went by her untouched, nor did a word 
that was spoken seem addressed to her ear. 
This abstraction from a scene so sparkling with 
gr.yety, though apparently unnoticed by any one 
but myself, struck me as mysterious and strange. 
I inquired of my fair neighbor the cause of it, 
but she looked grave and was silent. 

In the mean time, the lyre and the cup went 
round ; and a young maid from Athens, as if 
ins],ired by the presence of her countryman, 
took her lute, and sung to it some of the songs 
of Greece, with a warmth of feeling that bore 
me back to the banks of the Ilissus, and, even 
in the bosom of present pleasure, drew a sigh 
from my heart for that which had passed away. 
It was daybreak ere our delighted party rose, 
and most unwillingly reembarkod to return to 
the city. 

We were scarce afloat, when it was discovered 
that the lute of the young Athenian had been 
left behind ; and, with a heart still full of its 
sweet sounds, I most readily sprang on shore to 
seek it. I hastened at once to the banquet 
room, which was now dim and solitary, except 
that — there, to my utter astonishment, was 
•still seated that silent figure, which had awa- 



kened so much my curiosity during the evening. 
A vague feeling of awe came over me, as I now 
slowly approached it. There was no motion, 
no sound of breathing in that form ; — not a 
leaf of the dark chaplet upon its brow stirred. 
By the light of a dying lamp which stood on 
the table before the figure, I raised, with a 
hesitating hand, the veil ; and saw — what my 
fancy had already anticipated — that the shape 
underneath was lifeless, was a skeleton ! Startled 
and shocked, I hurried back with the lute to 
the boat, and was almost as silent as that shape 
itself during the remainder of the voyage. 

This custom among the Egyptians of placing 
a mummy, or skeleton, at the banquet table, 
had been for some time disused, except at par- 
ticular ceremonies; and, even on such occasions, 
it had been the practice of the luxurious Alex- 
andrians to disguise this mepiorial of mortality 
in the manner just described. But to me, who 
was wholly unprepared for such a spectacle, it 
gave a shock from which my imagination did 
not speedily recover. This silent and ghastly 
witness of mirth seemed to embody, as it were, 
the shadow in my own heart. The features of 
the grave were thus stamped upon the idea that 
had long haunted me, and this picture of what 
I was to be now associated itself constantly with 
the sunniest aspect of what I was. 

The memory of the dream now recurred to 
me more livelily than ever. The bright, assur- 
ing smile of that venerable Spirit, and his 
words, " Go to the shores of the dark Nile, and 
thou wilt find the eternal life thou seekest," 
were forever present to my mind. But as yet, 
alas, I had done nothing towards realizing the 
proud promise. Alexandria was not Egypt ; — 
the very soil on which it now stood was not in 
existence, when already Thebes and Memphis 
had numbered ages of glory. 

'* No," I exclaimed ; " it is only beneath the 
Pyramids of Memjihis, or in the mystic Halla 
of the Labyrinth, those holy arcana are to be 
found, of which the antedeluvian world has 
made Egypt its heir, and among which — blest 
thought ! — the key to eternal life may lie." 

Having formed my determination, I took leave 
of my many Alexandrian friends, and departed 
for Memphis. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Egypt was, perhaps, of all others, the country 
most calculated, from that mixture of the mel- 



802 



THE EPICUREAN. 



ancholy and the voluptuous, which marked the 
character of her people, her religion, and her 
scenery, to affect deeply a fancy and tempera- 
ment like mine, and keep both forever trem- 
blingly alive. Wherever I turned, I beheld the 
desert and the garden, mingling together their 
desolation and bloom. I saw the love bower 
and the tomb standing side by side, as if, in that 
land. Pleasure and Death kept hourly watch 
upon each other. In the very luxury of the 
climate there was the same saddening influence. 
The monotonous splendor of the days, the sol- 
emn radiance of the nights — all tended to cher- 
ish that ardent melancholy, the offspring of 
passion and of thought, which had been so long 
the familiar inmate of my soul. 

"When I sailed from Alexandria, the inunda- 
tion of the Nile was at its full. The whole 
valley of Egypt lay covered by its flood ; and, 
as, looking around me, I saw in the light of the 
setting sun, shrines, palaces, and monuments, 
encircled by the waters, I could almost fancy 
that I beheld the sinking island of Atalantis, on 
the last evening its temples were visible above 
the wave. Such varieties, too, of animation as 
presented themselves on every side ! — 



While, far as sight could reach, beneath as clear 
And blue a heaven as ever bless'd this sphere, 
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry domes 
And high-built temples, fit to be the homes 
Of mighty gods — and pyramids, whose hour 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 



Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make 

One theatre of this vast peopled lake, 

Where all that Love, Religion, Couuiicrce gives 

Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 

Here, up the ste|)s of temples, from the wave 

Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 

Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred wands 

And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands : 

While, there, rich barks — fresh from tliose sunny tracts 

Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts — 

Glide with tlisir precious lading to the sea. 

Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros' ivory, 

Gems from the Isle of Merbe, and those grains 

Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 

Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims on their way 



1 Vide Strnbo. 

2 Tr; J' ev Sati Ti)S AOrji'iif, r)v xai laiv voiiil^ovaiv, tios, 
'.Tnypnipr/v £%£( Tuiavrrii', Ej lo cijxt irav to ysyovos, Kai ov 
till taoncvov, Kat toi' ciiou TrcuXov uvSeii rrto ajreKaXvipcv. 
Plutarch, de Isid. et Osir. 

3 Do-li, en remontant toujours le Nil, on trouve i deux 
lent cinquante pas, ou environ de la Matar^e, les traces de 



To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 

Of lotus flowers,! that close above their heads. 

Push their light barks, and hid, as in a bower, 

Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; 

While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 

Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 

Is play'd in the cool current by a train 

Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 

Around two conquerors of the world was cast. 

But, for a tliird too feeble, broke at last ! 

Enchanted with the whole sceiie, I lingered 
delightedly on my voyage, visiting all those luxu- 
rious and venerable places, whose names have 
been consecrated by the \Aonder of ages. At 
SaTs I was present during her Festival of Lamps, 
and read, by the blaze of innumerable lights, 
those sublime words on the temple of Neitha : ' 
— "I am all that has been, that is, and that 
will be, and no man hath ever lifted my veil." 
I wandered among the prostrate obelisks of He- 
liopolis,-" and saw, not without a sigh, the sun 
smiling over her ruins, as if in mockery of the 
mass of perishable grandeur, that had once 
called itself, in its pride, " The City of the Sun." 
But to the Isle of the Golden Venus * was, I 
own, my fondest pilgrimage ; — and there, as I 
rambled through its shades, where bowers are 
the only temples, I felt how far more worthy to 
form the shrine of a Deity are the ever-living 
stems of the garden and the grove, than the 
most precious columns the inanimate quarry 
can supply. 

Every where new pleasures, new interests 
awaited me ; and though Melancholy stood, as 
usual, forever near, her shadow fell but half 
way over my vagrant path, leaving the rest but 
more welcomely brilliant from the contrast. 
To relate my various adventures, during this 
short voyage, would only detain me from events, 
far, far more worthy of record. Amidst all this 
endless variety of attractions, the great object 
of my journey had been forgotten ; — the mys- 
teries of this land of the sun still remained, to 
me, as much mysteries as ever, and as yet I had 
been initiated in nothing but its pleasures. 

It was not till that memorable evening, when 
I first stood before the Pyramids of Memphis, 
and beheld them towering aloft, like the watch- 
towers of Time, from whose summit, when 

I'ancienne Heliopolis, ou Ville de Soleil, i qui ce lieu etoit 
particuli^rement consacr6. C'est pour cette raison qu'on 
I'appelloit encore I'CEil, ou la Fontaine du Soleil. Mnillet. 
* " On trouve une ile appelee Venus-Dor^e, ou le champ 
d'or, avant de remonter jusqu'i Memphis." Voyages de Pij 
thagore. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



693 



Rbout to expire, he -will look his last — it was 
not till this moment that the great secret an- 
nounced in my dream again rose, in all its in- 
scrutable darkness, upon my thoughts. There 
■was a solemnity in the sunshine resting upon 
those monuments — a stillness, as of reverence, 
in the air that breathed around them, which 
seemed to steal, like the music of past times, 
into my heart. I thought what myriads of the 
wise, the beautiful, and the brave, had sunk 
into dust since earth first saw those wonders ; 
and, in the sadness of my soul, I exclairned, — 
•' Must man alone, then, perish ? must minds 
and hearts be annihilated, while pyramids en- 
dure ? O, Death, Death ! even upon these 
everlasting tablets — the only approach to im- 
mortality that kings themselves could purchase 
— thou hast written our doom awfully, and 
intelligibly, saying, ' There is for man no eter- 
nal mansion but the grave ! ' " 

My heart sunk at the thought ; and, for the 
moment; I yielded to that desolate feeling, 
which overspreads the soul that hath no light 
from the future. But again the buoyancy of 
my nature prevailed, and again, the willing dupe 
of vain dreams, I deluded myself into the be- 
lief of all that my heart most wished, with that 
happy facility which enables imagination to 
stand in the place of happiness. " Yes," I 
cried, " immortality must be within man's reach ; 
and, as wisdom alone is worthy of such a bless- 
ing, to the wise alone must the secret have been 
revealed. It is said, that deep, under yonder 
pyramid, has lain for ages concealed the Table of 
Emerald,' on which the Thrice-Great Hermes, 
in times before the flood, engraved the secret of 
Alchemj', which gives gold at will. Why, then, 
may not the mightier, the more godlike secret, 
that gives life at will, be recorded there also r 
It was by the power of gold, of endless gold, 
that the kings, who now repose in those massy 
structures, scooped earth to its very centre, and 
raised quarries into the air, to provide for them- 
Fclves toTnbs that might outstand the world. 
AVlio can tell but that the gift of immortality 

1 For an account of the Table of Emerald, vide Lettres 
sur I'Oi-inrine des Dieiix d'Egypte. De Pauw supposes it to 
be a mudern fiction of the Arabs. Many writers have fan- 
cied that the art of making gold was the great secret that 
lay hid under *.lio forms of Egyptian theology. " La science 
Ilennetique," says the Benedictine, Pcrnetz, " I'art sacerdo- 
tal, etoit la source de toiites les richesses des Rois d'Egypte, 
et I'objet de ces mysteres si caches sous le voile de leur pr6- 
tendue Religior.."' Fables EgijptlennPs. The hieroglyphs, 
Uiat formerly covered the Pyramids, are supposed by some 



was also theirs ? who knows but that they 
themselves, triumphant over decay, still live ; — 
those mighty mansions, which we call tombs, 
being rich and everlasting palaces, within whose 
depths, concealed from this withering world, 
they still wander, with the few Elect who havt 
been sharers of their gift, through a sunless, but 
ever illuminated, elysium of their own ? Else, 
wherefore those structures ? wherefore that sub- 
terranean realm, by which the whole valley of 
Egypt is undermined ? Why, else, those laby- 
rinths, which none of earth hath ever beheld — 
which none of heaven, except that God, who 
stands, with finger on his hushed lip,'' hath ever 
trodden ? " 

While thus I indulged in fond dreams, the 
sun, already half sunk beneath the horizon, was 
taking, calmly and gloriously, his last look of 
the Pyramids — as he had done, evening after 
evening, for ages, till they had grown familiar 
to him as the earth itself. On the side turned 
to his ray they now presented a front of daz 
zling whiteness,' while, on the other, their great 
shadows, lengthening away to the eastward, 
looked like the first steps of Night, hastening 
to envelop the hills of Araby in her shade. 

No sooner had the last gleam of the sun dis- 
appeared, than, on every housetop in Memphis, 
gay, gilded banners were seen waving aloft, to 
proclaim his setting — while, at the same mo- 
ment, a full burst of harmony was heard to peal 
from all the temples along the shores. 

Startled from my musing by these sounds, I 
at once recollected, that, on that verj' evening, 
the great festival of the Moon was to be cele- 
brated. On a little island, half way over be- 
tween the gardens of Memphis and the eastern 
shore, stood the temple of that goddess, 



whose beams 
Tring the sweet time of nit;ht (lowers and dreams. 
J\rot the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins ; 
But she, who haunts the gay, Bubastian * grove. 
And owns she sees, from her bright heav'n above. 
Nothing on earth, to match that heav'n, but love " 

of these writers to relate to the same art. See Matus Liber, 
Riipellce. 

2 " Enfin Harpocrate representoit aussi le soleil. II est 
vrai que c'etoit le Uieu du Silence ; il mettoit le doigt sur la 
bouche parce qu'on adoroit le soleil avec un respectueux 
silence, et c'est de li qu'est venu le Sige des Basilidiens, qui 
tiroieiit leur origiiie de I'Egypte." Beausobre. 

3 " By reflecting the sun's rays," says Clarke, speaking 
of the Pyramids, "they appeared white as snow." 

* For Bubastis, the Diana of the Egyptians. — Vide J»- 
blonslci, lib. iii. cap. 4. 



>l 



694 



THE EPICUREAN. 



Thus did I exclaim, in the words of one of 
their own Egyptian poets, as, anticipating the 
various delights of the festival, I cast away from 
my mind all gloomy thoughts, and, hastening to 
my little bark, in which I now lived the life of 
a Nile bird, on the waters, steered my course to 
the island temple of the Moon. 



CHAPTER V. 

The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as 
if conscious of the honors that awaited her upon 
earth, was welcomed with a loud acclaim from 
every eminence, where multitudes stood watch- 
ing for her first light. And seldom had that 
light risen upon a more beautiful scene. The 
city of Memphis — still grand, though no longer 
the unrivalled Memphis, that had borne away 
fi-om Thebes the crown of supremacy, and worn 
it undisputed through ages — now, softened by 
the mild moonlight that harmonized with her 
decline, shone forth among her lakes, her pyra- 
mids, and her shrines, like one of those dreams 
of human glory that must ere long pass away. 
Even already ruin was visible around her. Tlie 
sands of the Libyan desert were gaining upon 
her like a sea ; and there, among solitary col- 
umns and sphinxes, already half sunk from sight. 
Time seemed to stand waiting, till all that now 
flourished around him should fall beneath his 
desolating hand, like the rest. 

On the waters all was gayetyand life. As far 
as eye could reach, the lights of innumerable 
boats were seen studding, like rubies, the sur- 
face of the stream. Vessels of every kind — 
from the light coracle,' built for shooting down 
the cataracts, to the large yacht that glides slowly 
to the sound of flutes — all were afloat for this 
sacred festival, filled with crowds of the young 
and the gay, not only from Memphis and Baby- 
lon, but from cities still farther removed from 
the festal scene. 



1 Vide ^mailliiin, " HUtuire de la J^av'i^jation et du Com- 
merce des Eg ptieiis sou.i Irs Ptuleiuees." See also, for a de- 
scription of tlie various kindd of boats used on tlie Nile, 
Muillrt, torn. i. p. 98. 

2 Vide Maurice, Appendix to " Ruins of Babylon." 
Another reason, he says, for their worship of the Ibis, 
" founded on tlieir love of geometry, was (according to Plu- 
tarch) that the space between its legs, when parted asunder, 
as it walks, together with its beak, forms a complete equi- 
.Hteral triangle." From the examination of the embalmed 
buds, found in the Catacombs of Paccara, there seems to be 
no doubt that the Ibii was the same kind of bird as that 



As I approached the island, I cou I see, glit- 
tering through the trees on the bank . the lamps 
of the pilgrims hastening to the oeremony. 
Landing in the direction which \ ose lights 
pointed out, I soon joined the Ci -wd ; and, 
passing through a long alley of i phiuxes, whose 
spangling marble gleamed out from the dark syca- 
mores around them, reached in d short time ihe 
grand vestibule of the temple, where I found 
the ceremonies of the evening already com- 
menced. 

In this vast hall, which was surrounded by a 
double range of columns, and lay open over- 
head to the stars of heaven, I saw a group of 
young maidens, moving in a sort of measured 
step, between walk and dance, round a small 
shrine, upon which stood one of those sacred 
birds,'-' that, on account of the variegated coloi 
of their wing's, are dedicated to the worship of 
the moon. The vestibule was dimly lighted — 
there being but one lamp of naptha hung on 
each of the great pillars that encircled it. But, 
having taken my station beside one of those 
pillars, I had a clear view of the young dancers, 
as in succession they passed me. 

The drapery of all was white as snow ; and 
each wore loosely, beneath the bosom, a dark- 
blue zoac, or bandelet, studded, like the skies 
at midnight, with small silver stars. Through 
their dark locks Avas wreathed the white lily of 
the Nile — that sacred flower being accounted 
no less welcome to the moon, than the golden 
blossoms of the bean flower' are known to be 
to the sun. As they passed under the lump, a 
gleam of light flashed from their bosoms, which, 
I could perceive, was the reflection of a small 
mirror, that, in the manner of the women of the 
East, each of the dancers wore beneath her left 
shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their step.s ; 
but, as they gracefully went round the bird on 
the shrine, some, to the beat of the castanet, 
some, to the shrill ring of a sistrum ■• — which 
they held uplifted in the attitude of their own 

described by Bruce, under the Arabian name of Abou 
Hammes. 

3 " La fieur en est mille fois plus odoriferante que relies 
de nos Icves d'Europe, quoique leur parfum nous paroi.^se si 
agreable. Comma on en seme beaucoup dans les terres voi- 
sines, du Caire, du cote de I'occident, c'est quelque chosa 
de charmant que I'air embaume que Von respire le soir sm 
les terrasses, quand le vent de I'ouest vient i souffler. el v 
•ipporte cette odeur admirable." MaiUeU 

* " Isis est genius," says Servius, " ^jiypli, qui per sisin 
motum, quod gerit in de.\tra, Nili accessus recessusque sig 
nificat." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



divine Isis — continued harmoniously to time 
the cadence of their feet ; while others, at every 
step, shook a small chain of silver, whose sound, 
mingling with those of the castanets and sis- 
trums, produced a wild, but not unpleasing, 
harmony. 

They seemed all lovely ; but there was one 

— whose face the light had not yet reached, so 
downcast she held it — who attracted, and, at 
length, riveted all my looks and thoughts. I 
know not why, but there was a something in 
those half-seen features — a charm in the very 
shadow, that hung over their imagined beauty 

— which took my fancy more than all the out- 
bhining loveliness of her companions. So en- 
chained was I by this coy mystery, that her 
alone, of all the group, could I either see or 
think of — her alone I w^atched, as, with the 
same downcast brow, she glided gently and 
aerially round the altar, as if her presence, like 
*hat of a spirit, was something to be felt, not 
seen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud crash of a 
thousand cymbals was heard ; — the massy gates 
of the Temple flew open, as if by magic, and a 
flood of radiance from the illuminated aisle filled 
the whole vestibule ; while, at the same instant, 
as if the light and the sounds were born together, 
a peal of rich harmony came mingling with the 
radiance. 

It was then — by that light, wliich shone full 
upon the young maiden's features, as, starting 
at the sudden blaze, she raised her eyes to the 
portal, and as quickly let fall then- lids again — 
it was then I beheld, what even my own ardent 
imagination, in its most vivid dreams of beauty, 
had never pictured. Not Psyche herself, wiien 
pausing on the threshold of heaven, while its 
first glories fell on her dazzled lids, could have 
looked more purely beautiful, or blushed with 
a more innocent shame. Often as I had felt 
the power of looks, none had ever entered into 
my soul so deeply. It was a new feeling — a 
new sense — coming as suddenly upon me as 
that radiance into the vestibule, and, at once, 
filling my whole being ; — and had that bright 

1 The ivy was consecrated to Osiris. Vide Diodor. Sic 
I. 10. 

2 " Qiielqnes lines," says Diipuis, describing the proces- 
Bions of Isis, " portoientdes niiroirs attaches i leurs epaules, 
»fin de multiplier et de porter dans tous les sens les images 
de la Deesse." Oriaine des Caltes, torn. viii. p. 847. A mir- 
ror, it appears, was also one of the emblems in the mysteries 
of Bacchus. 

3 " Tout prouve que la territorie de Sakkarah etoit la Ne- 
cropolis au sud de Alemphis, et le faubourg oppose i celui- 



vision but lingered another moment before mj 
eyes, I should in my transport have wholly 
forgotten who I was and where, and thrown 
myself, in prostrate adoration, at her feet. 

But scarcely had that gush of harmony been 
heard, when the sacred bird, which had, till 
now, been standing motionless as an image, 
spread wide his wings, and flew into the Tem- 
ple ; while his graceful young worshippers, ,\ ith 
a fleetness like his own, followed — and she, 
who had left a dream in my heart never to be 
forgotten, vanished along with the rest. As 
she went rapidly past the pillar against which I 
leaned, the ivy that encircled it ' caught in her 
drapery, and disengaged some ornameiat which 
fell to the ground. It was the small mirror * 
which I had seen shining on her bosom. Has- 
tily and tremulously I picked it up, and hurried 
to restore it ; but she was already lost to my 
eyes in the crowd. 

In vain did I try to follow ; — the aisles were 
already filled, and numbers of eager pilgrims 
pressed towards the portal. But the servants 
of the Temple denied all farther entrance, and 
still, as I presented myself, their white wands 
barred the way. Perplexed and irritated amid 
that crowd of faces, regarding all as enemies 
that impeded mj' progress, I stood on tiptoe, 
gazing into the busy aisles, and with a heart 
beating as I caught, from time to time, a glimpse 
of some spangled zone, or lotus wreath, which 
led me to fancy that I had discovered the fair 
object of my search. But it was all in vain ; — 
in every direction, files of sacred nymphs were 
moving, but nowhere could I discover her whom 
alone I sought. 

In this state of breathless agitation did I stand 
for some time — bewildered with the confusion 
of faces and lights, as well as with the clouds 
of incense that rolled around me — till, fevered 
and impatient, I could endure it no longer. 
Forcing my way out of the vestibule into the 
cool air, I hurried back through the alley of 
sphinxes to the shore, and flung myself into my 
boat. 

There lies, to the north of Memphis,* a soli- 

ci, oil sont les pyramides de Gizeh, une autre Ville des 
Mtirts, qui terminoit Memphis au nord." Dawn. 

There is nothing known witli certainty as to the silo of 
Memphis, but it will he perceived that the description of its 
position given by the Epicurean corresponds, in almost ev- 
ery particular, witli that wl)ich M. Waillet (the Frencli con- 
sul, for many years, at Cairo) has, in his work on Ei:yp', 
left us. It must be always borne in mind, too, tliat of tiia 
distances between the respective places here mentioned, w« 
have no longer any accurate means of judging. 



698 



THE EPICUREAN. 



tary lake, (which, at this season of the year, 
mingles with the rest of the waters,) upon 
whose shores stands the Necropolis, or Citjr of 
the Dead — a place of melancholy grandeur, 
covered over with shrines and pyramids, where 
many a kingly head, proud even in death, has 
lain awaiting through long ages the resurrection 
of its glories. Through a range of sepulchral 
grots underneath, the humbler denizens of the 
tomb are deposited — looking out on each suc- 
cessive generation that visits them, with the 
same face and features ' they wore centuries ago. 
Every plant and tree, consecrated to death, from 
the asi^hodel flower to the mystic plantain, lends 
its sweetness or shadow to this place of tombs ; 
and the only noise that disturbs its eternal calm, 
is the low humming sound of the priests at 
prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to the 
silent city. 

It was towards this place of death that, in a 
mood of mind, as usual, half gloomy, half bright, 
I now, almost unconsciously, directed my bark. 
The form of the young Priestess was continu- 
ally before me. That one bright look of hers, 
the very remembrance of which was worth all 
the actual smiles of others, never for a moment 
left my mind. Absorbed in such thoughts, 1 
continued to row on, scarce knowing whither 
I went, till, at length, startled to tind myself 
within the shadow of the City of the Dead, I 
looked up, and beheld, rising in succession be- 
fore me, pyramid beyond pyramid ■* each tower- 
ing more loftily than the other — while all were 
outtopped in grandeur by one, upon whose sum- 
mit the bright moon rested as on a pedestal. 

Drawing nearer to the shore, which was suffi- 
ciently elevated to raise this silent city of tombs 
above the level of the inundation, I rested my 
oar, and allowed the boat to rock idly upon the 
water, while, in the mean time, my thoughts, 
left equally without direction, were allowed to 
fluctuate as idly. How vague and various were 
the dreams that then floated through my mind — 
that bright vision of the temple still mingling 
itself with all ! Sometimes she stood before 
me, like an aerial spirit, as pure as if that ele- 
ment of music and light, into which I had seen 
her vanish, was her only dwelling. Sometimes, 
animated with passion, and kindling into a 

1 " Par-li lion seulement on conservoit les corps d'line 
Camille enliere, niais en descendant dans ces lieux souter- 
rains, ou ils etoieiit deposes, on poiivoit se representer en un 
instant tons ses anceties depuis plusieurs niilliers d'annees, 
tels a-peii-pres qu'ils etoient de leiir vivant." Maillet. 

2 " Miiltas dim pyramidas fuisse e ruinis arguitur." Zo- 



creature of earth, she seemed to lean towards 
me with looks of tenderness, which it were 
worth worlds, but for one instant, to inspire ; 
and again — as the dark fancies, that ever 
haunted me, recurred — I saw her cold, parched, 
and blackening, amid the gloom of those eternal 
sepulchres before me ! 

Turning away, with a shudder, from the ceme- 
tery at this thought, I heard the sound of an 
oar plying swiftly through the water, and, in a 
few moments, saw, shooting past me towards 
the shore, a small boat in which sat two female 
figures, muffled up and veiled. Having landed 
them not far from the spot where, under the 
shadow of a tomb on the bank, I lay concealed, 
the boat again departed, with the same fleetness, 
over the flood. 

Never had the prospect of a lively adventure 
come more welcome to me than at this moment, 
when my busy fancy was employed in weaving 
such chains for my heart, as threatened a bond- 
age, of all others, the most difficult to break. 
To become enamoured thus of a creature of my 
own imagination, was the worst, because the 
most lasting, of follies. It is only reality that 
can afford any chance of dissolving such spells, 
and the idol I was now creating to myself must 
forever remain ideal. Any pursuit, therefore, 
that seemed likely to divert me from such 
thoughts — to bring back my imagination to 
earth and reality, from the vague region in 
which it had been wandering, was a relief far 
too seasonable not to be welcomed with eager- 
ness. 

I had watched the coiirse which the two 
figures took, and, having hastily fastened my 
boat to the bank, stepped gently on shore, and, 
at a little distance, followed them. The wind- 
ings through which they led were intricate ; 
but, by the bright light of the moon, I was 
enabled to keep their forms in view, as, with 
rapid step, they glided among the monuments. 
At length, in the shade of a small pyramid, 
whose peak barely surmounted the plane trees 
that grew nigh, they vanished from my sight. 
I hastened to the spot, but there was not a sign 
of life around ; and, had my creed extended to 
another world, I might have fancied these forms 
were spirits, sent down from thence to mock 

eaa. — J'ani/e6, who visited more than ten of the small pyra- 
mids, is of opinion tliat there must have originally been a 
hundred in this place. 

See, on the suliject of the lake to the north'vard of Mem- 
phis, Sliuw's TiaceU, p. 302. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



me — so instantaneously had thej' disappeared. 
I searched through the neighboring grove, but 
all there was still as death. At length, in ex- 
amining one of the sides of the pyramid, which, 
for a few feet from the ground, was furnished 
with steps, I found, midway between peak and 
base, a part of its surface, which, although pre- 
senting to the eye an appearance of smoothness, 
gave to the touch, I thought, indications of a 
concealed opening. 

After a variety of efforts and experiments, I, 
at last, more by accident than skill, pressed the 
spring that commanded this hidden aperture. 
In an instant the portal slid aside, and disclosed 
a narrow stairway within, the two or three first 
steps of whicVi were discernible by the moonlight, 
while the rest were all lost in utter darkness. 
Though it was difficult to conceive that the per- 
sons whom I had been pursuing would have 
ventured to pass through this gloomy opening, 
yet to account for their disappearance otherwise 
was still more difficult. At all events, my 
curiosity was now too eager in the chase to 
relinquish it ; — the spirit of adventure, once 
raised, could not be so easily laid. Accordingly, 
having sent up a gay prayer to that bliss-loving 
Queen whose eye alone was upon me, I passed 
through the portal, and descended into the 
pyramid. 



CHAPTER VI. 

At the bottom of the stairway I found my- 
self in a low, narrow passage, through which, 
without stooping almost to the earth, it was im- 
possible to proceed. Though leading through a 
multiplicity of dark windings, this way seemed 
but little to advance my progress — its course, I 
perceived, being chiefly circular, and gathering, 
at every turn, but a deeper intensity of darkness. 

" Can anj"- thing," thought I, " of human- 
kind, sojourn here ? " — and had scarcely asked 
myself the question, when the path opened 
into a long gallery, at the farthest end of which 

1 "On voit en Eg.vpte, apres la retiaite du Nil et la f6- 
condatinn des terres, le limon convert d'une multitude de 
scarabees. Un paieil phenomene a du seujbler aux E^iyp- 
tiens le plus pmpre i peindre une nouvelle e.vistence." M. 
Jumard.— Partly for the same reason, and partly for anoth- 
er, still it.ore fanciful, the early Christians used to apply this 
emblem to Christ. " Bonus ille scarabiPus meus," says St. 
Augustine, " non ea tantum de causa quod unigenitus, quod 
ipsemet sui auctor mortalium speciem induerir, sed qudd in 
hac nostra fa;ce sese volutaverit et ex liac ipsl nasci vo- 
•uerit." 



a gleam of light was visible. This welcome 
glimmer appeared to issue from some cell or 
alcove, in which the right-hand wall of the gal- 
lery terminated, and, breathless with expecta- 
tion, I stole gently towards it. 

Arrived at the end of the gallery, a scene 
presented itself to my eyes, for which my fond- 
est expectations of adventure could not have 
prepared me. The place from which the light 
proceeded was a small chapel, of whose interior, 
from the dark recess in which I stood, I could 
take, unseen myself, a full and distinct view. 
Over the walls of this oratory were painted 
some of those various symbols, by which the 
mystic wisdom of the Egyptians loves to shadow 
out the History of the Soul ; the winged globe 
with a serpent — the rays descending from 
above, like a glory — and the Theban beetle,' as 
he comes forth after the waters have passed 
away, and the first sunbeam falls on his regen- 
erated wings. 

In the middle of the chapel, on a low altar of 
granite, lay a lifeless female form, enshrined 
within a case of crj'Stal * — as it is the custom 
to preserve the dead in Ethiopia — and looking 
as freshly beautiful as if the soul had but a few 
hours departed. Among the emblems of death, ^ 
on the front of the altar, were a slender lotus 
branch broken in two, and a small bird just 
winging its flight from the spray. 

To these memorials of the dead, however, I 
paid but little attention ; for there was a living 
object there upon which my eyes were now in- 
tently fixed. 

The lamp, by which the whole of the chapel 
was illuminated, was placed at the head of the 
pale image in the shrine ; and between its light 
and me stood a female form, bending over the 
monument, as if to gaze upon the silent features 
within. The position in which this figure was 
placed, intercepting a strong light, afforded me, 
at first, but an imperfect and shadowy view of 
it. Yet even at this mere outline I felt my 
heart beat Righ — and memory had no less 
share, as it proved, in this feeling than imagina- 

2 " Les Egyptiens ont fait aussi, pour conserver .eur» 
morts, des caisses de verre." — De Panic. He mentions, 
also, in another place, a sort of transparent substance, which 
the Ethiopians used for the same purpose, and which was 
Irequently mistaken by the Greeks for glass. 

3 " Un pretre, qui brise la tif;e d'une fleur, des oiseaui 
qui s'envolent, sont les cniblemes de la mort et de I'lme iiul 
se separe du corps." Denon. 

Theseus employs the same image in the Pli^dra: — 
0/ji(f yajt us Tii CK xf/:)(ji' a^^aiiro-; £t 
Xltl&riH' es a6uv -niKpuv bpjtriaaaa poi. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



tioa. For, on the head changing its position, so 
as to let a gleam fall upon the features, I saw, 
with a transport which had almost led me to 
betray my lurking-place, that it was she — the 
young worshipper of Isis — the same, the very 
same, whom I had seen, brightening the holy 
place where she stood, and looking like an in- 
habitant of some purer world. 

The movement, by which she had now af- 
forded me an opportunity of recognizing her, 
was made in raising from the shrine a small 
cross ' of silver, which lay directly over the 
bosom of the lifeless figure. Bringing it close 
to her lips, she kissed it with a religious fervor ; 
then, turning her eyes mournfully upwards, 
held them fixed with a degree of inspired ear- 
nestness, as if, at that moment, in direct com- 
munion with Heaven, they saw neither roof, nor 
any other earthly barrier between them and the 
skies. 

"What a power is there in innocence ! whose 
very helplessness is its safeguard — in whose 
presence even Passion himself stands abashed, 
and turns worshipper at the very altar which he 
came to despoil ! She, who, but a short hour 
before, had presented herself to my imagination 
as something I could have risked immortality to 
win — she, whom gladly, from the floor of her 
own lighted temple, in the very face of its proud 
ministers, I would have borne away in triumph, 
and dared all punishments, divine and human, 
to make her mine — that very creature was now 
before me, as if thrown by fate itself, into my 
power — standing there, beautiful and alone, 
with nothing but her innocence for her guard ! 
Yet, no — so touching was the purity of the 
whole scene, so calm and august that protection 
which the dead extended over the living, that 
every earthly feeling was forgotten as I gazed, 
and love itself became exalted into reverence. 

But, entranced as 1 felt in witnessing such a 
scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth seemed to me 



1 A cross was, among tlie Egyptians, the emblem of a 
future life. 

" The singular appearance of a Cross so frequently recur- 
ring among the liieroglyphics of Egypt, had excited the cu- 
riosity of the Christians at a very early period of ecclesiasti- 
cal iiistory ; and as some of the Priests, who were acquaint- 
ed with tlie meaning of tlie hieroglyphics, became converted 
to Christianity, tlie secret transpired. ' The converted hea- 
thens,' says Socrates Scholasticus, 'explained the symbol, 
and declared that it signified Life to Come.' " Clarke. 

Lipsius, therefore, is mistaken in supposing the Cross to 
have been an emblem peculiar to the Christians. See, on 
this subject, L'Histiiire des Juif.s, liv. vi. c. IG. 

It is singular enougli that while the Cross was thus held 



a wrong, a sacrilege — and, rather than let hei 
eyes encounter the flash of mine, or disturb, by 
a whisper, that sacred silence, in which Youth 
and Death held communion through un lying 
Love, I would have suffered my heart to breaK, 
without a murmur, where I stood. Gently, as 
if life itself depended on my every movement, 
I stole away from that tranquil and holy scene — 
leaving it stiU holy and tranquil as 1 had found 
it — and, gliding back through the same pas- 
sages and windings by which I had entered, 
reached again the narrow stairAvay, and re- 
ascended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and, from the summit 
of the Arabian hills, was pouring down his 
beams into that vast valley of waters — as if 
proud of last night's homage to his own divine 
Isis, now fading away in the superior splendor 
of her Lord. My first impulse was to fly at 
once from this dangerous spot, and in new loves 
and pleasures seek forgetfulness of the wondrous 
scene I had just Avitnessed. " Once," I ex- 
claimed, " out of the circle of this enchantment, 
I know too well my own susceptibility to new 
impressions, to feel any doubt that I shall soon 
break the spell that is now around me." 

But vain were all my efforts and resolves. 
Even while swearing to fly that spot, I found 
my steps still lingering fondly round the pyra- 
mid — my eyes still turned towards the portal 
which severed this enchantress from the world 
of the living. Hour after hour did I wander 
through that City of Silence, till, already, it was 
midday, and, under the sun's meridian eye, the 
mighty pyramid of pyramids stood, like a great 
spirit, shadowless.^ 

Again did those wild and passionate feelings, 
which, for the moment, her presence had sub- 
dued into reverence, return to take possession 
of my imagination and my senses. I even re- 
proached myself for the awe, that had held me 
spell-bound before her. " Yv'hat," thought I, 



sacred among the Egyptians, not only the custom of n \rk- 
ing tlie foreliead with tlie sign of the Cross, but Baptism 
and the consecration of the bread in llie Eucharist, were 
imitaled in the mysterious ceremonies of iMithia. Teriull. 
de Proscriplione Hereticorum. 

Zuega is of opinion that the Cross, said to have been fot 
the fir>t time found, on the destruction of the temple of Ser- 
apis, by the Christians, could not liave been the crux ansa- 
ta; as n<>thing is more common than this emblem on ail tlie 
Egyptian monuments. 

2 It was an idea entertained among the ancients that Die 
Pyramids were so constructed ("mecani>a construrtinne," 
says .^mmianus Murccllinu^-) as never tc ca^t any shadow. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



69d 



'♦ would mj' companions of the Garden say, did 
they know that their chief — he whose path Love 
had strewed with trophies — was now pining for 
a simple Egyptian girl, in whose presence he 
had not dared to utter a single sigh, and who 
had vanquished the victor, without even know- 
ing her triumph ! " 

A blush came over my cheek at the humiliat- 
ing thought, and I determined, at all risks, to 
await her coming. That she should be an in- 
mate of those gloomy caverns seemed incon- 
ceivable ; nor did there appear to be any egress 
out of their depths but by the pyramid. Again, 
therefore, like a sentinel of the dead, did I pace 
up and down among those tombs, contrasting 
mournfully the burning fever in my own veins 
with the cold quiet of those who lay slumbering 
around. 

At length the intense glow of the sun over 
my head, and, still more, that ever restless agi- 
tation in my heart, became too much for even 
strength like mine to endure. Exhausted, I 
threw myself down at the base of the pyramid — 
choosing my place directly under the portal, 
where, even should slumber surprise me, my 
heart, if not my ear, might still keep watch, 
and her footstep, light as it was, could not fail 
to awake me. 

After many an ineffectual struggle against 
drowsiness, I at length sunk into sleep — but 
not into forgetfulness. The same image still 
haunted me, in every variety of shape, with 
which imagination, assisted by memory, could 
invest it. Now, like the goddess Neitha, upon 
her throne at Sal's, she seemed to sit, with the 
veil just raised from that brow, which till then 
no mortal had ever beheld — and now, like the 
beautiful enchantress Rhodope, I saw her rise 
from out the pyramid in which she had dwelt 
for ages, — 

" Fair Rhndope,l as story tells, 
Tlie bright unearthly nymph, who dwells 
'Alid sunless gold and jewels hid, 
Tlie Lady of the Pyramid ! " 

So long had my sleep continued, that, when I 
flwoke, I found the moon again resplendent 
above the horizon. But all around was looking 
tranquil and lifeless as before ; nor did a print 
on the grass betray that any foot had passed 

1 From the story of Rhodupe, Znega thinks, " videntur 
Aralies ansain arripuisse ut in una ex pyraniidibus, genii 
loco, liabitare dicerent muliereiu nudain insignis piilcliritu- 
dinis quEB aspecto suo homines insanire facial." De Usu. 
Obeliscarum. See also UEgpte de Murtadipar Va'.tier. 



there since my own. Refreshed, however, by 
my long rest, and with a fancy still more ex- 
cited by the mystic wonders of which I had 
been dreaming, I now resolved to revisit the 
chapel in the pyramid, and put an end, if pos- 
sible, to this strange mystery that haunted me. 

Having learned, from the experience of the 
preceding night, the inconvenience of encoun- 
tering those labyrinths without a light, I now 
hastened to provide myself with a lamp from 
my boat. Tracking my way back with some 
difficulty to the shore, I there found not only 
my lamp, but also some dates and dried fruits, 
of which I was always provided with store, for 
my roving life upon the waters, and whieli, 
after so many hours of abstinence, were now a 
most welcome and necessary relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, 
and was proceeding to search out the secret 
spring, when a loud, dismal noise was heard at 
a distance, to which all the melancholy echoes 
of the cemetery gave answer. The sound came, 
I knew, from the Great Temple on the shore of 
the lake, and was the sort of shriek which its 
gates — the Gates of Oblivion ^ as they are 
called — used always to send forth from their 
hinges, when opening at night, to receive the 
newly-landed dead. 

I had, more than once before, heard that 
sound, and always with sadness ; but, at this 
moment, it thrilled through me like a voice of 
ill omen, and I almost doubted whether I should 
not abandon my enterprise. The hesitation, 
however, was but momentary ; — even while it 
passed through my mind, I had touched the 
spring of the portal. In a few seconds more, I 
was again in the passage beneath the pyramid ; 
and, being enabled by the light of my lamp to 
follow the windings more rapidly, soon found 
myself at the door of the small chapel in the 
gallery. 

1 entered, still awed, though there was now, 
alas, nought living within. The young Priestess 
had vanished like a spirit into the darkness . 
and all the rest remained as I had left it on t!ic 
preceding night. The lamp still stood burning 
upon the crystal shrine ; the cross was lying 
where the hands of the young mourner had 
placed it, and the cold image, within the shrine, 
wore still the same tranquil look, as if resigned 

2 "Apud Mempliim acneas quasdam portas, qns Lctliei 
et Cocyti (hoc est oblivionis et lanientationis) appellanlur 
aperiri, gravem asperumque edentes sonum." Zoega 



700 



THE EPICUREAN. 



to the solitude of death — of all lone things the 
loneliest. Remembering the lips that I had 
seen kiss that cross, and kindling with the rec- 
ollection, I raised it passionately to my own ; — 
but the dead eyes, I thought, met mine, and, 
awed and saddened in the midst of my ardor, I 
replaced the cross upon the shrine. 

I had now lost every clew to the object of my 
pursuit, and, with all that sullen satisfaction 
which certainty, even when unwelcome, brings, 
was about to retrace my steps slowly to earth, 
when, as I held forth my lamp, on leaving the 
chapel, I perceived that the gallery, instead of 
terminating hero, took a sudden and snake-like 
bend to the left, which had before eluded my 
observation, and which seemed to give promise 
of a pathway still farther into those recesses. 
Reanimated by this discovery, which opened a 
new source of hope to my heart, I cast, for a 
moment, a hesitating look at my lamp, as if to 
inquire whether it would be faithful through 
the gloom I was about to encounter, and then, 
without further consideration, rushed eagerly 
forward. 



CHAPTER VH. 

t*HE path led, for a while, through the same 
sort of narrow windings as those which I had 
before encountered in descending the stairway ; 
and at length opened, in a similar manner, into 
a straight and steep gallery, along each side of 
which stood, closely ranged and upright, a file 
of lifeless bodies,' whose glassy eyes appeared 
to glare upon me preternaturally as I passed. 

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my 
hopes, for the second time, vanish ; as the path, 
it was manifest, extended no farther. The only 
object I was able to discern, by the glimmering 
of my lamp, which now burned, everj'- minute, 
fainter and fainter, was the mouth of a huge 
well, that lay gaping before me — a reservoir 
of darkness, black and unfathomable. It now 
crossed my memory that I had once heard of 
such wells, as being used occasionally for pas- 
sages by the priests. Leaning down, therefore, 
over the edge, I examined anxiously all within, 
in order to see if it afforded the means of effect- 
ing a descent into the chasm ; but the sides, I 
could perceive, were hard and smooth as glass, 



1 See, Tor the custom of bur)'ing the dead upright, (" post 
fuiiiis stantia busto corpora," as Statius describes it,) Dr 
riarlic's preface to the 9d section of Iiis fifth volume. Tiiey 



being varnished all over with that sort of dark 
pitch, which the Dead Sea throws out upon its 
slimy shore. 

After a more attentive scrutiny, howevc, I 
observed, at the depth of a few feet, a sort of 
iron step, projecting dimly from the side, and, 
below it, another, which, though hardly percep- 
tible, was just sufHcient to encourage an adven- 
turous foot to the trial. Though all hope of* 
tracing the young Priestess was now at an end 

— it being impossible that female foot should 
have ventured on this descent — yet, as I had 
engaged so far in the adventure, and there was, 
at least, a mj'stery to be unravelled, I deter- 
mined, at all hazards, to explore the chasm. 
Placing my lamp, therefore, (which was hol- 
lowed at the bottom, so as to be worn like a 
helmet,) firmly upon my head, and having thus 
both hands at liberty for exertion, I set ray foot 
cautiously on the iron step, and descended into 
the well. 

I found the same footing, at regular intervals, 
to a considerable depth ; and had already count- 
ed near a hundred of these steps, when the lad- 
der altogether ceased, and I could descend no 
farther. In vain did I stretch down my foot in 
search of support — the hard slippery sides were 
all that it encountered. At length, stooping my 
head, so as to let the light fall below, I observed 
an opening or window directly above the step 
on which I stood, and, taking for granted that 
the way must lie in that direction, contrived to 
clamber with no small difficulty through the 
aperture. 

I now found myself on a rude and narrow 
stairway, the steps of which were cut out of 
the living rock, and wound spirally downward 
in the same direction as the well. Almost dizzy 
with the descent, which seemed as if it would 
never end, I, at last, reached the bottom, where 
a pair of massy iron gates were closed directly 
across my path, as if -wholly to forbid any far- 
ther progress. Massy and gigantic, however, as 
they were, I found, to my surprise, that the hand 
of an infant might have opened them with ease 

— so readily did their stupendous folds give M'ay 
to my touch, 

" Liglit as a lime bush, that receives 
Some wandering bird among its leaves." 
No sooner, however, had I passed through, than 
the astounding din, with which the gates clashed 



used to insert precious stones in the place of the eyt 
" Les yeux etoient formes d'emeraudes, de turquoises," & 
— Vide Masoudij, quoted by Q_uatremire. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



701 



together again,' was such as might have awa- 
kened death itself. It seemed as if every echo * 
throughout that vast, subterranean world, from 
the Catacombs of Alexandria to Thebes's Valley 
of Kings, had caught up and repeated the thun- 
dering sound. 

Startled as I was bj"^ the crash, not even this 
supernatuial clangor could divert my attention 
from the sudden light that now broke around 
me — soft, warm, and welcome as are the stars 
of his own South to the eyes of the mariner 
who has long been wandering through the cold 
seas of the North. Looking for the source of 
this splendor, I saw, through an archway oppo- 
site, a long illuminated alley, stretching away 
as far as the eye could reach, and fenced, on one 
side, with thickets of odoriferous shrubs, while, 
along the other extended a line of lofty arcades, 
from which the light, that filled the whole area, 
issued. As soon, too, as the din of the deep 
echoes had subsided, there stole gradually on 
my ear a strain of choral music, which appeared 
to come mellowed and sweetened in its passage, 
throtxgh many a spacious hall within those shin- 
ing arcades; while among the voices I could 
distinguish some female tones, which, towering 
high and clear above all the rest, formed the 
spire, as it were, into which the harmony ta- 
pered, as it rose. 

So excited was my fancy by this sudden en- 
chantment, that — though never had I caught 
a sound from the fair Egyptian's lips — I yet 
persuaded myself that the voice I now heard 
was hers, sounding highest and most heavenly 
of all that choir, and calling to me, like a dis- 
tant spirit from its sphere. Animated by this 
thought, I flew forward to the archway, but 
found, to my mortification, that it was guarded 
by a trellis work, whose bars, though invisible 
at a distance, resisted all my efforts to force them. 

While occupied in these ineffectual struggles, 
I perceived, to the left of the archway, a dark, 
cavernous opening, which seemed to lead in a 
direction parallel to the lighted arcades. Not- 
withstanding, however, my impatience, the as- 
pect of this passage, as I looked shudderingly 

1 The following verses of Claudian are supposed to have 
been meant as a description of those imitations of the noise 
of earthquake and thunder which, by means of the Cerauno- 
scope, and otlier such contrivances, were practised in the 
Bhows of the Mysteries : — 

Jam mihi ceriiuntur trepidis delubra moveri 
Sedibus, et claram dispergere culmina lucem, 
Adventum testata Dei. Jam mai^nus ab imis 
Auditur fremitus terris, templuraqiie reniugit 
Cecropium. Rapt. Proserp. lib. i. 



into it, chilled my very blood. It was not so 
much darkness, as a sort of livid and ghastly 
twilight, from which a damp, like that of death 
vaults, exhaled, and through which, if my eyes 
did not deceive me, pale, phantom-like shapes 
were, at that very moment, hovering. 

Looking anxiously round, to discover some 
less formidable outlet, I saw, over the vast fold- 
ing gates through which I had just passed, a 
blue, tremulous flame, which, after playing for 
a few seconds over the dark ground of the ped- 
iment, settled gradually into characters of light 
and formed the following words : — 

You, who would try 

Yon terrible track. 
To live, or to die, 

But ne'er to look back — 
You, who aspire 

To be purified there, 
By the terrors of Fire, 

Of Water, and Air— 
If danger, and pain. 

And death you despise. 
On — for again 

Into light you shall rise ; 
Rise into light 

With that Secret Divine, 
Now shrouded from sight 

By the Veils of the Shrine ' 

But if— 

Here the letters faded away into a dead blank, 
more awfully intelligible than the most eloquent 
words. 

A new hope now flashed across me. The 
dream of the Garden, which had been for some 
time almost forgotten, returned freshly to my 
mind. " Am I then," I exclaimed, " in the 
path to the promised mystery r and shall the 
great secret of Eternal Life indeed be mine ? " 

" Yes ! " seemed to answer out of the air, 
that spirit voice, which still was heard at a dis- 
tance crowning the choir with its single sweet- 
ness. I hailed the omen with transport. Love 
and Immortality, both beckoning me onward — 
who would give even a thought to fear, with 
two such bright hopes in prospect ? Having 
invoked and blessed that unknown enchantress, 

2 See, for the echoes in the pyramids, Plutarch, de Pla 
citit Philosoph. 

3 " Ce moment heureux (de I'Autnpsie) etoit prepare pai 
des scenes effrayantes, par des alternatives de crainte et de 
joie, de lumiere et de tenfebres, par le lueur des eclairs, par 
le bruit terrible de la foudre, qu'on imitoit, et par des appa- 
ritions de spectres, des illusions magiques, qui frappoient les 
yeux et les oreilles tout ensemble." Dupuia 



702 



THE EPICUREAN. 



whose steps had led me to this abode of mys- 
tery and knowledge, I instantly plunged into 
the chasm. 

Instead of that vague, spectral twilight which 
had at first met my eye, I now found, as I en- 
tered, a thick darkness, which, though far less 
horrible, was, at this moment, still more discon- 
certing, as my lamp, which had been, for some 
time, almost useless, was now fast expiring. 
Eesolved, however, to make the most of its last 
gleam, I hastened, with rapid step, through this 
gloomy region, which appeared to be wider and 
more open to the air than any I had yet passed. 
Nor was it long before the sudden appearance 
of a bright blaze in the distance announced to 
me that my first great Trial was at hand. As I 
drew nearer, the flames before me burst high 
and wide on all sides ; — and the awful specta- 
cle that then presented itself was such as might 
have daunted hearts far more accustomed to 
dangers than mine. 

There lay before me, extending completely 
across my path, a thicket, or grove of the most 
combustible trees of Egypt — tamarind, pine, 
and Arabian balm ; while around their stems 
and branches were coiled serpents of fire,' which, 
twisting themselves rapidly from bough to bough, 
spread the contagion of their own wildfire as 
they went, and involved tree after tree in one 
general blaze. It was, indeed, rapid as the 
burning of those reed beds of Ethiopia,' whose 
light is often seen brightening, at night, the 
distant cataracts of the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing grove, I 
could now perceive, my only pathway lay. 
There was not a moment, therefore, to be lost 
— for the conflagration gained rapidly on either 
side, and already the narrowing path between 
was strewed with vivid fire. Casting away my 
now useless lamp, and holding my robe as some 
slight protection over my head, I ventured, with 
trembling limbs, into the blaze. 

Instantly, as if my presence had given new 
life to the flames, a fresh outbreak of combus- 
tion arose on all sides. The trees clustered into 
a bower of fire above my head, while the ser- 
I'cnts that hung hissing from the red branches 
shot showers of sparkles down iipon me as I 
passed. Never were decision and activity of 

1 =' Ces consiiieratinns me portent i pcnser que, dans les 
/iiysl^res, ces phenoinenes ^toient beaucoiip mieux execu- 
tep», et sans comparaison plus tcrrihies i I'aide de qiielqiie 
•■(iiiipofition pyriqiie qui est restee cacli6e. comme celle du 
feu Gregeois." De Piu.w. 

s "II n'y a point d'autre moyen que de porter le feu dans 



more avail : — one minute later, and I must 
have perished. The narrow opening, of which I 
had so promptly availed myself, closed instantly 
behind me ; and as I looked back, to contem- 
plate the ordeal which I had passed, I saw that 
the whole grove was already one mass of fire. 

Rejoiced to have escaped this first trial, I in- 
stantly plucked from one of the pine trees a 
bough that was but just kindled, and, with this 
for my only guide, hastened breathlessly for- 
ward. I had advanced but a few paces, when 
the path turned suddenly off", leading down- 
wards, as I could perceive by the glimmer of 
my brand, into a more confined region, through 
which a chilling air, as if from some neighbor- 
ing waters, blew over my brow. Nor had I 
proceeded far in this course, when the sound of 
torrents' — mixed, as I thought, from time to 
time, with shrill Availings, resembling the cries 
of persons in danger or distress, fell mournfully 
upon ray ear. At every step the noise of the 
dashing waters increased, and I now perceived 
that I had entered an immense rocky cavern, 
through the middle of which, headlong as a 
winter torrent, the dark flood, to whose roar I 
had been listening, poured its waters ; while 
upon its surface floated grim spectre-like shapes, 
which, as they went by, sent forth those dismjil 
shrieks I had heard — as if in fear of some aw- 
ful precipice towards whose brink they were 
hurrying. 

I saw plaiiily that across that torrent must 
be my course. It was, indeed, fearful ; but in 
courage and perseverance now lay my only hope. 
What awaited me on the opposite shore, I knew 
not ; for all there was immersed in impenetrable 
gloom, nor could the feeble light which I carried 
send its glimmer half so far. Dismissing, how- 
ever, all thoughts but that of pressing onward, 
I sprung from the rock on which I stood into 
the flood, trusting that, with my right hand, I 
should be able to buff'et the cirrrent, while, with 
the other, as long as a gleam of my brand re- 
mained, I might hold it aloft to guide me safely 
to the shore. 

Long, formidable, and almost hopeless was the 
struggle I had now to maintain ; and more than 
once overpowered by the rush of the waters, I 
had given myself up,* as destined to follow 

ces forets de roseaux, qui repandent alors dans tout le pai'3 
nne liimiere aussi consideralile que celle du jour meine " 
Maillet, toin. i. p. 63. 

3 The Nile, Plimj tells us, was admitted into the Pyra- 
mid. 

4 " On exer^oit," says Diipuis, " les recipiendaries, pen 



THE EPICUREAN. 



703 



ihosc pal(% death-like apparitions, that still went 
past me, hurrj-ing onward, with mournful cries, 
to find their doom in some invisible gulf beyond. 

At length, just as my strength was nearly 
exhausted, and the last remains of the pine 
branch were dropping from my hand, I saw, 
outstretching towards me into the water, a light 
double balustrade, with a flight of steps between, 
ascending, almost perpendicularly, from the 
wave, till they seemed lost in a dense mass of 
clouds above. This glimpse — for it was noth- 
ing more, as my light expired in giving it — 
lert new spring to my courage. Having now 
both hands at liberty, so desperate were my 
efforts, that, after a few minutes' struggle, I felt 
my brow strike against the stairway, and, in an 
instant, my feet were on the steps. 

Rejoiced at my escape from that perilous 
flood, though I knew not whither the stairway 
led, I promptly ascended the steps. But this 
feeling of confidence was of short duration. I 
had not mounted far, when, to my horror, I per- 
ceived, that each successive step, as my foot left 
it, broke away from beneath me, leaving me in 
mid air, with no other alternative than that of 
still mounting by the same momentary footing, 
and with the appalling doubt whether it would 
even endure my tread. 

And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue 
to ascend, with nothing beneath me but that 
awful river, in which — so tranquil had it now 
becomo — I could hear the plash of the falling 
frai;nients, as every step in succession gave wa}' 
from under my feet. It was a most fearful mo- 
ment — but even still worse remained. I now 
found the balustrade, by which I had held dur- 
ing my a.sccnt, and which had hitherto appeared 
to be firm, growing tremulous in my hand, while 
the step, to which I was about to trust myself, 
tottered under my foot. Just then, a momentary 
flash, as if of lightning, broke around me, and 
I saw, hanging out of the clouds,' so as to be 
barely within my reach, a huge brazen ring. 
Instinctively I stretched forth my arm to seize 
it, and, at the same instant, both balustrade and 
steps gave way beneath me, and I was left 
swinging by my hands in the dark void. As if, 
too, this massy ring, which I grasped, was by 
some magic power linked with all the winds in 
heaven, no sooner had I seized it than, like the 
touching of a spring, it seemed to give loose to 

oant pliisiciirs jours, i traverser, 4 la nage, une prande ^ten- 
due d'eaii. On les y jettiiit et ce n'etoit qu'avec peine qu'ils 
e'en retiroient. On appliqiioit le fer et le feu sur leurs niem- 
bres On le3 faisoit passer 4 travers les flaniines." 



every variety of gusts and tempests, that ever 
strewed the sea shore with wrecks or dead ; and, 
as I swung about, the sport of this elemental 
strife, every new burst of its fury threatened to 
shiver me, like a storm sail, to atoms ! 

Nor was even this the worst ; — for still hold- 
ing, I know not how, by the ring, I felt myself 
caught up, as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and 
then round and round, like a stone shot in a 
sling, continued to be whirled in the midst of 
all this deafening chaos, till my brain grew 
dizzy, my recollection became confused, and I 
almost fancied myself on that wheel of the in- 
fernal world, whose rotations Eternity alone can 
number ! 

Human strength could no longer sustain such 
a trial. I was on the point, at last, of loosing 
my hold, when suddenly the violence of the 
storm moderated ; — my whirl through the air 
gradually ceased, and I felt the ring slowly de- 
scend with me, till — happ)' as a shipwrecked 
mariner at the first touch of land — I found my 
feet once more upon fii-m ground. 

At the same moment, a light of the most de- 
licious softness filled the whole air. Music, 
such as is heard in dreams, came floating at a 
distance ; and as my eyes gradually recovered 
their powers of vision, a scene of glory was re- 
vealed to them, almost too bright for imagina- 
tion, and yet living and real. As far as the 
sight could reach, enchanting gardens were 
seen, opening away through long tracts of light 
and verdure, and sparkling every where with 
fountains, that circulated, like streams of life, 
among the flowers. Not a charm was here 
wanting, that the fancy of poet or prophet, in 
their Avarmest pictures of Elysium, have ever 
yet dreamed or promised. Vistas, opening into 
scenes of indistinct grandeur — streams, shining 
out at intervals, in their shadowy course — and 
labyrinths of flowers, leading, by mysterious 
windings, to green, spacious glades full of 
splendor and repose. Over all this, too, there 
fell a light, from some unseen source, resem- 
bling nothing that illumines our upper world — 
a sort of golden moonlight, mingling the wann 
radiance of day with the calm and melancholy 
lustre of night. 

Norwere there wanting inhabitants for this 
sunless Paradise. Through all the bright gar- 
dens were seen wandering, with the serene air 

Tlie aspirant.'! were often in considerable danger, and 
Pythagoras, we are told, nearly lost his life in the trial.') 
Vide Recherches stir les Initiations, par Rubin 



704 



THE EPICUREAN. 



and step of happy spirits, groups both of j'oung 
and old, of venerable and of lovely forms, bear- 
ing most of them, the Nile's white flowers on 
their heads, and branches of the eternal palm in 
their hands ; while, over the verdant turf, fair 
children and maidens went dancing to aerial 
music, whose source was, like that of the light, 
invisible, but which filled the whole air with its 
mystic sweetness. 

Exhausted as I was by the painful trials I had 
undergone, no sooner did I perceive those fair 
groups in the distance, than my weariness, both 
of frame and spirit, was forgotten. A thought 
crossed me that she, whom I sought, might 
haply be among them ; and notwithstanding 
the feeling of awe, with which that unearthly 
scene inspired me, I was about to fly, on the 
instant, to ascertain my hope. But while in 
the act of making the eff'ort, I felt my robe 
gently pulled, and turning round, beheld an 
aged man before me, whom, by the sacred hue 
of his garb, I knew at once to be a Hierophant. 
Placing a branch of the consecrated palm in my 
hand, he said, in a solemn voice, " Aspirant of 
the Mysteries, welcome ! " — then, regarding 
me for a few seconds with grave attention, 
added, in a tone of courteousness and interest, 
" The victory over the body hath been gained ! 
— Follow me, young Greek, to thy resting- 
place." 

I obeyed the command in silence — and the 
Priest, turning away from this scene of splen- 
dor, into a secluded pathwaj', where the light 
gradually faded as we advanced, led me to a 
small pavilion, by the side of a whispering 
stream, where the very spirit of slumber seemed 
to preside, and, pointing silently to a bed of 
dried poppy leaves, left me to repose. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Though the sight of that splendid scene 
whose glories opened upon me, like a moment- 



1 " Enfin Harpocrates representoit aussi le Soleil. II est 
vrai que c'etoit aussi le Dieu du Silence ; il mettoit le doigt 
sur la bouclie parceqii'on adoroit le Soleil avec un respec- 
tiieux silence ; et c'est de li qu'est venn le Sige des Basili- 

diens, qui tirnient leur origine de I'Europe Enfin 

Harpocrates etoit assis sur le lotus, qui est la plante du So- 
leil." Hist, des Juifs. 

2 For the two cups used in the mysteries, see UHistoire 
des Juifs, liv. ix. c. 16. 

s Osiris, under the name of .Serapis, was supposed to rule 



ary glimpse into another world, had, for an 
instant, reanimated my strength and spirit, yet, 
so completely was my whole frame subdued by 
fatigue, that, even had the form of the young 
Priestess herself then stood before me, mv 
limbs would have sunk in the eff'ort to reach 
her. No sooner had I fallen on my leafy couch 
than sleep, like a sudden death, came over me ; 
and I lay, for hours, in that deep and motionless 
rest, which not even a shadow of life disturbs. 

On awaking I saw, beside me, the same ven- 
erable personage, who had welcomed me to this 
subterranean world on the preceding night. At 
the foot of my couch stood a statue, of Grecian 
workmanship, representing a boj', with wings, 
seated gracefully on a lotus flower, and having 
the forefinger of his right hand pressed to his 
lips. This action, together with the glory round 
his brows, denoted, as I already knew, the God 
of Silence and Light.' 

Impatient to know what further trials awaited 
me, I was about to speak, when the Priest ex- 
claimed, anxiously, " Hush ! " — and, pointing 
to the statue at the foot of the couch, said, — • 
"Let the spell of that Spirit be upon thy lips, 
young stranger, till the wisdom of thy instruct- 
ors shall think fit to remove it. Not unaptly doth 
the same deity preside over Silence and Light ; 
since it is only out of the depth of contem- 
plative silence, that the great light of the soul, 
Truth, can arise ! " 

Little used to the language of dictation or in- 
struction, I was now preparing to rise, when the 
Priest again restrained me ; and, at the same 
moment, two boys, beautiful as the young 
Genii of the stars, entered the pavilion. They 
were habited in long garments of the purest 
white, and bore each a small golden chalice 
in his hand.'^ Advancing towards me, they 
stopped on opposite sides of the couch, and one 
of them, presenting to me his chalice of gold, 
said, in a tone between singing and speaking, — 
" Drink of this cup — Osiris 3 sips 
The same in his halls below ; 
And the same he gives, to cool the lips 
Of the Dead* who downward go. 



over the subterranean world ; .ind performed the office of 
Pluto, in the mytliology of the Egyptians. " Tiiey be- 
lieved," says Dr. Pritchard, " that Serapis presided over the 
region of departed souls, during the period of their alisence, 
when languishing without bodies, and that the dead were 
deposited in his palace." Analysis of the Egyptian .My- 
thology, 

4 " Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, tanquam Ilrbp' 
poculum, expetitam." Zoega. — The Lethe of the F4;yp 
tians was called Ameles. See Dupuis, torn. viii. p. C51. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



705 



" Drink of this cup — the water withiu 
Is fresh from Lethe's stream ; 
'Twill make the past, with all its sin, 
And all its pain and sorrows, seem 
Like a long-forgotten dream ! 

" The pleasure, whose charms 
Are steep'd in woe ; 
The knowledge, that harms 
The soul to know j 

" The hope, that, bright 

As the lake of the waste, 
Allures the sight, 
But mocks the taste ; 

" The love that binds 
Its innocent wreath. 
Where the serpent winds, 
In venom, beneath ; — * 

" All that, of evil or false, by thee 
Hath ever been known or seen, 
Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
Forgot, as it never had been ! " 

Unwilling to throw a slight on this strange 
C(.reniony, I leaned forward, with all due 
gravity, and tasted the cup ; which I had no 
sooner done than the young cupbearer, on the 
other side,' invited my attention ; and, in his 
turn, presenting the chalice which he held, 
sung, with a voice still sweeter than that of his 
companion, the follo-s\ing strain ; — 

"Drink of this cup — when Isis led 
Her boy, of old, to tlie beaming sky, 
She mingled a draught divine,^ and said — 
' Drink of this cup, thnu'lt never die ! ' 

" Thus do I say and sing to thee. 

Heir of that boundless heav'n on high, 

Though frail, and fall'n, and lost thou be, 

Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die ! " 

Well as I had hitherto kept my jjhilosophy on 
its guard, against the illusions with wliich, I 
knew, this region abounded, the young cup- 
bearer had here touched a spring of imagination, 
over which my philosoj^hy, as has been seen, 
had but little control. No sooner had the words, 
" thou shalt never die," struck on my ear, than 
the dream of the Garden came fully to my 
mind, and, starting half way from the couch, I 
stretched forth my hands to the cup. But, 



1 " Enfin on disoit qu'il y avoit deux coupes, I'une en 
haut et I'autre en has. Celui qui beuvoit de la coupe d'en 
has, avoit toujours soif, ses desirs s'augmentoit au lieu de 
s'eteindre, mais celui qui beuvoit de la coupe en haut 6loit 
rempli et content. Cette premiere coupe 6toit la connois- 
gance de la nature, qui ne satisfait jamais pleinement ceux 
qui en sonde nt les myatferes ; et la seconde coupe, dans la- 
quelle on devoit boire pour n'avoir jamais soif, etoit la con- 
89 



recollecting myself instantly, and fearing that I 
had betrayed to others a weakness fit only for 
my own secret indulgence, I sunk back again, 
with a smile of affected indifference on my 
couch — while the young minstrel, but little 
interrupted by my movement, still continued 
his strain, of which I heard but the concluding 
words : — 

" And Memory, too, with her dreams shall come. 
Dreams of a former, happier day. 
When Heaven was still the Spirit's home. 
And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 

"Glimpses of glory, ne'er forgot. 

That tell, like gleams on a sunset sea, 

What once hath l)een, what now is not, 

But, O, what again shall brightly be." 

Though the assurances of immortality con- 
tained in these verses would at any other mo- 
ment — vain and visionary as I thought them — 
have sent my fancy wandering into reveries of 
the future, the effort of self-control I had just 
made enabled me to hear them with indifference. 

Having gone through the form of tasting his 
second cup, I again looked anxiously to the 
Hierophant, to ascertain whether I might be 
permitted to rise. His assent having been given, 
the young pages brought to my couch a robe 
and tunic, which, like their own, were of Hnen 
of the purest white ; and having assisted to 
clothe me in this sacred garb, they then placed 
upon my head a chaplet of myrtle, in which 
the symbol of Initiation, a golden grasshopper,' 
was seen shining out from among the dark 
leaves. 

Though sleep had done much to refresh my 
frame, something more was still wanting to 
restore its strength ; and it was not without a 
smile at my own reveries I reflected, how much 
more welcome than even the young page's cup 
of immortality was the unpretending, but real, 
repast now set before me — fresh fruits from the 
Isle of Gardens •* in the Nile, the delicate flesL 
of the desert antelope, and wine from the Vine- 
yard of the Queens at Anthylla,* which one uf 
the pages fanned with a palm leaf, to keep it 
cool. 



noissance des mystferes du Ciel." Hist, des Juifs, liv. Ia. 
chap. 16. 

2 The Tijj aOavaatas ^apiiaxov, which, according to Dio- 
donis Siculus, Isis prepared for her son Orus. — Lib. i. 

3 Hot. ^poll. — The grasshopper was also consecrated 3 
the sun as being musical. 

i The isle Antirrhodus, near Alexandria. Maillet 
6 Vide Athen. Deipnos 



THE EPICUREAN. 



Having done justice to these dainties, it was 
with pleasure I heard the proposal of the Priest, 
that we should walk forth together and medi- 
tate among the scenes without. I had not for- 
gotten the splendid Elj-sium that last night 
welcomed me — those rich gardens, that soft 
unearthly music and light, and, above all, those 
fair forms I had seen vv'andering about — as if, 
in the very midst of happiness, still seeking it. 
The hope, which had then occurred to me, that, 
among those bright groups might haply be 
found the young maiden I sought, now returned 
with increased strength. I had little doubt 
that my guide was leading me to the same 
Elysian scene, and that the form, so fit to in- 
habit it, would again appear before my eyes. 

But far different, I found, was the region to 
which he now conducted me ; — nor could the 
■whole world have produced a scene more 
gloomy, or more strange. It wore the appear- 
ance of a small, solitary valley, enclosed, on 
every side, by rocks, which seemed to rise, 
almost perpendicularly, till they reached the 
very sky ; — for it was, indeed, the blue sky that 
I saw shining between their summits, and whose 
light, dimmed thus and nearly lost in its long 
descent, formed the melancholy daylight of this 
nether world.' Down the side of these rocky 
walls descended a cataract, Avhose source was 
upon earth, and on whose waters, as they rolled 
glassily over the edge above, a gleam of radiance 
rested, showing how brilliant and pure was the 
sunshine they had left behind. From thence, 
gradually growing darker and frequently broken 
by alternate chasms and projections, the stream 
<"ell, at last, in a pale and thin mist — the phan- 
tom of what it had been on earth — into a 
small lake that lay at the base of the rock to 
receive it. 

Nothing was ever so bleak and saddening as 
the appearance of this lake. The usual orna- 
ments of the waters of Egypt were not wanting 
to it : the tall lotus here uplifted her silvery 
flowers, and the crimson flamingo floated over 



1 " On s'etait meme avise, depiiis la premiere construc- 
tion de ces deineures, de percer en plusieurs endroits jiis- 
qii'au haut les terres qui les couvroient ; non pas i la veiite, 
pour tiret un jour qui n'auroit jamais ete suffisant, mais 
pour recevoir un air salutare," &c. Scthos. 

2 " On voyoit en plein jour par ces ouvertures les dtoiles, 
et nicmc quelques planfetes en leur plus grande latitude sep- 
tentrionale ; et les pretres avoient bientot profite de ce pli6- 
nomfene, pour observer i diverses heures le passage des 
^toiles." Sethns. — Slrabo mentions certain caves or pits, 
constructed for the purpose of astronomical observations, 
Which lay in the Heliopolitan prefecture, beyond Ilcliopolis. 



I the tide. But they looked not the same as in 
the world above; — the flower had exchanged 
its whiteness for a livid hue, and the wings of 
the bird hung heavy and colorless. Evt;ry 
thing wore the same half-living aspect ; and 
the only sounds that disturbed the mournful 
stillness were the wailing cry of a heron amoi g 
the sedges, and that din of the falling waters, 
in their midwaj' struggle, above. 

There was, indeed, an unearthly sadness in 
the whole scene, of which no heart, however 
light, could resist the influence. Perceiving 
how much I was affected by it, " Such scenes," 
remarked the Priest, " are best suited to that 
solemn complexion of mind, which becomes him 
who approaches the Great Mystery of futuritj'. 
Behold " — and, in saying thus, he pointed to 
the opening over our heads, through which, 
though the sun had but just passed his me- 
ridian, I could perceive a star or two twinkling 
in the heavens — " in the same manner as 
from this gloomy depth we can see those 
fixed stars," which are invisible now to the 
dwellers on the bright earth, even so, to the sad 
and self-humbled spirit, doth many a mystery 
of heaven reveal itself, of which they, who 
walk in the light of the proud world, know 
not ! " 

He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, 
beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, 
that God without a smile, who presides over the 
silent kingdom of the Dead." The same livid 
and lifeless hue was upon his features that hung 
over every thing in this dim valley ; and, with 
his right hand, he pointed directly downwards, 
to denote that his melancholy kingdom lay there. 
A plantain * — that favorite tree of the genii of 
Death — stood behind the statue, and spread its 
branches over the alcove, in which the Priest 
now seated himself, and made a sign that I 
should take my place by his side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought and prep- 
aration, — " Nobly." said he, " youag Greek, 
hast thou sustained the first trials of Initiation. 



3 Serapis, Sol Inferus. — - Athenodorus, scriptor vetustus, 
apud Clementum Alexandrinuni in Protreplico, ait " simu- 
lacra Serapidis conspicua esse colore csruleo et nigricante." 
Macrobius, in verbis descriptis, ^ fi, docet nos apud jEffj'p- 
tios "simulacra solis infera tingi colore caeruleo." — Ja- 
blonski. 

4 Osiris. 

5 This tree was dedicated to the Genii of the Shades, from 
it? being an emblem of repose and cooling airs. " Oui im- 
minet muss folium, quod ab [>ide infera geniisque ei addic- 
tis manu geri solitum, umhram rcquiemque et auras frigidas 
subindigitare videtur." Zoega. 



THE EPICUREAN, 



ro7 



What still remains, though of vital import to 
the soul, brings with it neither pain nor peril to 
the body. Having now proved and chastened 
thy mortal frame, by the three ordeals of Fire, 
of Water, and of Air, the next task to which 
we are called is the purification of thy spirit — 
the effectual cleansing, of that inward and im- 
mortal part, so as to render it fit for the recep- 
tion of the last luminous revealment, when the 
Veils of the Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, 
and the Great Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy 
view ! — Towards this object, the primary and 
most important step is, instruction. What the 
three purifying elements thou hast passed 
through have done for thy body, instruction 
will effect for " 

" But that lovely maiden ! " I exclaimed, 
bursting from my silence, having fallen, during 
his speech, into a deep revery, in which I had 
forgotten him, myself, the Great Secret, every 
thing — but her. 

Stai-tlcd by this profane interruption, he cast 
a look of alarm towards the statue, as if fearful 
lest the God should have heard my words. 
Then, turning to mc, in a tone of mild solem- 
nitj', " It is but too plain," said he, *' that 
thoughts of the upper world, and of its vain, 
shadowy delights, still engross thee far too 
much, to allow the lessons of Truth to sink 
profitably into thy heart. A few hours of med- 
itation amid this solemn scenery — of that 
v.holcsome meditation, which purifies, by sad- 
dening — may haply dispose thee to receive, 
with due feelings of reverence, the holy and 
imperishable knowledge we have in store for 
thee. With this hope I now leave thee to thy 
own thoughts, and to that God, before whose 
calm and mournful eye all the vanities of the 
world, from which thou comest, wither ! " 

Thus saying, he turned slowly away, and 
passing behind the statue, towards which he 
had pointed during the last sentence, suddenly, 
as if by enchantment, disappeared from my 
sight. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Beixg now left to my own solitary thoughts, 
I was fully at leisure to reflect, with some degree 
of coolness, upon the inconveniences, if not 
dangers, of the situation into which my love of 
adventure had hurried me. However prompt 
my imagination was always to kindle, in its own 
ideal sphere, I have ever found that, when 



brought into contact with reality, it as suddenly 
cooled , — like those meteors, that appear to be 
stars, while in the air, but, the moment they 
touch earth, are extinguished. And such was 
the feeling of disenchantment that now suc- 
ceeded to the wild dreams in which I had been 
indulging. As long as Fancy had the field of 
the future to herself, even immortality did not 
seem too distant a race for her. But when hu- 
man instruments interposed, the illusion all 
vanished. From mortal lips the promise of 
immortality seemed a mockery, and even imagi- 
nation had no wings that could carry beyond 
the grave. 

Nor was this disappointment the only feeling 
that pained and haunted me ; — the impru- 
dence of the step, on which I had ventured, 
now appeared in its full extent before my eyes. 
I had here thrown myself into the power of the 
most artful priesthood in the world, without 
even a chance of being able to escape from their 
toils, or to resist any machinations with which 
they might beset me. It appeared evident, from 
the state of preparation in which I had found 
all that wonderful apparatus, by which the ter- 
rors and splendors of Initiation are produced, 
that my descent into the pyramid was not un- 
expected. Numerous, indeed, and active as 
were the spies of the Sacred College of Memphis, 
it could little be doubted that all my move- 
ments, since my arrival, had been watchfully 
tracked ; and the many hours I had employed 
in wandering and exploring around the pyra- 
mid, betrayed a curiosity and spirit of adventure 
which might well suggest to these wily priests 
the hope of inveigling an Epicurean into their 
toils. 

I was well aware of their hatred to the sect 
of which I was Chief ; — that they considered 
the Epicureans as, next to the Christians, the 
most formidable enemies of their craft and 
power. " How thoughtless, then," I exclaimed, 
•' to have placed myself in a situation, where I 
am equally helpless against fraud and violence, 
and must either pretend to be the dupe of their 
impostures, or else submit to become the victim 
of their vengeance ! " Of these alternatives, 
bitter as they both were, the latter appeared by 
far the more welcome. It was with a blush 
that I even looked back upon the mockeries I 
had already yielded to ; and the prospect of 
being put through still further ceremonials, and 
of being tutored and preached to by hypocrites 
I so much despised, appeared to me, in my pres- 
ent mood of mind, a trial of patience, compared 



708 



THE EPICUREAN. 



to which the flames and whirlwinds I had al- 
ready encountered were pastime. 

Often and impatiently did I look up, between 
tlaose rocky walls, to the bright sky that ap- 
peared to rest upon their summits, as pacing 
round and round, through every part of the 
valley, I endeavored to find some outlet from 
its gloomy precincts. But vain w^ere all my 
endeavors ; — that rocky barrier, which seemed 
to end but in heaven, interposed itself every 
where. Neither did the image of the young 
maiden, though constantly in my mind, now 
bring -sNith it the least consolation or hope. Of 
what avail was it that she, perhaps, was an in- 
habitant of this region, if I could neither be- 
hold her smile, nor catch the sound of her voice 
— if, while among preaching priests I wasted 
away my hours, her presence was, alas, diffus- 
ing its enchantment elsewhere. 

At length exhausted, I lay down by the brink 
of the lake, and gave myself up to all the mel- 
ancholy of my fancy. The pale semblance of 
daylight, which had hitherto glimmered around, 
grew, every moment, more dim and dismal. 
Even the rich gleam, at the summit of the cas- 
cade, had faded ; and the sunshine, like the 
water, exhausted in its descent, had now dwin- 
dled into a ghostly glimmer, far worse than 
darkness. The birds upon the lake, as if about 
to die with the dying light, sunk down their 
heads ; and as I looked to the statue, the deep- 
ening shadows gave such an expression to its 
mournful features as chilled my very soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to present 
itself to my imagination, now came, with a dis- 
heartening weight, such as I had never before 
felt. I almost fancied myself already in the 
dark vestibule of the grave — - removed, forever, 
from the world above, and with nothing but the 
blank of an eternal sleep before me. It had hap- 
pened, I knew, frequently, that the visitants of 
this mysterious realm were, after their descent 
from earth, never seen or heard of; — being 
condemned, for some failure in their initiatory 
trials, to pine away their lives in those dark 
dungeons, with which, as -well as with altars, 
this region abounded. Such, I shuddered to 



1 For a full account of the doctrines which are here repre- 
sented as having been taught to the initiated in the Egj'p- 
tian mysteries, the reader may consult Dupuis, Pritckard's 
Analysis of the Egyptian Mythology, &c. &c. " L'on de- 
couvroit I'origine dc I'ame, sa chute sur la terrc, k travers 
les spheres et les elemens, et son retour au lieu do son ori- 
gins .... c'etoit ici la partie la plus m^taphy^iqiie, et que 
ne pourroit guere entendre le coinmun des Inities, mais 



think, might probably be my own destiny ; and 
so appalling was the thought, that even the 
courage by which I had been hitherto sustained 
died within me, and I was already giving my- 
self up to helplessness and despair. 

At length, after some hours of this gloomy 
musing, I heard a rustling in the sacred grove 
behind the statue ; and, soon after, the sound 
of the Priest's A-^oice — more welcome than I had 
ever thought such voice could be — brought the 
assurance that I was not yet wholly abandoned. 
Finding his way to me through the gloom, he 
now led me to the same spot, on which we had 
parted so many hours before ; and, addressing 
me in a voice that retained no trace of displeas- 
ure, bespoke my attention, while he should re- 
veal to me some of those divine truths, by whose 
infusion, he said, into the soul of man, its puri- 
fication can alone be effected. 

The valley had now become so dark, that we 
could no longer, as we sat, discern each other's 
faces. There was a melancholy in the voice of 
my instrttctor that well accorded with the gloom 
around us : and, saddened and subdued, I now 
listened with resignation, if not with interest, 
to those sublime, but, alas, I thought, vain 
tenets, which, with all the warmth of a true 
believer, this Hierophant expounded to me. 

He spoke of the preexistence of the soul ' — 
of its abode, from all eternity, in a place of 
splendor and bliss, of which whatever we have 
most beautiful in our conceptions here is but a 
dim transcript, a clouded remembrance. In the 
blue depths of ether, he said, lay that " Coun- 
try of the Soul" — its boundary alone visible in 
the line of milky light, which, as by a barrier 
of stars, separates it from the dark earth. " O, 
realm of purity ! Home of the yet unfallen 
Spirit ! — where, in the days of her first inno- 
cence, she wandered ; ere yet her beauty was 
soiled by the touch of earth, or her resplendent 
wings had withered away. Methinks I see, ' 
he cried, " at this moment, those fields of ra • 
diance- — I look back, through the mists of 
life, into that luminous world, where the souls 
that have never lost their high, heavenly rank, 
still soar, without a stain, above the shadowless 



dont on lui donnoit le spectacle par des figures et nes spec- 
tres all6goriques." Dupuis. 

2 See Beausobre, lib. iii. c. 4, for the " terre bienheureiuse 
et lumineuse," which the Manicheans supposed God to in- 
habit. Plato, too, speaks (in Phaed.; of a pure land lying ii: 
the pure sky (r;jv ynv Kadapav cv Kadapoi Ktiaiat ou^,u!wX 
the abode of divinity, of innocence, and of life. 



THE EPICUREAN, 



709 



stars, and there dwell together in infinite per- 
fection and bliss ! " 

As he spoke these words, a burst of pure, 
brilliant light,' like a sudden opening of heaven, 
broke through the valley ; and, as soon as my 
eyes were able to endure the splendor, such a 
vision of glory and loveliness opened upon them, 
as took even my sceptical spirit by surj^rise, and 
made it yield, at once, to the potency of the 
spell. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupy- 
ing the whole of the opposite region of the val- 
ley, there appeared an immense orb of light, 
within which, through a haze of radiance, I 
could see distinctly fair groups of young female 
spirits, who, in silent, but harmonious move- 
ment, like that of the stars, wound slowly 
through a variety of fanciful evolutions ; seem- 
ing, as they linked and unlinked each other's 
arms, to form a living labyrinth of beauty and 
grace. Though their feet appeared to glide 
along a field of light, they had also wings, of 
the most brilliant hue, which, like rainbows 
over waterfalls, when played with by the breeze, 
reflected, every moment, a new variety of glory. 
As I stood, gazing Avith wonder, the orb, with 
all its ethereal inmates, began gradually to re- 
cede into the dark void, lessening, as it went, 
and becoming more bright, as it lessened ; — 
till, at length, distant, to all appearance, as a 
retiring comet, this little world of Spirits, in 
one small point of intense radiance, shone its 
last and vanished. " Go," exclaimed the rapt 
Priest, " ye happy souls, of whose dwelling a 
glimpse is thus given to our eyes, go, wander, 
in your orb, through the boundless heaven, nor 
ever let a thought of this perishable world come 
to mingle its dross with your divine nature, or 
allure you down earthward to that mortal fall 
by which spirits, no less bright and admirable, 
have been ruined ! " 

A pause ensued, during which, still under 
the influence of wonder, I sent my fancy wan- 
dering after the inhabitants of that orb — almost 
wishing myself credulous enough to believe in 



1 The power of producing a sudden and dazzling effusion 
nf light, which was one of the arts employed by the contri- 
vers of the ancient Mysteries, is thus described in a few words 
by Apuleius, who was himself admitted to witness the Isiac 
rerenionies at Corinth : — " Nocte niedii vidi solem candi- 
Jo coruscantem lumine." 

2 In the original construction of this work, there was an 
episode introduced here (which I have since published in a 
more extended form), illustrating the doctrine of the fall of 
*he soul by the Oriental fable of the Loves of the Angels. 



a heaven, of which creatures, so much like those 
I had worshipped on earth, were inmates. 

At length, the Priest, with a mournful sigh at 
the sad contrast he was about to draw between 
the happy spirits we had just seen and the fallen 
ones of earth, resumed again his melancholy 
History of the Soul. Tracing it gradually from 
the first moment of earthward desire^ to its 
final eclipse in the shadows of this world, he 
dwelt upon every stage of its darkening descent, 
with a pathos that sent sadness into the very 
depths of the heart. The first downwai d look 
of the Spirit towards earth — the tremble of 
her wings on the edge of Heaven — the giddy 
slide, at length, down that fatal descent, and 
the Lethean cup, midway in the sky, of which 
M-hen she has once tasted. Heaven is forgot — 
through all these gradations he traced mourn- 
fully her fall, to that last stage of darkness, 
when, wholly immersed in this world, her ce- 
lestial nature becomes changed, she no longer 
can rise above earth, nor even remember her 
former home, except by glimpes so vague, that, 
at length, mistaking for hope what is only, alas, 
recollection, she believes those gleams to be a 
light from the Future, not the Past. 

" To retrieve this rum of this once blessed Soul 
— to clear away from around her the clouds of 
earth, and, restoring her lost wings,^ facilitate 
their return to Heaven — such," said the rev- 
erend man, " is the great task of our religion, 
and such the triumph of those divine Mysteries, 
in whose inmost depths the life and essence of 
that holy religion lie treasured. However sunk 
and changed and clouded may be the Spirit, yet 
as long as a single trace of her original light 
remains, there is still hope that " 

Here the voice of the Priest was interrupted 
by a strain of mournful music, of which the 
low, distant breathings had been, for some min- 
utes, audible, but which now gained upon the 
ear too thrUlingly to let it listen to any more 
earthly sound. A faint light, too, at that in- 
stant broke through the valley — and I coula 
perceive, not far from the spot where we sat, a 



3 In the language of Plato, Hierocles, &c., to " restore to 
the soul its wings," is the main object both of religion and 
philosophy. 

Damascius, in his Life of Isidorus, says, "Ex antiquissi- 
mis Philosnphis Pythagoram et Platonem Isidorus ut Deoa 
coluit, et eoriim animas alatas esse dixit quas in locum super- 
coelestem inque campum veritatis et pratum elevatas, di- 
vinis putavit ideis pasci." ^pud. Phot Bibliotkec. 



710 



THE EPICUREAN. 



female figure, veiled, and crouching to earth, as 
if subdued by sorrow, or under the influence of 
shame. 

The feeble light, bj' which I saw her, came 
from a pale, moon-like meteor which had grad- 
ually formed itself in the air as the music ap- 
proached, and now shed over the rocks and the 
lake a glimmer as cold as that by which the 
Dead, in their own kingdom, gaze upon each 
other. The music, too, which appeared to rise 
from out of the lake, full of the breath of its 
dark waters, spoke a despondency in every note 
■which no language could express ; — and, as I 
listened to its tones, and looked upon that fallen 
Spirit, (for such, the holy man whispered, was 
the form before us,) so entirely did the illusion 
of the scene take possession of me,' that, with 
almost painful anxiety, I now awaited the result. 

Nor had I gazed long before that form rose 
slowly from its drooping position ; — the air 
around it grew bright, and the pale meteor 
overhead assumed a more cheerful and living 
light. The veil, which had before shrouded the 
face of the figure, became every minute more 
transparent, and the features, one by one, grad- 
ually disclosed themselves. Having tremblingly 
■watched the progress of the apparition, I now 
started from my scat, and half exclaimed, "It 
is she ! " In another minute, this veil had, like 
a thin mist, melted away, and the young Priest- 
ess of the Moon stood, for the third time, re- 
vealed before my eyes ! 

To rush instantly towards her was my first 
impulse — but the arm of the Priest held me 
firndy back. The fresh light, which had begun 
to flow in from all sides, collected itself in a 
flood of glory around the spot Avherc she stood. 
Instead of melancholy music, strains of the most 
exalted rapture were heard ; and the young 
maiden, buoyant as the inhabitants of the fairy 
orb, amid a blaze of light like that which fell 
upon her in the Temple, ascended slowly into 
the air. 

" Stay, beautiful vision, stay ! " I exclaimed, 
as, breaking from the hold of the Priest, I flung 
myself prostrate on the ground — the only mode 
by which I could express the admiration, even 

1 In tracing the early connection of spectacles with the 
cereninnies of religion, VuUaire says, " II y a blen plus ; les 
veritahles grandes tragedies, les representatiiuis inipcjsantes 
et terril)les, etoient les niysteres sacres, qu'tm celebruit dans 
les plus vastes temples du monde, en presence des seuls Iiii- 
ties ; c'etoit li que les habits, les decorations, les machines 
itoient propres au sujet ; et le siijet etoit la vie presente et 
'a vie future." Dcs divers Clianireineii^ arrices d L Jin tra- 
ffiquf,. 



to worship, with which I was flUed. But the 
vanishing spirit heard me not : — receding into 
the darkness, like that orb, whose heavenward 
track she seemed to follow, hor form lessened 
by degrees away, till she -was seen no more ; 
while, gazing, till the last luminous speck had 
disappeared, I allowed myself unconsciously to 
be led away by my reverend guide, who, placing 
me once more on my bed of poppy leaves, left 
me there to such repose as it was possible, after 
such a scene, to enjoy. 



CHAPTER X. 

The apparition with which I had been blessed 
in that Valley of Visions — for so the place where 
I had witnesised these wonders was called — 
brought back to my heart all the hopes and 
fancies, in which during my descent from earth 
I had indulged. I had now seen once more that 
matchless creature, who had been my guiding 
star into this mysterious realm ; and that she 
vi^as destined to be, in some way, connected with 
the further revelations that awaited me, I saw 
no reason to doubt. There was a sublimity, 
too, in the doctrines of my reverend teacher, 
and even a hope in the promises of immortality 
held out by him, ■which, in spite of reason, won 
insensibly both upon my fancy aird my pride. 

The Future, however, was now but of sec- 
ondary consideration ; — the Present, and that 
deity of the Present, woman, were the objects 
that engrossed my Avhole soul. It was, indeed, 
for the sake of such beings alone that I consid- 
ered immortality desirable, nor, without them, 
would eternal life have appeared to me worth 
a single prayer. To every further trial of my 
patience and faith, I now made up my mind to 
submit without a murmur. Some kind chance, 
I fondly persuaded myself, might yet bring me 
nearer to the object of my adoration, and enable 
me to address, as mortal woman, one who had 
hitherto been to me but as a vision, a shade. 

The period of my probation, however, was 
nearly at au end. Both frame and spirit had 

To the.se scenic repre.setitations in the Egyptian mysteries, 
there is evidently an allusion in the vision of Ezekiel, where 
the Spirit shows him the abominations which the Israelites 
learned in Egypt : — " Then said he unto me, ' Sim of man, 
hast thou seen what the ancients of the house of Israel do 
in the dark, every man in the chambers of his imagery? ' " 
Chap. viii. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



711 



nDw stood th(! trial; and, as the crowning test 
of the purification of the latter was that power 
of seeing into the world of spirits, with which 
I had proved myself, in the Valley of Visions, 
to be endowed, there now remained, to complete 
my Initiation, but this one night more, when, in 
the Temple of Isis, and in the presence of her 
unveiled image, the last grand revelation of the 
Secret of Secrets was to be laid open to me. 

I passed the morning of this day in company 
with the same venerable personage, who had, 
from the first, presided over the ceremonies of 
my instruction ; and who, to inspire me with 
due reverence for the power and magnificence 
of his religion, now conducted me through the 
long range of illuminated galleries and shrines, 
that extend under the site upon which Memphis 
and the Pyramids stand, and form a counterpart 
under ground to that mighty city of temples 
upon earth. 

He then descended with me, still lower, into 
those winding crypts, where lay the Seven Ta- 
bles of stone,' found by Hermes in the valley 
of Hebron. " On these tables," said he, " is 
written all the knowledge of the antediluvian 
race — the decrees of the stars from the begin- 
ning of time, the annals of a still earlier world, 
and all the marvellous secrets, both of heaven 
and earth, wliich would have been, 

' but for this key, 
Lost in the Universal Sea." 

Returning to the region, from which we had 
descended, we next visited, in succession, a se- 
ries of small shrines representing the various 
objects of adoration through Egypt, and thus 
furnishing to the Priest an occasion for explain- 
ing the mysterious nature of animal worship, 
and the refined doctrines of theology that lay 
veiled under its forms. Every shrine was con- 
secrated to a particular faith, and contained a 
living image of the deity which it adored. Be- 
side the goat of Mendes,- with his refulgent star 
upon his breast, I saw the crocodile, as presented 
to the eyes of its idolaters at Arsinoti, with costly 
gems ^ in its loathsome ears, and rich bracelets of 



1 " Bernard, Comte de la Marche Tr^visane, instruit par 
la lecture des llvres anciens, dit, qii'Herines troiiva sept ta- 
bles d;uis la vallee d'Hebron, siir lesqiielles etoieni graves 
Ics principes des arts liberaux." Fables Eirypticnnes. See 
Jabloiiski de stelU Herm. 

2 For an account of the animal worship of the Egyptians, 
see De Pauw, toni. ii. 

3 Her<idntiis {Raterp.) tells us that the people about 
Thebes and Lake McEris kep< a number of tanie crocodiles, 



gold encircling its feet. Here, floating through 
a tank in the centre of a temple, the sacred carp 
of Lepidotum showed its silvery scales ; while, 
there, the Isiac serpents " trailed languidly over 
the altar, with that sort of movement which is 
thought most favorable to the aspirations ot their 
votaries. In one of the small chapels we found 
a beautiful child, employed in feeding and watch- 
ing over those golden beetles, which are adored 
for their brightness, as emblems of the sun ; 
while, in another, stood a sacred ibis upon its 
pedestal, so like, in plumage and attitude, to the 
bird of the young Priestess, that most gladly 
would I have knelt down and worshipped it for 
her sake. 

After visiting all these various shrines, and 
hearing the reflections which they suggested, I 
was next led by my guide to the Great Hall of 
the Zodiac, on whose ceiling was delineated, in 
bright and undying colors, the map of the fir- 
mament, as it appeared at the first dawn of time. 
Here, in pointing out the track of the sun among 
the spheres, he spoke of the analogy that exi.sts 
between moral and physical darkness — of the 
sympathy with which all spiritual creatures re- 
gard the sun, so as to sadden and decline when 
he sinks into his wintry hemisphere, and to re- 
joice when he resumes his own empire of light. 
Hence, the festivals and hymns, with wliich 
most of the nations of the earth are wont to 
welcome the resurrection of his orb in spring, 
as an emblem and pledge of the reascent of the 
soul to heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, 
the mournful ceremonies * — like those Myste- 
ries of the Night," upon the Lake of SaTs — in 
which they brood over his autumnal descent 
into the shades, as a type of the Spirit's fall 
into this world of death. 

In discourses such as these the hoiirs passed 
away ; and though there was nothing in the 
light of this sunless region to mark to the eye 
the decline of day, my own feelings told me 
that the night drew near ; — nor, in spite of my 
incredulity, could I refrain from a slight flutter 
of hope, as that promised moment of revelatiop 
drew nigh, when the Mystery of Mysteries waa 



which they worshipped, and dressed them out with genu 
and golden ornaments in their ears. 

* " On aiigiiroit bien de serpens [siaques, lorsqu'ils goii- 
toient I'ott'rande et se traiTioient lentement autour de I'au- 
tel." De Pauw. 

6 For an account of the various festivals at the diflerenl 
periods of the sun's progress, in the spring, and in tlie au 
tumn, see Dupuis and Prilcfiard. 

6 Vide Atheiiag. Leg. pro CItrist. p. 138. 



712 



THE EPICUREAN. 



to be made all my own. This consummation, 
however, was less nf/ar than I expected. My 
patience had still further trials to encounter. 
It was necessary, I now found, that, during the 
greater part of the night, I should keep watch 
in the Sanctuary of the Temple, alone and in 
utter darkness — thus preparing myself, by 
meditation, for the awful moment, when the 
irradiation from behind the sacred Veils was to 
burst upon me. 

At the appointed hour, we left the Hall of 
the Zodiac, and proceeded through a long line 
of marble galleries, where the lamps were more 
thinly scattered as we advanced, till, at length, 
we found ourselves in total darkness. Here the 
Priest, taking me by the hand, and leading me 
down a flight of steps, into a place where the 
same deep gloom prevailed, said, with a voice 
trembling, as if from excess of awe, — ♦' Thou 
art now Mithin the Sanctuary of our goddess, 
Isis, and the veils, that conceal her sacred 
image, are before thee ! " 

After exhorting me earnestly to that train of 
thought, which best accorded with the spirit of 
the place where I stood, and, above all, to that 
full and unhesitating faith, with which alone, 
he said, the manifestation of such mysteries 
should be approached, the holy man took leave 
of me, and reascended the steps ; — whUe, so 
Bpell-bound did I feel by that deep darkness, 
that the last sound of his footsteps died upon 
my car, before I ventured to stir a limb from the 
position in which he had left me. 

The prospect of the long watch I had now to 
look forward to was dreadful. Even danger 
itself, if in an active form, would have been far 
preferable to this sort of safe, but dull, proba- 
tion, by which patience was the only virtue put 
to the proof. Having ascertained how far the 
space around me was free from obstacles, I en- 
deavored to beguile the time by pacing up and 
down within those limits, till I became tired 
of the monotonous echoes of my own tread. 
Finding my waj% then, to what I felt to be a 
massive pillar, and, leaning wearily against it, I 
surrendered myself to a train of thoughts and 
feelings, far different from those with which the 
good Hierophant had hoped to inspire me. 

" If tliese priests," thought I, " possess really 
the secret of life, why are they themselves the 
victims of death ! why sink into the grave with 
the cup of immortality in their hands ? But 



1 See, for some curious remarks on the mode of imitating 
thunder and lightning in the ancient mysteries, Pe Pauw, 



no, safe boasters, the eternity they so lavishly 
promise is reserved for another, a future world — 
that ready resource of all priestly promises — 
that depository of the airy pledges of all creeds. 
Another world ! — alas, where doth it lie ? or, 
what spirit hath ever come to say that Life is 
there ? " 

The conclusion at which, half sadly, half pas- 
sionately, I arrived, was that, life being biit a 
dream of the moment never to come again, 
every bliss so vaguely promised for hereafter 
ought to be secured by the wise man here. And, 
as no heaven I had ever heard of from these 
visionary priests ojiened half such certainty of 
happiness as that smile which I beheld last 
night — " Let me," I exclaimed, impatiently, 
striking the massy pillar till it rung, " let me 
but make that beautiful Priestess my own, and I 
here willingly exchange for her everj' chance of 
immortality, that the combined wisdom of 
Egypt's TAvelve Temples can offer me ! " 

No sooner had I uttered these words, than a 
tremendous peal, like that of thunder,' rolled 
over the Sanctuary, and seemed to shake its very 
w-alls. On every side, too, a succession of blue, 
vivid flashes pierced, like lances of light, 
through the gloom, revealing to me, at inter- 
vals, the mighty dome in which I stood — its 
ceiling of azure, studded with stars — its colos- 
sal columns, towering aloft, and those dark, 
awful veils, whose massy drapery hung from the 
roof to the floor, covering the rich glories of 
the Shrine beneath their folds. 

So weary had I grown of my tedious watch, 
that this stormy and fitful illumination, during 
which the Sanctuary seemed to rock to its base, 
was by no means an unwelcome interruption of 
the monotonous trial my patience had to suffer. 
After a short interval, however, the flashes 
ceased ; — the sounds died away, like exhausted 
thunder, through the abyss, and darkness and 
silence, like that of the grave, succeeded. 

Resting my back once more against the pillar, 
and fixing my eyes upon that side of the Sanc- 
tuary, from which the promised irradiation was 
to burst, I now resolved to await the awful 
moment in patience. Resigned and almost im- 
movable, I had remained thus, for nearly another 
hour, when suddenly, along the edges of the 
mighty Veils, I perceived a thin rim of light, as 
if from some brilliant object under them ; — re- 
sembling that border which encircles a cloud at 



torn. i. p. 333. The machine with which these effects i 
produced on tl e stage was called a ceraunoscope. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



713 



sunset, when the rich radiance from behind is 
escaping at its edges. 

This indication of concealed glories grew 
every instant more strong ; till, at last, vividly- 
marked as it was upon the darkness, the narrow 
fringe of lustre almost pained the eye — giving 
promise of a fulness of splendor too bright to 
be endured. My expectations were now wound 
to the highest pitch, and all the scepticism, into 
which I had been cooling down my mind, was 
forgotten. The wonders that had been pre- 
sented to me since my descent from earth — 
that glimpse into Elysium on the first night of 
my coming — those visitants from the Land of 
Spirits in the mysterious valley — all led me to 
expect, in this last and brightest revelation, such 
visions of glory and knowledge as might tran- 
scend even fancy itself, nor leave a doubt that 
they belonged less to earth than heaven. 

While, with an imagination thus excited, I 
stood waiting the result, an increased gush of 
light still more awakened my attention ; and I 
saw, with an intenseness of interest, which 
made my heart beat aloud, one of the corners 
of the mighty Veil raised slowly from the floor. 
I now felt that the Great Secret, whatever it 
might be, was at hand. A vague hope even 
crossed my mind — so wholly had imagination 
now resumed her empire — that the splendid 
promise of my dream was on the very point of 
being realized ! 

With surprise, however, and, for the moment, 
with some disappointment, I perceived, that the 
massy corner of the Veil was but lifted suffi- 
ciently from the ground to allow a female figure 
to emerge from under it — and then fell over its 
mystic splendors as utterly dark as before. By 
the strong light, too, that issued when the dra- 
pery was raised, and illuminated the profile of 
the emerging figure, I either saw, or fancied 
that I saw, the same bright features, that had 
already so often mocked me with their moment- 
ary charm, and seemed destined, indeed, to 
haunt my fancy as unavailingly as even the fond, 
vain dream of Immortality itself. 

Dazzled as I had been by that short gush of 
splendor, and distrusting even my senses, when 
under the influence of so much excitement, I 
I had but just begun to question myself as to 
the reality of my impression, when I heard the 
Bounds of light footsteps approaching me through 
the gloom. In a second or two more, the figure 



I In addition to the accounts which the ancients have left 

s of the prodigious exca/ations in all parts of Egypt — the 

90 



stopped before me, and, placing the end of a 
ribbon gently in my hand, said, in a tremulous 
whisper, " Follow, and be silent." 

So sudden and strange was the adventure, 
that, for a moment, I hesitated — fearing that 
my eyes might possibly have been deceived as 
to the object they had seen. Casting a look 
towards the Veil, which seemed bursting with 
its luminous secret, I was almost doubting to 
which of the two chances I should commit my- 
self, when I felt the ribbon in my hand pulled 
softly at the other extremity. This movement, 
like a touch of magic, at once decided me. 
Without any further deliberation, I yielded to 
the silent summons, and following my guide, 
who was already at some distance before me, 
found myself led up the same flight of marble 
steps, by which the Priest had conducted me 
into the Sanctuary. Arrived at their summit, I 
felt the pace of my conductress quicken, and 
giving one more look to the Veiled Shrine, 
whose glories we left burning uselessly behind 
us, hastened onward into the gloom, full of con- 
fidence in the belief, that she, who now held the 
other end of that clew, was one whom I was 
ready to follow devotedly through the world. 



CHAPTER XI. 

With such rapidity was I hurried along by 
my unseen guide, full of wonder at the speed 
with which she ventured through these laby- 
rinths, that I had but little time for reflection 
upon the strangeness of the adventure to which 
I had committed myself. My knowledge of the 
character of the Memphian priests, as well as 
some fearful rumors that had reached me, con- 
cerning the fate that often attended unbelievers 
in their hands, awakened a momentary suspi- 
cion of treachery in my mind. But, when I 
recalled the face of my guide, as I had seen it 
in the small chapel, with that divine look, the 
very memory of which brought purity into the 
heart, I found my suspicions all vanish, and 
felt shame at having harbored them but an 
instant. 

In the mean while, our rapid course continued 
without any interruption, through windings 
even more capriciously intricate ' than any I 
had yet passed, and whose thick gloom seemed 

fifteen hundred chambers under the labyrinth — the subter- 
ranean stables of the Thebaid, containing a thousand horses 



714 



THE EPICUREAN. 



'1 



never to have been broken by a single glimmer 
of light. My unseen conductress was still at 
some distance before me, and the slight clew, to 
which I clung as if it were Destiny's own 
thread, was still kept, by the speed of her 
course, at full stretch between us. At length, 
suddenly stopping, she said, in a breathless 
whisper, " Seat thyself here ; " and, at the same 
moment, led me by the hand to a sort of low 
car, in which, obeying her brief command, I 
lost not a moment in placing myself, while the 
maiden, no less promptly, took her seat by my 
side. 

A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, 
was then heard, and the car — which, as I had 
felt in entering it, leaned half way over a steep 
descent — on being let loose from its station, 
shot down, almost perpendicularly, into the 
darkness, with a rapidity which, at first, nearly 
deprived me of breath. The wheels slid 
smoothly and noiselessly in grooves, and the 
impetus, which the car acquired in descending, 
was sufficient, I perceived, to carry it up an 
eminence that succeeded — from the summit 
of which it again rushed down another decliv- 
ity, even still move long and precipitous than 
the former. In this manner we proceeded, by 
alternate falls and rises, till, at length, from the 
last and steepest elevation, the car descended 
upon a level of deep sand, where, after run- 
ning for a few yards, it by degrees lost its mo- 
tion and stopped. 

Here, the maiden alighting again placed the 
ribbon in my hands — and again I followed her, 
though with more slowness and difficulty than 
before, as our way now led up a flight of damp 
and time-worn steps, whose ascent seemed to 
the wearied and insecure foot interminable. 
Perceiving with what languor my guide ad- 
vanced, I was on the point of making an effort 
to assist her progress, when the creak of an 
opening door aboj'e, and a faint gleam of light 
which, at the same moment, shone upon her 



— the crypts of Upper Egypt passing umler the bed of the 
Nile, &c. &c. — the stories and traditions current among the 
Arabs still preserve the memory of those wonderful sub- 
structions. " Un Arabe," says Paul Lucas, " qui eloit avec 
nous, m'assura qu'elant entre autrefois dans de Lahyrinthe, 
il avcit inarclie dans les cliambres souterraines jusqu'en un 
lieu oil il y avuit line grande place environnee de plusieurs 
niches qui ressenibloit 4 de petites boutiques, d'oii I'on en- 
troit dans d'autres allees et dans chauibres, sans pouvoir en 
trouver la fin." In speaking, ton, of the arcades along the 
Nile, near Cosseir, " Us nie dirent menie que ces souter- 
raines etoient si profondes qii'il yen avoient qui alloient i 
Irois jourii^es de U, et ru'ils conduisoient dans un pays ou 



figure, apprised me that we were at last arrived 
within reach of sunshine. 

Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, 
by the dim light, could discern, that we were 
now in the sanctuary of a vast, ruined temple 
— having entered by a secret passage under the 
pedestal, upon which an image of the idol of 
the place once stood. The first movement of 
the young maiden, after closing again the portal 
under the pedestal, was, without even a single 
look towards me, to cast herself down upon her 
knees, with her hands clasped and uplifted, as 
if in thanksgiving or prayer. But she was un- 
able, evidently, to sustain herself in this posi- 
tion ; — her strength could hold out no longer. 
Overcome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk 
senseless upon the pavement. 

Bewildered as I was myself, by the strange 
events of the night, I stood for some minutes 
looking upon her in a state of helijlessncss and 
alarm. But, reminded, by my own feverish 
sensations, of the reviving effects of the air, I 
raised her gently in my arms, and crossing the 
corridor that surrounded the sanctuary, found 
my way to the outer vestibule of the temple. 
Here, shading her eyes from the sun, I placed 
her, reclining, upon the steps, where the cool 
north wind, then blowing freshly between the 
pillars, might play, with free draught, over her 
brow. 

It was, indeed — as I now saw, with certain- 
ty — the same beautiful and mysterious girl, 
who had been the cause of my descent into that 
subterranean world, and who now, under such 
strange and unaccountable cii-cumstances, was 
my guide back again to the realms of day. I 
looked around to discover where we w-ere, and 
beheld such a scene of grandeur, as, could ray 
eyes have been then attracted to any object but 
the pale form reclining at my side, might well 
have induced them to dwell on its splendid 
beauties. 

I was now standing, I found, on the small 



I'on voyoit de beaux jardins, qu'on y trouvoit de belles niai- 
sons," &.C. &.C. 

See also in M. Q^uatremire's Mnnoires snr I'Fgypte, torn, 
i. p. 142, an .iccount of a subterranean reservoir, said to have 
been discovered at Kais, and of the e.\peditiiin undertaken 
by a party of persons, in a long narrow boat, for the purpose 
of exploring it. " Leiir voyage avoit ete de six juiirs, dont 
jes quatre premiers furent employes 4 penetrer les hords , 
les deux autres i revenir au lieu d'oii ils etoient partis 
Pendant tout cet inlervalle ils ne purent alteindre I'extre 
mite du bassin. L'euiir Ala-eddin-Tamboga, gouverneur d« 
Behnesa, ecrivit ces details au sultan, qui en fut extreme- 
ment surpris." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



715 



island iii the centre of Lake Mocris ; ' and that 
sanctuary, where we had just emerged from 
darkness, formed part of the ruins of an ancient 
temple, which was (as I have since learned), in 
the grander days of Memphis, a place of pil- 
grimage for worshippers from all parts of Egypt. 
The fair Lake, itself, out of whose waters once 
rose pavilions, palaces, and even lofty pyra- 
mids, was still, though divested of many of 
these wonders, a scene of interest and splen- 
dor such as the whole world could not equal. 
"While the shores still sparkled with mansions 
and temples that bore testimony to the luxury 
of a living race, the voice of the Past, speaking 
out of unnumbered ruins, whose summits, here 
and there, rose blackly above the wave,'' told 
of times long fled, and generations long swept 
away, before whose giant remains all the glory 
of the present stood humbled. Over the south- 
ern bank of the Lake hung the dark relics of 
the Labyrinth ; — its twelve Royal Palaces, rep- 
resenting the mansions of the Zodiac — its thun- 
dering portals^ and constellated halls, having 
left nothing now behind but a few frowning 
ruins, which, contrasted with the soft groves of 
acacia and olive around them, seemed to rebuke 
the luxuriant smiles of nature, and threw a 
melancholy grandeur over the whole scene. 

The effects of the air, in reanimating the 
young Priestess, were less speedy than 1 had 
expected ; — her eyes were still closed, and she 
remained pale and insentible. Alarmed, I now 
rested her head (which had been, for some time, 
supported by my arm) against the base of one 
of the columns, with my cloak for its pillow, 
while I hastened to wocure some water from 
the Lake. The temple stood high, and the 
descent to the shore was precipitous. But, my 
Epicurean habits having but little impaired my 
activity, I soon descended, with the lightness 
of a desert deer, to the bottom. Here, pluck- 
ing from a lofty bean tree, whose flowers stood, 
shining like gold, above the water, one of those 
large hollowed leaves that serve as cups ■• for 
the Hebes of the Nile, I filled it from the Lake, 
and hurried back with the cool draught towards 

1 The position here given to Lake Moeris, in making it 
the immediate boundary of the city of Memphis to the south, 
corresptinds exactly with the site assigned toil by Maillet: — 
" Memphis avoit encoie i son niidi un vaste reservoir, par 
ou tout ce qui pent servir a la coinmodite et i I'agrement de 
la vie lui ctoit voiture abondamment de tdutes les parties de 
I'Egypte. Ce lac qui la terininoit de ce c6te-la," &c. &c. 
Tom. ii. p. 7. 

2 " On voit sur la rive orientale dea antiquiles qui sont 
«esque ew.iirement sous les eaux." Behoni. 



the temple. It was not, however, without some 
difficulty that I at last succeeded in bearing my 
rustic chaHce steadily up the steep ; more than 
once did an unlucky slip waste all its contents, 
and as often did I return impatiently to refill it. 

During this time, the young maiden was fast 
recovering her animation and consciousness 
and, at the moment when I appeared above the 
edge of the steep, was just rising from the steps, 
with her hand pressed to her forehead, as if 
confusedly recalling the recollection of what 
had occurred. No sooner did she observe me, 
than a short cry of alarm broke from her lips. 
Looking anxiously round, as though she sought 
for protection, and half audibly uttering the 
words, " Where is he ? " she made an effort, as 
I approached, to retreat into the temple. 

Alread)', however, I was by her side, and 
taking her hand, as she turned away from me, 
gently in mine, asked, " Whom dost thou seek, 
fair Priestess ? " — thus, for the fii-st time, break- 
ing the silence she had enjoined, and in a tone 
that might have reassured the most timid 
spirit. But my words had no effect in calming 
her apprehension. Trembling, and with her 
eyes still averted towards the Temple, she 
continued in a voice of suppressed alarm, — 
" Where can he be ? — that venerable Athenian, 
that philosopher, who " 

" Here, here," I exclaimed, anxiously, inter- 
rupting her — " behold him still by thy side 
the same, the very same, who saw thee steal 
from under the Veils of the Sanctuary, whom 
thou hast guided by a clew through those laby- 
rinths below, and who now only waits his com- 
mand from those lips, to devote himself through 
life and death to thy service." As I spoke these 
words, she turned slowly round, and looking 
timidly in my face, while her own burned with 
blushes, said, in a tone of doubt and wonder, 
" Thou ,! " and then hid her eyes in her hands. 

I knew not how to interpret a reception so 
unexpected. That some mistake or disappoint- 
ment had occurred was evident ; but so inex- 
plicable did the whole adventure appear to mc, 
that it was in vain to think of unravelling any 

3 " auorundam autem domorum (in Labyrintho) talis est 
situs, ut adaperientibus fores tonitruum iutus tcrribile ex- 
istat." Pliny. 

i Slrabo. According to the French translator of Strabo, 
it was the fruit of the faba ^gyptiaca, not the leaf, that was 
used fur this purpose. " Le K(6u>ptoi>," he says, " devoit 
s'entendre de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, dont les 
Egypliens se servoieiit comme d'un vase, imagijisnt que 
I'eau du Nil y devenuit delicieuse." 



716 



THE EPICUREAN. 



part of it. Weak and agitated, she now tottered 
to the steps of the Temple, and there seating 
herself, with her forehead against the cold 
marble, seemed for some moments absorbed in 
the most anxious thought ; while silent and 
watchful I aAvaited her decision, though, at the 
same time, with a feeling which the result proved 
to be prophetic — that my destiny was, from 
thenceforth, linked inseparably with hers. 

The inward struggle by which she was agi- 
tated, though violent, was not of long continu- 
ance. Starting suddenly from her seat, with a 
look of terror towards the Temple, as if the fear 
of immediate pursuit had alone decided her, 
she pointed eagerly towards the East, and ex- 
claimed, " To the Nile, without delay ! " — 
clasping her hands, after she had thus spoken, 
with the most suppliant fervor, as if to soften 
the abruptness of the mandate she had given, 
and appealing to me at the same time, with a 
look that would have taught Stoics themselves 
tenderness. 

I L'St not a moment in obeying the welcome 
command. With a thousand wild hopes natu- 
rally crowding upon my fancy, at the thoughts 
of a voyage, under such auspices, I descended 
rapidly to the shore, and haihng one of those 
boats that ply upon the Lake for hire, arranged 
speedUy for a passage down the canal to the 
Nile. Having learned, too, from the boatmen, 
a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back 
to the Temple for my fair charge ; and without 
a word or look, that could alarm, even by its 
kindness, or disturb the innocent confidence 
which she now evidently reposed in me, led her 
doAvn by the winding path to the boat. 

Every thing around looked sunny and smiling 
as we embarked. The morning was in its first 
freshness, and the path of the breeze might 
clearly be traced over the Lake, as it went 
wakening up the waters from their sleep of the 
night. The gay, golden- winged birds that haunt 
these shores, were, in every direction, skimming 
along the Lake ; while, with a graver conscious- 
ness of beauty, the swan and the pelican were 
seen dressing their white plumage in the mirror 
of its wave. To add to the liveliness of the 
scene, there came, at intervals, on the breeze, a 
Bweet tinkling of musical instruments from 
boats at a distance, employed thus early in 



pursuing 



the fish of these waters,' that allow 



1 wE/ian, lib. vi. 32. 

2 Called Tlialameges, from the pavilion on tlie deck. 
Vide Stra!iO. 



themselves to be decoyed into the nets by 
music. 

The vessel I had selected for our voyage was 
one of those small pleasure boats or yachts " — 
so much in use among the luxurious navigators 
of the Nile — in the centre of which rises a 
pavilion of cedar or cypress wood, adorned 
richly on the outside, with religious emblems, 
and gayly fitted up, within, for feasting and 
repose. To the door of this pavilion I now led 
my companion, and, after a few words of kind- 
ness — tempered cautiously with as much reserve 
as the deep tenderness of my feeling towards 
her would admit — left her to court that restor- 
ing rest, which the agitation of her spirits so 
much required. 

For myself, though repose was hardly less 
necessary to me, the state of ferment in which I 
had been so long kept appeared to render it 
hopeless. Having thrown myself on the deck 
of the vessel, under an awning which the sailors 
had raised for me, I continued, for some hours, 
in a sort of vague daydream — sometimes pass- 
ing in review the scenes of that subterranean 
drama, and sometimes, with my eyes fixed in 
drowsy vacancy, receiving passively the impres- 
sions of the bright scenery through which we 
passed. 

The banks of the canal were then luxuriantly 
wooded. Under the tufts of the light and tow- 
ering palm were seen the orange and the citron, 
interlacing their boughs ; while, here and there, 
huge tamarisks thickened the shade, and, at the 
very edge of the bank, the willow of Babylon 
stood bending its graceful branches into the 
water. Occasionally, out of the depth of these 
groves, there shone a small temple or pleasure 
house ; — while, now and then, an opening in 
their line of foliage allowed the eye to wander 
over extensive fields, all covered with beds of 
those pale, sweet roses,^ for which this district 
of Egypt is so celebrated. 

The activity of the morning hour was visible 
in every direction. Flights of doves and lap- 
wings were fluttering among the leaves, and the 
white heron, which had been roosting all night 
in some date tree, now stood sunning its wings 
upon the green bank, or floated, like living 
silver, over the flood. The flowers, too, both 
of land and water, looked all just freshly 
awakened ; — and, most of all, the superb lotus. 



3 As April is the season for gathering these roses (see 
Maltr-Brun's Economical Calendar), the Epicurean could not, 
of course, mean to say that he saw them actually in flower 



THE EPICUREAN. 



71< 



which, having risen along vdih the sun from the 
wave, was now holding up her chalice for a full 
draught of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now successively- 
presented themselves, and mingled with the 
vague reveries that floated tlirough my mind, as 
our boat, with its high, capacious sail, swept 
along the flood. Though the occurrences of the 
last few days could not but appear to me one 
continued series of wonders, yet by far the 
greatest marvel of all was, that she, whose first 
look had sent wildfire into my heart — whom I 
had thought of ever since with a restlessness 
of passion, that would have dared all danger 
and wrong to obtain its object — sAe was now 
at this moment resting sacredly within that 
pavilion, while guarding her, even from myself, 
I lay motionless at its threshold. 

Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian 
height. The busy hum of the morning had 
died gradually away, and all around was sleep- 
ing in the hot stillness of noon. The Nile goose, 
having folded up her splendid wings, was lying 
motionless on the shadow of the sycamores in 
the water. Even the nimble lizards upon the 
bank ' appeared to move less nimbly, as the 
light fell on their gold and azure hues. Over- 
come as I was with watching, and w^eary with 
thought, it was not long before I yielded to the 
becalming influence of the hour. Looking fix- 
edly at the pavilion — as if once more to assure 
myself that I was in no dream or trance, but 
that the young Egyptian was really there — I 
felt my eyes close as I gazed, and in a few min- 
utes sunk into a profound sleep. 



CHAPTER XII. 

It was by the canal through which we now 
sailed,'' that, in the more prosperous days of 
Memphis, the commerce of Upper Egypt and 
Nubia was transported to her magnificent Lake, 
and from thence, having paid tribute to the 
queen of cities, was poured forth again, through 
the Nile, into the ocean. The course of this 
canal to the river was not direct, but ascending 
in a south-easterly direction towards the Said ; 
and in calms, or with adverse winds, the pas- 
sage was tedious. But as the breeze was now 



1 " L'or et I'azur brillent en bandes longitndinales sur 
leur corps entier. et leur queue est du plus beau bleu ce- 
este." Sonninu 



blowing freshly from the north, there was every 
prospect of our reaching the river before night- 
fall. Rapidly, too, as our galley swept along 
the flood, its motion was so smooth as to be 
hardly felt ; and the quiet gurgle of the waters, 
and the drowsy song of the boatman at the 
prow, were the only sounds that disturbed the 
deep silence which prevailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the 
Libyan hills, before the sleep, into which these 
sounds had contributed to lull me, was broken ; 
and the first object on which my eyes rested, in 
waking, was that fair young Priestess — seated 
within a porch which shaded the door of the 
pavilion, and bending intently over a small 
volume that lay unrolled on her lap. 

Her face was but half turned towards me ; 
and as she, once or twice, raised her eyes to the 
warm sky, whose light fell, softened through 
the trellis, over her cheek, I found all those 
feelings of reverence, which she had inspired 
me with in the chapel, return. There was even 
a purer and holier charm around her counte- 
nance, thus seen by the natural light of day, 
than in those dim and unhallowed regions be- 
low. She was now looking, too, direct to the 
glorious sky, and her pure eyes and that heaven, 
so worthy- of each other, met. 

After contemplating her for a few moments, 
with little less than adoration, I rose gently 
from my resting-place, and approached the pa- 
vilion. But the mere movement had startled 
her from her devotion, and, blushing and con- 
fused, she covered the volume with the folds of 
her robe. 

In the art of winning upon female confidence, 
I had long, of course, been schooled ; and, now 
that to the lessons of gallantry the inspiration 
o£ love was added, my ambition to please and 
to interest could hardly fail, it may bo supposed, 
of success. I soon foimd, however, how much 
less fluent is the heart than the fancy, and how 
very diff'crent may be the operations of making 
love and feeling it. In the few words of greet- 
ing now exchanged between us, it was evident 
that the gay, the enterprising Epicurean ■\\ as 
little less embarrassed than the secluded Priest- 
ess ; — and, after one or two ineff"ectual eff'orts 
to converse, the eyes of both turned bashfully 
away, and we relapsed into silence. 

From this situation — the result of timidity 



2 " Un Canal," says Maillet, <' trfis profond et tris large 
voituroit les eaux du Nil." 



718 



THE EPICUREAN. 



Dn one side, and of a feeling altogether new, on 
the other — we were, at length, relieved, after 
an interval of estrangement, by the boatmen 
announcing that the Nile was in sight. The 
countenance of the young Egyptian brightened 
at this intelligence ; and the smile with which 
I congratulated her upon the speed of our voy- 
age was responded to by another from her, so 
full of gratitude, that already an instinctive 
SA-mpathy seemed established between us. 

Wc were now on the point of entering that 
sacred river, of whose sweet waters the exile 
drinks in his dreams — for a draught of whose 
flood the royal daughters of the Ptolemies,' 
when far away, on foreign thrones, have been 
known to sigh in the midst of their splendor. 
As our boat, with slackened sail, was gliding 
into the current, an inquiry from the boatmen, 
whether they should anchor for the night in the 
Kile, first reminded me of the ignorance in 
which I still remained, with respect to the mo- 
tive or destination of our voyage. Embarrassed 
by their question, I directed my eyes towards 
the Priestess, whom I saw waiting for my an- 
swer with a look of anxiety, which this silent 
reference to her wishes at once dispelled. Un- 
folding eagerly the volume with which I had 
seen her so much occupied, she took from be- 
tween its folds a small leaf of papyrus, on which 
there appeared to be some faint lines of draw- 
ing, and after looking upon it thoughtfully for 
a'few moments, placed it, with an agitated hand, 
in mine. 

In the mean time, the boatmen had taken in 
their sail, and the yacht drove slowly down the 
river with the current, while, by a light Avhich 
had been kindled at sunset on the deck, I stood 
examining the leaf that the Priestess had given 
me — her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my coun- 
tenance all the while. The lines traced upon 
tlie papyrus were so faint as to be almost invis- 
ible, and I was for some time wholly unable to 
form a conjecture as to their import. At length, 
however, I succeeded in making out that they 
V. ere a sort of map, or outlines — traced slightly 
and unsteadily with a Memphian reed — of a 
part of that mountainous ridge by which Upper 
Egypt is bounded to the east, together with the 

1 " Anciennement on portoit les eanx dii Nil jtisqu'4 des 
contrees f.irt eloignees, et surtout rhez les princesses du 
Bang des Ptolomees, niariees dans des families etrangeres." 
De P.niiB. 

The water thus conveyed to other lands was, as we may 
tollpct from Juvenal, chiefly intended for the use of the 
Tc Holes of Isis, established in those countries. 



names, or rather emblems, of the chief towns in 
its immediate neighborhood. 

It was thither, I now saw clearly, that the 
young Priestess wished to pursue her course. 
Without further delay, therefore, I ordered the 
boatmen to set our yacht before the wind, and 
ascend the current. My command was prompt- 
ly obeyed ; the white sail again rose into the 
region of the breeze, and the satisfaction that 
beamed in every feature of the fair Egyptian 
showed that the quickness with which I had 
attended to her wishes was not unfelt by her. 
The moon had now risen ; and though the cur- 
rent was against us, the Etesian wind of the 
season blew strongly up the river, and we were 
soon floating before it, through the rich plains 
and groves of the Said. 

The love with which this simple girl had in- 
spired me, was partly, perhaps, from the mystic 
scenes and situations in which I had seen her, 
not unmingled with a tinge of superstitious awe, 
under the influence of which I felt the natural 
buoyancy of my spirit repressed. The few words 
that had passed between us on the subject of 
our route had somewhat loosened this spell; 
and what I wanted of vivacity and confidence 
was more than compensated by the tone of 
deep sensibility which love had aAvakened in 
their place. 

We had not proceeded far before the glitter- 
ing of lights at a distance, and the shooting up 
of fireworks, at intervals, into the air, apprised 
us that we were then approaching one of those 
night fairs, or marts, which it is the custom, at 
this season, to hold upon the Nile. To me 
the scene was familiar ; but to my young com- 
panion it was evidently a new world ; and the 
mixture of alarm and delight with which she 
gazed, from under her veil, upon the busy sceno 
into which we now sailed, gave an air of inno- 
cence to her beauty, which still more heiglit- 
ened its every charm. 

It was one of the widest parts of the river ; 
and the whole surface, from one bank to the 
other, was covered with boats. Along the banks 
of a green island, in the middle of the stream, 
lay anchored the gaUej's of the principal traders 
— large floating bazaars, bearing each the name 

Si Candida jusseril \ , 
Ihit ad yEgypti finem, calidaque petitas 
A Meroe portabit aquas, ut spargat in aide 
Isidis, antiquo quae proxima surgit ovili. 



THE EPICUREAX. 



719 



of its owner,' emblazoned in letters of flame, 
upon the stern. Over their decks were spread 
out, in gay confusion, the products of the loom 
and needle of Egypt — rich carpets of Memphis, 
and likewise those variegated veils, for which 
the female embroiderers of the Nile are so cele- 
brated, and to which the name of Cleopatra 
lends a traditional charm. In each of the other 
galleys was exhibited some branch, of Egyptian 
workmanship — viises of the fragrant porcelain 
of On -- cups of that frail crystal,^ whose hues 
change like those of the pigeon's plumage — 
enamelled amulets graven with the head of 
Anubis. and necklaces and bracelets of the black 
beans of Abyssinia.^ 

While Commerce was thus displaying her 
vari'-ius luxuries in one quarter, in every other, 
thp spirit of pleasure, in all its countless shapes, 
Bwarmed over the waters. Nor was the festiv- 
ity confined to the river alone ; as along the 
banks of the island and on the shores, illumi- 
nated mansions were seen glittering through the 
trees, from whence sounds of music and merri- 
ment came. In some of the boats were bands 
of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered 
each other, like echoes, across the wave ; and 
the notes of the lyre, the flageolet, and the 
sweet lotus-wood flute,^ were heard, in the 
pauses of revelry, dying along the waters. 

Meanwhile, from other boats stationed in the 
least-lighted places, the workers of fire sent 
forth their wonders into the air. Bursting out 
suddenly from time to time, as if in the very 
exuberance of joy, these sallies of flame ap- 
peared to reach the sky, and there, breaking 
into a shower of sparkles, shed such a splendor 
around, as brightened even the white Arabian 
hdls — making them shine as doth the brow of 
Mount Atlas at night,* when the fire from his 
own bosom is playing around its snows. 

The opportunity this mart aff'orded us, of pro- 
viding ourselves with some less remarkable ha- 



1 " Le notn du maitre y etoit 6crit, pendant la nuit, en 
lettres de feu." MiiUlet. 

2 C.illed Alassontes. For their brittleness Martial is an 
autliorily : — 

Tolle, puer, calices, tepidique toreumata Nili, 
Et iiiilii securS. pocula trade manu. 

" Sans parler ici des coupes d'un verre porte jusqu'i la 
purete du crystal, ni de celles qu'on appelldit Alassontes, et 
qu'on suppose avoir represente des figures dont les couleiirs 
changooient sulvant I'aspect sous lequel on les regarduit, 4 
pen I'res coinnie ce qu'on nomme vulgairement Gorge de 
^igetni," &.C. De Pauw. 

Tlie bean of the Glycyne, which is so beautiful as to be 



biliments than those in which we had escaped 
from that nether world, was too seasonable not 
to be gladly taken advantage of by bom. For 
myself, the strange mystic garb which I wore 
was sufficiently concealed by my Grecian man- 
tle, which I had fortunately thrown round me 
on the night of my watch. But the thin veil 
of my companion was a far less efficient dis- 
guise. She had, indeed, flung away the golden 
beetles from her hair ; but the sacred robe of 
her order was still too visible, and the stars of 
the bandelet shone brightly through her veil. 

Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself 
of this opportunity of a change ; and, as she 
took from out a casket — which, with the vol- 
ume I had seen her reading, appeared to be her 
only treasure — a small jewel, to give in ex- 
change for the simple garments she had chosen, 
there fell out, at the same time, the very cross 
of silver which I had seen her kiss, as nxRj be 
remembered, in the monumental chapel, and 
which was afterwards pressed to my own lips. 
This link between us (for such it now appeared 
to my imagination) called up again in my heart 
all the burning feelings of that moment ; — and, 
had I not abruptly turned away, my agitation 
would have but too plainly betrayed itself. 

The object, for which we had delayed in this 
gay scene, having been accomplished, the sail 
Avas again spread, and we proceeded on our 
course up the river. The sounds and the lights 
we left behind died gradually away, and we 
now floated along in moonlight and silence once 
more. Sweet dews, Avorthj' of being called 
" the tears of Isis," * fell refreshingly through 
the air, and every plant and flower sent its fra- 
grance to meet them. The wind, just strong 
enough to bear us smoothly against the current, 
scarce stirred the shadow of the tamarisks on 
the water. As the inhabitants from all quar- 
ters were collected at the night fair, the Nile 
was more than usually still and solitary. Such 



strung into necklaces and bracelets, is generally Known b> 
the name of the black bean of Abyssinia. Jf ebuhr 

1 See M. (''iUoteau un the musical instruments of the Egyp- 
tians. 

5 Solinus speaks of the snowy summit of Mount Atlas 
glittering with tlames at night. In the account of the Peri- 
plus of Hanno, as well as in that of Eudoxiis. we read that 
as tliose navigators were coasting this part ot Africa, tor- 
rents of light were seen to fall on the sea. 

8 " Per lacrymas, vero, Isidis intelligo effluvia qua;dam 
Lunas, quibus tantani viui videntur trihuisse .^Egypti." Ja- 
blonski. — He is of opinion that the superstition of the J\rac- 
ta, or miraculous drop, is a relic of the veneration paid to 
the dews, as the tears of Isis. 



720 



THE EPICUREAN. 



a silence, indeed, prevailed, that, as we glided 
near the shore, -we could hear the rustling of 
the acacias,' as the chameleons ran up their 
stems. It -vvas, altogether, such a night as only 
the climate of Egj^pt can boast, when the whole 
scene around lies lulled in that sort of bright 
tranquillity, which may be imagined to light the 
slumbers of those happy spirits, who are said to 
rest in the Valley of the Moon,* on their way 
to heaven. 

By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, 
side by side, on the deck of that bark, did we 
pursue our course up the lonely Nile — each a 
mystery to the other — our thoughts, our ob- 
jects, our very names a secret ; — separated, too, 
till now, by destinies so different ; the one, a 
gay voluptuary of the Garden of Athens, the 
other, a secluded Priestess of the Temples of 
Memphis ; — and the only relation yet estab- 
lished between us being that dangerous one of 
love, passionate love, on one side, and the most 
feminine and confiding dependence on the other. 

The passing adventure of the night fair had 
not only dispelled a little our mutual reserve, 
but had luckily furnished us with a subject on 
which we could converse without embarrass- 
ment. From this topic I took care to lead her, 
without any interruption, to others — being fear- 
ful lest our former silence should return, and 
the music of her voice again be lost to me. It 
was only, indeed, by thus indirectly unburden- 
ing my heart that I was enabled to avoid the 
disclosure of all I thought and felt; and the 
restless rapidity with which I flew from subject 
to subject was but an effort to escape from the 
only one in which my heart was really interested. 

"How bright and happy," said I — pointing 
up to Sothis, the fair Star of the Waters,^ which 
was just then shining brilliantly over our heads 
— " How bright and happy this world ought to 
be, if, as your Egyptian sages assert, j^on pure 
and beautiful luminary was its birthstar ! " * 
Then, still leaning back, and letting my eyes 
wander over the firmament, as if seeking to 
disengage them from the fascination which they 
dreaded — " To the study," I exclaimed, " for 
ages, of skies like this, may the pensive and mys- 
tic character of your nation be traced. That 
mixture of pride and melancholy which natu- 
rally arises, at the sight of those eternal lights 



1 Travels of Captain Mangles. 

2 Plutarch. Dupuis, torn. x. The Manicheans held the 
ame belief. See Beausobre, p. 5G5. 



shining out of darkness ; — that sublime, but 
saddened, anticipation of a Future, which steals 
sometimes over the soul in the silence of such 
an hour, when, though Death appears to reign 
in the deep stillness of earth, there are yet those 
beacons of ImmortaHty burning in the sky." 

Pausing, as I uttered the word ♦' immortality," 
with a sigh to thiiik how little my heart echoed 
to my lips, I looked in the face of my compan- 
ion, and saw that it had lighted up, as I spoke, 
into a glow of holy animation, such as Faith 
alone gives ; — such as Hope herself wears, when 
she is dreaming of heaven. Touched by the 
contrast, and gazing upon her with mournful 
tenderness, I found my arms half opened, to 
clasp her to my heart, while the words died 
away inaudibly upon my lips, — " Thou, too, 
beautiful maiden ! must thou, too, die forever r " 

My self-command, I felt, had nearly deserted 
me. Rising abruptly from my seat, I walked 
to the middle of the deck, and stood, for some 
moments, unconsciously gazing upon one of 
those fires, which — according to the custom of 
all who travel by night on the Nile — our boat- 
men had kindled, to scare away the crocodiles 
from the vessel. But it was in vain that I en- 
deavored to compose my spirit. Every effort I 
made but more deeply convinced me, that, till the 
mystery which hung around that maiden should 
be solved — till the secret, with which my o^vn 
bosom labored, should be disclosed — it was fruit- 
less to attempt even a semblance of tranquillity. 

My resolution was therefore taken ; — to lay 
open, at once, the feelings of my own heart, as 
far as such revealment might be hazarded, with- 
out startUng the timid innocence of my com- 
panion. Thus resolved, I resumed my seat, 
with more composure, by her side, and taking 
from my bosom the smaU mirror which she had 
dropped in the Temple, and which I had ever 
since worn suspended round my neck, presented 
it with a trembling hand to her view. The 
boatmen had just kindled one of their night 
fires near us, and its light, as she leaned for- 
ward to look at the mirror, fell upon her face. 

The quick blush of surprise with which she 
recognized it to be hers, and her look of bashful 
yet eager inquir}', in raising her eyes to mine, 
were appeals to which I was not, of course, 
tardy in answering. Beginning with the first 



3 'XSpaywyov is the epithet applied to this star by Plu- 
tarch, de Isid, 

* 'II SuSt'jf ai'oro^j) j-fcto-itoj Karapxovaa rns eii Tor 
Koapiov. Porphyr. de Antra Jit)/m.ph. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



721 



moment when I saw her in the Temple, and 
passhig hastily, but with words that burned, as 
they went, over the impression which she had 
fhen left upon my heart and fancy, I proceeded 
to describe the jjarticulars of my descent into 
«he pyramid — my surprise and adoration at 
the door of the chapel — my encounter with 
the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously pre- 
pared for me, and all the various visionary 
wonders I had witnessed in that region, till the 
moment when I had seen her stealing from 
under the Veils to approach me. 

Though, in detailing these events, I had said 
but little of the feelings they had awakened in 
me — though my lips had sent back many a 
sentence, unuttered, there was still enough that 
could neither be subdued nor disguised, and 
which, like that light from under the veils of 
her own Isis, glowed through every word that I 
spoke. When I told of the scene in the chapel 
— of the silent interview which I had witnessed 
between the dead and the living — the maiden 
leaned down her head and wept, as from a heart 
full of tears. It seemed a pleasure to her, how- 
ever, to listen ; and, when she looked at me 
again, there was an earnest and affectionate 
cordiality in her eyes, as if the knowledge of 
my having been present at that mournful scene 
had opened a new source of sympathy and in- 
telligence between us. So neighboring are the 
fountains of Love and of Sorrow, and so im- 
perceptibly do they often mingle their streams. 

Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or de- 
sign, in my manner and conduct towards this 
innocent girl, not all the most experienced gal- 
lantry of the Garden could have dictated a 
policy half so seductive as that which my new 
master. Love, now taught me. The same ardor 
which, if shown at once, and without reserve, 
might probably have startled a heart so little 
prepared for it, being now checked and soft- 
ened by the timidity of real love, won its way 
without alarm, and, when most diffident of 
success, was then most surely on its way to 
triumph. Like one whose slumbers are grad- 
ually broken by sweet music, the maiden's 
heart was awakened without being disturbed. 
She followed the co^irse of the charm, uncon- 
scious whither it led, nor was even aware of the 
flame she had lighted in another's bosom, till star- 
tled by the reflection of it glimmering in her own. 

Impatient as I was to appeal to her gener- 



1 Vide ffilford on Egijpt and the JVile, Asiatic Researches, d'un buis qui a une odeur semblable i celle de I'eiicens 
« " A I'ipoque de la criie le Nil V( rt cliarrie les planches [ Q,uatremere. 



osity and sympathy, for a similar proof of con- 
fidence to that which I had just given, the 
night was now too far advanced for me to im- 
pose upon her such a task. After exchanging 
a few words, in which, though little met the 
ear, there was, on both sides, a tone and man- 
ner that spoke far more than language, we took 
a lingering leave of each other for the night, 
with every prospect, I fondly hoped, of being 
still together in our dreams. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

It was so near the dawn of day when we 
parted, that we found the sun sinking west- 
ward when we rejoined each other. The smile, 
so frankly cordial, with which she met me, 
might have been taken for the greeting of a long 
mellowed friendship, did not the blush and the 
cast-down eyelid that followed betray sjTnptoms 
of a feeling newer and less calm. For myself, 
lightened as I was, in some degree, by the 
avowal which I had made, I was yet too con- 
scious of the new aspect thus given to our in- 
tercourse, not to feel some little alarm at the pros- 
pect of returning to the theme. We were both, 
therefore, alike willing to allow our attention to 
be diverted, by the variety of strange objects 
that presented themselves on the way, from a 
subject that evidently both were alike unwill- 
ing to approach. 

The river was now all stirring with commerce 
and life. Every instant we met with boats 
descending the current, so wholly independent 
of aid from sail or oar, that the mariners sat idly 
on the deck as they shot along, either singing 
or playing upon their double-reeded pipes. 
The greater number of these boats came laden 
with those large emeralds, from the mine in 
the desert, whose colors, it is said, are brightest 
at the full of the moon ; while some brought 
cargoes of frankincense from the acacia groves 
near the Red Sea. On the decks of others, 
that had been, as we learned, to the Golden 
Mountains ' beyond Syene, were heaped blocks 
and fragments of that sweet-smelling wood,- 
which is yearly Avashed down, by the Green 
Nile of Nubia, at the season of the floods. 

Our companions up the stream were far less 
numerous. Occasionally a boat, returning light- 



THE EPICUREAN. 



ened from the fair of last night, shot rapidly- 
past us, with those high sails that catch every 
breeze from over the hills ; — while, now and 
then, we overtook one of those barges full of 
bees,' that are sent at this season to colonize the 
gardens of the south, and take advantage of the 
first flowers after the inundation has passed 
away. 

For a short time, this constant variety of objects 
enabled us to divert so far our conversation as 
to keep it from lighting upon the one, sole sub- 
ject, round which it constantly hovered. But 
the effort, as might be expected, was not long 
successful. As evening advanced, the whole 
scene became more solitary. "We less frequently 
ventured to look upon each other, and our in- 
tervals of silence grew more long. 

It was near sunset, when, in passing a small 
temple on the shore, whose porticoes were now 
full of the evening light, we saw issuing from a 
thicket of acanthus near it, a train of young 
maidens gracefully linked together in the dance 
by stems of the lotus held at arms' length be- 
tween them. Their tresses were also wreathed 
with this gay emblem of the season, and in such 
profusion were its white flowers twisted around 
their waists and arms,' that they might have 
been taken, as they lightly bounded along the 
bank, for Nymphs of the Nile, then freshly 
risen from their bright gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few minutes at this sacred 
dance, the maiden turned away her eyes, with a 
look of pain, as if the remembrances it recalled 
were of no welcome nature. This momentary 
retrospect, this glimpse into the past, appeared 
to offer a sort of clew to the secret for which I 
panted ; — and accordingly I proceeded, as grad- 
ually and delicately as my impatience would 
allow, to avail myself of the opening. Her 
0'^^^l frankness, however, relieved me from the 
embarrassment of much questioning. She ap- 
peared even to feel that the confidence I sought 
was due to me ; and beyond the natural hesita- 
tion of maidenly modesty, not a shade of reserve 
or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own touching 
words, the simple story which she now related 
to me, would be like endeavoring to note down 
some unpremeditated strain of music, Avith all 
those fugitive graces, those felicities of the mo- 



1 Maillet. 

s "On les voit comme jadis cueillir dans les champs des 
tiges du lotus, signes du debordement et presages de I'abon- 
dance ; ils s'enveloppent les bras et lo corps avec les longues 



ment, which no art can restore, as they first met 
the ear. From a feeling, too, of humility, she 
had omitted in her short narrative several par- 
ticulars relating to herself, which I afterwards 
learned ; — while others, not less important, 
she but slightly passed over, from a fear of 
offending the prejudices of her heathen hearer. 
I shall, therefore, give her story, not a^i she, 
herself, sketched it, but as it was afterwards 
filled up by a pious and venerable hand — far, 
far more worthy than mine of being associated 
with the memory of such purity. 

STORY OF ALETHE. 

" The mother of this maiden was the beauti- 
ful Theora of Alexandria, who, though a native 
of that city, was descendecifrom Grecian parents. 
When very young, Theora was one of the seven 
maidens selected to note down the discourses of 
the eloquent Origen, who, at that period, pre- 
sided over the School of Alexandria, and Avas in 
all the fulness of his fame both among Pagans 
and Christians. Endowed richly with the learn- 
ing of both creeds, he brought the natural light 
of philosophy to illustrate the mysteries of faith, 
and was then only proud of his knowledge of 
the wisdom of this world, when he found it min- 
ister usefully to the triumph of divine truth. 

*' Although he had courted in vain the croAvn 
of martyrdom, it was held, through his whole 
life, suspended over his head, and, in more than 
one persecution, he had shown himself cheer- 
fully ready to die for that holy faith which he 
lived but to testify and uphold. On one of 
these occasions, his tormentors, having habited 
him like an Egyptian priest, placed him upon 
the steps of the Temple of Serapis, and com- 
manded that he should, in the manner of the 
Pagan ministers, present palm branches to the 
miiltitude who went up into the shrine. But 
the courageous Christian disappointed their 
views. Holding forth the branches with an 
unshrinking hand, he cried aloud, • Come hither 
and take the branch, not of an Idol Temple, but 
of Christ.' 

" So indefatigable was this learned Father in 
his studies, that, while composing his Com- 
mentary on the Scriptures ^ he was attended by 
seven scribes or notaries, who relieved each 



tiges fleuries, et parcourent les rues," &c. Description des 
Tombeaux des Rois par M. Costaz. 

3 It was during the composition of his great critical work, 
•lie Hexapla, that Origen employed these female scribes 



THE EPICUREAN. 



723 



other in recording the dictates of his eloquent 
tongue ; while the same number of young 
females, selected for the beauty of their pen- 
manship, were employed in arranging and 
transcribing the precious leaves. 

" Among the scribes so selected, was the fair 
j-Qung Theora, whose parents, though attached 
to the Pagan worship, were not unwilling to 
profit by the accomplishments of their daughter, 
thus occupied in a task, which they looked on 
as purely mechanical. To the maid herself, 
however, her emploj'ment brought far other 
feelings and consequences. She read anxiously 
as she wrote, and the divine truths, so eloquently 
illustrated, found their way, by degrees, from 
the page to her heart. Deeply, too, as the 
written words affected her, the discourses from 
the lips of the great teacher himself, which she 
had frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk 
still more deeply into her mind. There was, at 
once, a sublimity and gentleness in his views of 
religion, which to the tender hearts and lively 
imaginations of women, never failed to appeal 
with convincing power. Accordingly, the list 
of his female pupils Avas numerous ; and the 
names of Barbara, Juliana, HeraTs, and others, 
bear honorable testimony to his influence over 
that sex. 

" To Theora the feeling, with which his dis- 
ccurses inspired her, was like a new soul — a 
consciousness of spiritual existence, never before 
fi It. By the eloquence of the comment she was 
av>"akened into admiration of the text ; and 
when, by the kindness of a Catechumen of the 
school, who had been struck by her innocent 
zeal, she, for the first time, became possessor of 
a copy of the Scriptures, she could not slcejD for 
thinking of her sacred treasure. With a mix- 
ture of pleasure and fear she hid it from all 
eyes, and was like one who had received a divine 
guest under her roof, and felt fearful of betray- 
ing its divinity to the world. 

" A heart so awake would have been with 
ease secured to the faith, had her oi^portunities 
of hearing the sacred word continued. But 
circumstances arose to deprive her of this ad- 
vantage. The mild Origen, long harassed and 
thwarted in his labors by the tyranny of Deme- 
trius, Bishop of Alexandria, was obliged to 
relinquish his school and fly from Egpyt. The 
occupation of the fair scribe was, therefore, at 
an end : her intercourse with the followers of 
',he new faith ceased ; and the growing enthu- 
siasm of her heart gave way to more worldly 
Impressions. 



" Among other earthly feelings, love con- 
duced not a little to wean her thoughts from 
the true religion. While still very young, she 
became the wife of a Greek adventurer, who 
had come to Egypt as a purchaser of that rich 
tapestry,* in which the needles of Persia are 
rivalled by the looms of the Nile. Having 
taken his yoiuig bride to Memphis, which was 
still the great mart of this merchandise, he 
there, in the midst of his sj)eculations, died — 
leaving his widow on the point of becoming a 
mother, while, as yet, but in her nineteenth 
year. 

" For single and unprotected females, it has 
been, at all times, a favorite resource, to seek 
for employment in the service of some of those 
great temples by which so large a portion of the 
wealth and power of Egypt is absorbed. In 
most of these institutions there exists an order 
of Priestesses, which, though not hereditary, 
like that of the Priests, is provided for by am- 
ple endowments, and confers that dignity and 
station, with which, in a government so theo- 
cratic, Ileligion is sure to invest even her hum- 
blest handmaids. From the general policy of 
the Sacred College of Memphis, we may take 
for granted, that an accomplished female, lika 
Theora, found but little difficulty in being 
elected one of the Priestesses of Isis; and it 
was in the service of the subterranean shrhies 
that her ministry chiefly lay. 

" Here, a month or two after her admission, 
she gave birth to Alethe, who first opened her 
eyes among the unholy pomps and specious 
miracles of this mysterious region. Though 
Theora, as we have seen, had been diverted by 
other feelings from her first enthusiasm for the 
Christian faith, she had never wholly forgot the 
impression then made upon her. The sacred 
volume, which the pious Catechumen had given 
her, was stiU treasured with care ; and, though 
she seldom opened its pages, there was always 
an idea of sanctity associated with it in her 
memory, and often would she sit to look upon 
it with reverential pleasure, recalling the hap- 
piness she had felt when it was first made her 
own. 

*' The leisure of her new retreat, and the lone 
melancholy of widowhood, led her still more 
frequently to indulge in such thoughts, and to 
recur to those consoling truths which she had 
heard in the school of Alexandria. She now 



Non ego prstiilerim Babylon ica picta superb6 
Texta, Semiramia qusr viriantur acu. MartiaL 



724 



THE EPICUREAN. 



began to peruse eagerly the sacred volume, 
drinking deep of the fountain of which she 
before but tasted, and feeling — what thousands 
of mourners, since her, have felt — that Chris- 
tianity is the true and only religion of the sor- 
rowful. 

" This study of her secret hours became still 
more dear to her, as well from the peril with 
which, at that period, it was attended, as from 
the necessity she felt herself under of conceal- 
ing from those around her the precious light 
that had been thus kindled in her own heart. 
Too timid to encounter the fierce persecution, 
■which awaited all who were suspected of a lean- 
ing to Christianity, she continued to officiate in 
the pomps and ceremonies of the Temple ; — 
though, often, with such remorse of soul, that 
she would pause, in the midst of the rites, and 
pray inwardly to God, that he would forgive 
this profanation of his Spirit, 

<' In the mean time her daughter, the young 
Alethe, grew up still lovelier than herself, and 
added, every hour, both to her happiness and 
her fears. When arrived at a sufficient age, she 
was taught, like the other children of the priest- 
esses, to take a share in the service and cere- 
monies of the shrines. The duty of some of 
these young servitors ' was to look after the 
flowers for the altar ; — of others to take care 
that the sacred vases were filled every day with 
fresh water from the Nile. The task of some 
was to preserve, in perfect polish, those silver 
images of the Moon which the priests carried 
in processions ; while others were, as we have 
seen, employed in feeding the consecrated ani- 
mals, and in keeping their plumes and scales 
bright for the admiring eyes of their wor- 
shippers. 

"The office allotted to Alethe — the most 
honorable of these minor ministries — was to 
wait upon the sacred birds of the Moon, to feed 
them daily with those eggs from the Nile which 
they loved, and provide for their use that purest 
water, which alone these delicate birds will 
touch. This employment M'as the delight of 
her childish hours ; and that ibis, which Alci- 
phron (the Epicurean) saw her dance round in 
the temple, was, of all the sacred flock, her 
especial favorite, and had been daily fondled and 
fed by her from infancy. 

" Music, as being one of the chief spells of 

1 De Pauw, who differs in opinion from those who sup- 
posed women to be eligible to the higher sacerdotal offices in 
Egypt, thus enumerates the tasks to which their superin- 
tendence was, as he tiiinks, confined : — " Les femmes n'ont 



this enchanted region, was an accomplishment 
required of all its ministrants ; and the harp, 
the lyre, and the sacred flute, sounded nowhere 
so sweetly as through these subterranean gar- 
dens. The chief object, indeed, in the educa- 
tion of the youth of the Temple, was to fit 
them, by every grace of art and nature, to give 
eff"ect to the illusion of those shows and phan- 
tasms, in which the entire charm and secret of 
Initiation lay. 

" Among the means employed to support the 
old system of superstition, against the infidelity 
and, still more, the new Faith that menaced it, 
was an increased display of splendor and mar- 
vels in those Mysteries for which Egypt has so 
long been celebrated. Of these ceremonies so 
many imitations had, under various names, mul- 
tiplied throughout Europe, that at length the 
parent superstition ran a risk of being eclipsed 
by its progeny ; and, in order still to rank as 
the first Priesthood in the world, it became 
necessary for those of Egypt to remain still the 
best impostors. 

'< Accordingly, every contrivance that art 
could devise, or labor execute — every resource 
that the wonderful knowledge of the Priests, 
in pyrotechny, mechanics, and dioptrics, could 
command — was brought into action to heighten 
the eff'ect of their Mysteries, and give an air of 
enchantment to every thing connected with 
them. 

" The final scene of beatification — the Elys- 
ium, into which the Initiate was received — 
formed, of course, the leading attraction of these 
ceremonies ; and to render it captivating alike 
to the senses of the man of pleasure, and the 
imagination of the spiritualist, was the great 
object to which the attention of the Sacred Col- 
lege was devoted. By the influence of the 
Priests of Memphis over those of the other 
Temples they had succeeded in extending their 
subterranean frontier, both to the north and 
south, so as to include, within their ever-lighted 
Paradise, some of the gardens excavated for the 
use of the other Twelve Shrines. 

" The beauty of the young Alethe, the touch- 
ing sweetness of her voice, and the sensibility 
that breathed throughout her every look and 
movement, rendered her a powerful auxiliary 
in such appeals to the imagination. She had 
been, accordingly, in her very childhood, se- 

pu tout au plus dans I'ordre secondaire s'acquitter que da 
quelques emplois sans consequence ; comme de nourrir des 
scarab^es, des musaraignes et d'autres petits animauK sa 
cres." Tom. i. sect '> 



THE EPICUREAN. 



725 



lected from among her fair companions, as the 
most worthy representative of spiritual loveli- 
ness, in those pictures of Elysium — those scenes 
of another world — hy which not only the fan- 
cy, but the reason, of the excited Aspirants 
was dazzled. 

" To the innocent child herself these shows 
were pastime. But to Theora, who knew too 
well the imposition to which they were sub- 
servient, this profanation of all that she loved 
was a perpetual source of horror and remorse. 
Often would she — when Alethe stood smiling 
before her, arrayed, perhaps, as a spirit of the 
Elysian world — turn away, with a shudder, 
from the happy child, almost fancying sh' ?aw 
already the shadows of sin descending ov that 
innocent brow, as she gazed upon it. 

" As the intellect of the young maid became 
more active and inquiring, the apprehensions 
and difficulties of the mother increased. Afraid 
to communicate her own precious secret, lest 
she should involve her child in the dangers that 
encompassed it, she yet felt it to be no less a 
cruelty than a crime to leave her wholly im- 
mersed in the darkness of Paganism. In this 
dilemma, the only resource that remained to her 
was to select, and disengage from the dross that 
surrounded them, those pure particles of truth 
which lie at the bottom of all religions ; — those 
feelings, rather than doctrines, of which God 
has never left his creatures destitute, and which, 
in all ages, have furnished, to those who sought 
after it, some clew to his glory. 

*' The unity and perfect goodness of the Crea- 
tor ; the fall of the human soul into corruption ; 
its struggles with the darkness of this world, 
and its final redemption and reascent to the 
source of all spirit ; — these natural solutions 
of the problem of our existence, these element- 
ary grounds of all religion and virtue, which 
Theora had heard illustrated by her Christian 
teacher, lay also, she knew, veiled under the 
theology of Egypt; and to impress them, in 
their abstract purity, upon the mind of her sus- 
ceptible pupil, was, in default of more heaven- 
ly lights, her sole ambition and care. 

" It was generally their habit, after devoting 
their mornings to the service of the Temple, to 
pass their evenings and nights in one of those 
small mansions above ground, allotted, within 
the precincts of the Sacred College, to some of 
the most favored Priestesses. Here, out of the 
reach of those gross superstitions, which pur- 
lued them, at every step, below, she endeavored 



to inform, as far as she could venture, the mind 
of her beloved girl ; and found it lean as natu- 
rally and instinctively to truth, as plants long 
shut up in darkness will, when light is let in 
upon them, incline themselves to its rays. 

*' Frequently, as they sat together on the ter- 
race at night, admiring that glorious assembly 
of stars, whose beauty first misled mankind into 
idolatry, she would explainto the young listener 
by what gradations of error it was that the 
worship, thus transferred from the Creator to 
the creature, sunk still lower and lower in the 
scale of being, till man, at length, presumed to 
deify man, and by the most monstrous of inver- 
sions, heaven was made the mere mirror of 
earth, reflecting back all its most earthly 
features. 

"Even in the Temple itself, the anxious 
mother would endeavor to interpose her purer 
lessons among the idolatrous ceremonies in 
which they were engaged. When the favorite 
ibis of Alethe took its station upon the shrine, 
and the young maiden was seen approaching, 
with all the gravity of worship, the very bird 
which she had played with but an, hour before 
— when the acacia bough, which she herseK 
had plucked, seemed to acquire a sudden sa- 
credness in her eyes, as soon as the priest had 
breathed upon it — on all such occasions Theo- 
ra, though with fear and trembling, would ven- 
ture to suggest to the youthful worshipper the 
distinction that should be drawn between the 
sensible object of adoration, and that spiritual, 
unseen Deity, of which it was but the remem- 
brancer or type. 

" "With sorrow, however, she soon discovered 
that, in thus but partially letting in light upon & 
mind far too ardent to rest satisfied with such 
glimmerings, she but bewildered the heart which 
she meant to guide, and cut down the feeble 
hope around which its faith twined, without 
substituting any other support in its place. As 
the beauty, too, of Alethe began to attract all 
eyes, new fears crowded upon the mother's 
heart ; — fears, in which she was but too much 
justified by the characters of some of those 
around her. 

" In this sacred abode, as may easily be con- 
ceived, morality did not always go hand in hand 
with religion. The hj'pocritical and ambitious 
Orcus, who was, at this period, High Priest of 
Memphis, was a man, in every respect, qualified 
to preside over a system of such splendid fraud. 
He had reached that effective time of life, when 



726 



THE EPICUREAN. 



enough of the warmth and vigor of youth re- 
mains to give animation to the counsels of age. 
But, in his instance, youth had left only the 
baser passions behind, while age but brought 
with it a more refined maturity of mischief. 
The advantages of a faith ajjpealing almost 
wholly to the senses, were well understood by 
him ; nor had he failed either to discover that, 
in order to render religion subservient to his 
own interests, he must shape it adroitly to the 
interests and passions of others. 

"The state of anxiety and remorse in which 
the mind of the hapless Theora was kept bj*- the 
scenes, however artfully veiled, which she daily 
witnessed around her, became at length intoler- 
able. No perils that the cause of truth could 
bring with it would be half so dreadful as this 
endurance of sinfulness and deceit. Her child 
was, as yet, pure and innocent ; but, without 
that sentinel of the soul, Religion, how long 
might she continue so ? 

" This thought at once decicjed her ; all other 
fears vanished before it. S^' tesolved instantly 
to lay open to Alethe .mG whole secret of her 
soul ; to make this child, who was her only hope 
on earth, the sharer of all her hopes in heaven, 
and then fly with her, as soon as possible, from 
this unhallowed spot, to the far desert — to the 
mountains — to any place, however desolate, 
where God and the consciousness of innocence 
might be with them. 

" The promptitude with which her young pu- 
pil caught from her the divine truths was even 
beyond what she expected. It was like the 
lighting of one torch at another, so prepared 
was Alethe's mind for the illumination. Am- 
ply, indeed, was the anxious mother now repaid 
for all her misery, by this perfect communion of 
love and faith, and by the delight, with which 
she saw her beloved child — like the young 
antelope, when first led by her dam to the well 
— drink thirstily by her side, at the source of 
all life and truth. 

" But such happiness was not long to last. 
The anxieties that Theora had suffered began to 
prey upon her health. She felt her strength 
daily decline ; and the thoughts of leaving, 
alone and unguarded in the world, that treasure 
which she had just devoted to Heaven, gave her 
a feeling of despair which but hastened the ebb 
of life. Had she put in practice her resolution 
of flying from this place, her child might have 
been now beyond the reach of all she dreaded, 
and in the solitude of the desert would have 



found at least safety from wrong. But the vorj 
happiness she had felt in her new task diverted 
her from this project ; — and it was now too late, 
for she was already dying. 

" She still continued, however, to conceal the 
state of her health from the tender and sanguine 
girl, who, though observing the traces of disease 
on her mother's cheek, little Knew that they were 
the hastening footsteps of death, nor even thought 
of the possibility of ever losii.g what was so 
dear to her. Too soon, however, the moment 
of separation arrived ; and while the anguish 
and dismay of Alethe were in proportion to the 
security in which she had indulged, Theora, 
too, fo\t, with bitter regret, that she had sacri- 
ficed L her fond consideration much precious 
time, a. 1 that there now remained but a few 
brief and painful moments, for the communica- 
tion of all those wishes and instructions on 
which the future destiny of the young orphan 
depended. 

" She had, indeed, time for little more than 
to place the sacred volume solemnly in her 
hands, to implore that she would, at all risks, 
fly from this unholy place, and pointing in the 
direction of the mountains of the Said, to name, 
with her last breath, the venerable man, to 
whom, under Heaven, she looked for the pro- 
tection and salvation of her child. 

" The first violence of feeling to which Aletlie 
gave way was succeeded by a fixed and tearless 
grief, which rendered her insensible, for some 
time, to the dangers of her situation. Her sole 
comfort consisted in visiting that monumental 
chapel where the beautiful remains of Theora 
lay. There, night after night, in contemplation 
of those placid features, and in prayers for the 
peace of the departed spirit, did she jjass her 
lonely, and — however sad they were — happiest 
hours. Though the mystic emblems that doc- 
orated that chapel were but ill suited to the 
slumber of a Christian, there was one among 
them, the Cross, which, by a remarkable coin- 
cidence, is an emblem alike common to the 
Gentile and the Christian — being, to the 
former, a shadowy type of that immortality, of 
which, to the latter, it is a substantial and as- 
suring pledge. 

" Nightly, upon this cross, which she had 
often seen her lost mother kiss, did she breathe 
forth a solemn and heartfelt vow, never to aban 
don the faith which that departed sinrit had 
bequeathed to her. To such enthusiasm, in- 
deed, did her heart at such moments rise, that, 



THE EPICUREAN. 



727 



but for the last injunctions from those pallid 
lips, she woiild, at once, have avowed her peril- 
ous secret, and boldly pronounced the words, 
* I am a Christian,' among those benighted 
shrines ! 

"But the will of her, to whom she owed more 
than life, was to be obeyed. To escape from 
this haunt of superstition must now, she felt, 
be her first object ; and, in planning the means 
of effecting it, her mind, day and night, was 
employed. It was with a loathing not to be 
concealed, that she now found herself compelled 
to resume her idolatrous services at the shrine. 
To some of the offices of Theora she succeeded, 
as is the custom, by inheritance ; and in the 
performance of these tasks — sanctified as they 
were in her eyes by the pure spirit she had seen 
engaged in them — there was a sort of melan- 
choly pleasure in which her sorrow found relief. 
But the part she was again forced to take, in 
the scenic shows of the Mysteries, brought with 
it a sense of degradation and wrong which she 
could no longer endure. 

" Already had she formed, in her own mind, a 
plan of escape, in which her acquaintance with 
all the windings of this mystic realm gave her 
confidence, when the solemn reception of Alci- 
phron, as an Initiate, took place. 

" From the moment of the landing of that 
philosopher at Alexandria, he had become an 
object of suspicion and watchfulness to the in- 
quisitorial Orcus, whom philosophy, in any 
shape, naturally alarmed, but to whom the sect 
over which the young Athenian presided was 
particularly obnoxious. The accomplishments 
of Alciphron, his popularity, wherever he went, 
and the bold freedom with which he indulged 
his wit at the expense of religion, were all faith- 
fully reported to the High Priest by his spies, 
and awakened in his mind no kindly feelings 
towards the stranger. In dealing with an in- 
fidel, such a personage as Orcus could know no 
other alternative but that of either converting 
or destroying him ; and though his spite, as a 
man, would have been more gratified by the 
latter proceeding, his pride, as a priest, led him 
to prefer the triumph of the former. 

" The first descent of the Epicurean into the 
pyramid became speedily known, and the alarm 
was immediately given to the priests below. As 
soon as they had discovered that the young phi- 
losopher of Athens was the intruder, and that 
he not only still continued to linger round the 
pyramid, but was observed to look often and 
■wistfuUy tovards the portal, it was concluded 



that his curiosity would impel him to try a 
second descent ; and Orcus, blessing the good 
chance which had thus brought the wild bird 
into his net, resolved not to suffer an oppor- 
tunity so precious to be wasted. 

" Instantly, the whole of that wonderful ma- 
chinery, by which the phantasms and illusions of 
Initiation are produced, were put in active prep- 
aration throughout that subterranean realm j 
and the increased stir and vigilance awakened 
among its inmates, by this more than ordinary 
display of the resources of priestcraft, rendered 
the accomplishment of Alethe's purpose, at 
such a moment, peculiarly difficult. Wholly 
ignorant of the important share which it had 
been her own fortune to take in attracting the 
young philosopher down to this region, she but 
heard of him vaguely, as the Chief of a great 
Grecian sect, Avho had been led, by either cu- 
riosity or accident, to expose himself to the 
first trials of Initiation ; and whom the priests, 
she could see, were endeavoring to insnare in 
their toils, by every art and lure with which 
their dark science had gifted them. 

" To her mind, the image of a philosopher, 
such as Alciphron had been represented to her, 
came associated with ideas of age and reverence ; 
and, more than once, the possibility of his being 
made instrumental to her deliverance flashed a 
hope across her heart in which she could not 
refrain from indulging. Often had she been 
told by Theora of the many Gentile sages, who 
had laid their wisdom down humbly at the fool 
of the Cross ; and though this Initiate, she feared, 
could hardly be among the number, yet the 
rumors which she had gathered from the ser- 
vants of the Temple, of his undisguised con- 
tempt for the errors of heathenism, led her to 
hope she might find tolerance, if not sympathy, 
in her appeal to him. 

" Nor was it solely with a view to her own 
chance of deliverance that she thus connected 
him in her thoughts with the plan which she 
meditated. The look of proud and self-gratu- 
lating malice, with which the High Priest had 
mentioned this ' infidel,' as he styled him, when 
giving her instructions in the scene she was to 
act before the philosopher in the valley, too 
plainly informed her of the dark destiny that 
hung over him. She knew how many were the 
hapless candidates for Initiation, who had been 
doomed to a durance worse than that of the 
grave, for but a word, a whisper breathed agpinst 
the sacred absurdities they witnessed ; and ic 
was evident to her that the venerable Greek 



THE EPICUREAN. 



(for such her fancy represented Alciphron) was 
no less interested in escaping from the snares 
j and perils of this region than herself. 

" Her own resolution was, at all events, fixed. 
That visionary scene, in which she had appeared 
before Alciphron — little knowing how ardent 
were the heart and imagination, over which her 
beauty, at that moment, exercised its influence — 
was, she solemnly resolved, the very last unholy 
service, that superstition or imposture should 
ever command of her. 

*' On the following night the Aspirant was to 
watch in the Great Temple of Isis. Such an 
opportunity of approaching and addressing him 
might never come again. Should he, from com- 
passion for her situation, or a sense of the dan- 
ger of his own, consent to lend his aid to her 
flight, most gladly would she accept it — well 
assured that no danger or treachery she might 
risk could be half so odious and fearful as those 
which she left behind. Should he, on the con- 
trary, reject the proposal, her determination was 
equally fixed — to trust to that God whose eye 
■watches over the innocent, and go forth alone. 

" To reach the island in Lake Mceris was her 
first great object ; and there occurred fortu- 
nately, at this time, a mode of eff'ecting her pur- 
pose, by which "both the difficulty and dangers 
of the attempt would be much diminished. The 
day of the annual visitation of the High Priest 
to the Place of Weeping ' — as that island in 
the centre of the Lake is called — was now fast 
approaching ; and Alethe knew that the self- 
moving car, b}' which the High Priest and one 
of the Hierophants are conveyed down to the 
chambers under the Lake, stood then waiting 
in readiness. By availing herself of this expe- 
dient, she would gain the double advantage 
both of facilitating her own flight, and retard- 
ing the speed of her pursuers. 

" Having paid a last visit to the tomb of her 
beloved mother, and wept there, long and pas- 
sionately, tiU. her heart almost failed in the 
struggle — having paused, too, to give a kiss to 
her favorite ibis, which, although too much a 
Christian to worship, she was still child enough 
to love — she went early, with a trembUng step, 
to the Sanctuary, and there hid herself in one 
of the recesses of the Shrine. Her intention 
was to steal out from thence to Alciphron, while 
it was yet dark, and before the illumination of 
the great Statue behind the Veils had begun. 
But her fears delayed her till it was almost too 

1 Vide Wilford, Asiatic Researches, vol. iii. p. 340. 



late ; — already was the image lighted up, and 
still she remained trembling in her hiding-place. 

" In a few minutes more the mighty VeUs 
would have been withdrawn, and the glories 
of that scene of enchantment laid open — when, 
at length, summoning all her courage, and tak- 
ing advantage of a momentary absence of those 
employed in preparing this splendid mockery, 
she stole from under the Veil and found her 
way, through the gloom, to the Epicurean 
There was then no time for explanation ; — she 
had but to trust to the simple words, ' Follow, 
and be silent ; ' and the implicit readiness with 
which she found them obej^ed filled her with no 
less surprise than the philosopher himself had 
felt in hearing them. 

" In a second or two they were on their way 
through the subterranean windings, leaving the 
ministers of Isis to waste their splendors on va- 
cancy, through a long series of miracles and 
visions which they now exhibited — unconscious 
that he, whom they were taking such pains to 
dazzle, was already, under the guidance of the 
young Christian, far removed beyond the reach 
of theii- deceiving spells." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Such was the singular story, of which this 
innocent girl now gave me, in her own touching 
language, the outline. 

The sun was just rising as she finished her 
narrative. Fearful of encountering the expres- 
sion of those feelings with which, she could not 
but observe, I was affected by her recital, scarce- 
ly had she concluded the last sentence, when, 
rising abruptly from her seat, she hurried into 
the pavilion, leaving me with the words fast 
crowding for utterance to my lips. 

Oppressed by the various emotions thus sent 
back upon my heart, I lay down on the deck in 
a state of agitation, that defied even the most 
distant approaches of sleep. While every Avord 
she had uttered, every feeling she expressed, but 
ministered new fuel to that flame which con- 
sumed me, and to describe which, passion is far 
too weak a word, there was also much of her 
recital that disheartened and alarmed me. To 
find a Christian thus under the garb of a Mem- 
phian Priestess, was a discovery that, had my 
heart been less deeply interested, would but 
have more powerfully stimulated my imagina- 
tion and pride. But, when I recollected the 



THE EPICUREAN. 



729 



austerity of the faith she had embraced — the 
tender and sacred tie, associated with it in her 
memory, and the devotion of woman's heart to 
objects thus consecrated — her very perfections 
but widened the distance between xis, and all 
that most kindled my passion at the same time 
chiUed my hopes. 

Were we to be left to each other, as on this 
silent river, in such undisturbed communion of 
thoughts and feelings, I knew too well, I 
thought, both her sex's nature and my own, to 
feel a doubt that love would ultimately triumph. 
But the severity of the guardianship to which 
I must resign her — that of some monk of the 
desert, some stern Solitary — the influence such 
a monitor would gain over her mind — and the 
horror with which, ere long, he might teach her 
to regard the reprobate infidel upon whom she 
now smiled — in all this prospect I saw nothing 
but despair. After a few short hours, my dream 
of happiness would be at an end, and such a 
dark chasm must then open between our fates, 
as would dissever them, wide as earth from 
heaven, asunder. 

It was true, she was now wholly in my power. 
I feared no witnesses but those of earth, and 
the solitude of the desert was at hand. But 
though I acknowledged not a heaven, I wor- 
shipped her who was, to me, its type and sub- 
stitute. If, at any moment, a single thought 
of wrong or deceit, towards one so sacred arose 
in my mind, one look from her innocent eyes 
averted the sacrilege. Even passion itself felt a 
holy fear in her presence — like the flame trem- 
bling in the breeze of the sanctuary — and Love, 
pure Love, stood in place of Religion. 

As long as I knew not her story, I could in- 
dulge, at least, in dreams of the future. But, 
now — what expectation, what prospect re- 
mained ? My single chance of happiness lay in 
the hope, however delusive, of being able to di- 
vert her thoughts from the fatal project she 
meditated ; of weaning her, by persuasion and 
argument, from that austere faith, which I had 
before hated and now feared, and of attaching 
her, perhaps, alone and unlinked as she was in 
the world, to my own fortunes forever ! 

In the agitation of these thoughts, I had 
started from my resting-place, and continued to 
pace up and down, under a burning sun, till, 
exhausted both by thought and feeling, I sunk 
down, amid that blaze of light, into a sleep, 
which to my fevered brain seemed a sleep of fire. 
On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe laid 
carefully over my brow, while she, herself, sat 
92 



near me, under the shadow of the sail, looking 
anxiously upon that leaf; which her mother had 
given her, and employed apparently in com- 
paring its outlines with the course of the river, 
as well as with the forms of the rocky hills by 
which we were passing. She looked pale and 
troubled, and rose eagerly to meet me, as if she 
had long and impatiently waited for my waking. 
Her heart. It was plain, had been disturbed 
from its security, and was beginning to take 
alarm at its own feelings. But, though vaguely 
conscious of the peril to which she was exposed, 
her reliance, as is usual in such cases, increased 
with her danger, and upon me, far more than 
on herself, did she seem to depend for saving 
her. To reach, as soon as possible, her asylum 
in the desert, was now the urgent object of her 
entreaties and wishes ; and the self-reproach 
which she expressed at having, for a single mo- 
ment, suff"ered her thoughts to be diverted from 
this sacred purpose, not only revealed the truth, 
that she had forgotten it, but betrayed even a 
glimmering consciousness of the cause. 

Her sleep, she said, had been broken by ill- 
omened dreams. Every moment the shade of 
her mother had stood before her, rebuking, with 
mournful looks, her delay, and pointing, as she 
had done in death, to the eastern hills. Burst- 
ing into tears at this accusing recollection, she 
hastily placed the leaf, which she had been ex- 
amining, in my hands, and implored that I would 
ascertain, without a moment's delay, what por- 
tion of our voyage was still unperformed, and 
in what space of time we might hope to accom- 
plish it. 

I had, still less than herself, taken note of 
either place or distance ; and, could we have 
been left to glide on in this dream of happiness, 
should never have thought of pausing to ask 
where it would end. But such confidence was 
far too sacred to be deceived ; and, reluctant as 
I naturally felt, to enter on an inquiry, which 
might soon dissipate even my last hope, her 
wish was sufficient to supersede even the self- 
ishness of love, and on the instant I proceeded 
to obey her wUl. 

There stands on the eastern bank of the Nile, 
to the north of Antinoe, a high and steep rock, 
impending over the flood, which has borne, for 
ages, from a prodigy connected with it, the 
name of the Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, it 
is said, at a certain season and hour, large flocks 
of birds assemble in the ravine, of which this 
rocky mountain forms one of the sides, and are 
there observed to go through the mysterious 



730 



TH.E EPICUREAN. 



ceremony of inserting each its beak into a par- 
ticular cleft of the rock, till the cleft closes upon 
one of their number, when all the rest of the 
birds take wing, and leave the selected victim 
to die. 

Through the ravine, rendered famous by this 
charm — for such the multitude consider it — 
there ran, in ancient times, a canal from the 
Nile, to some great and forgotten city, now 
buried in the desert. To a short distance from 
the river this canal stUl exists, but, after having 
passed through the defile, its scanty waters 
disappear, and are wholly lost under the 
sands. 

It was in the neighborhood of this place, as I 
could collect from the delineations on the leaf — 
where a flight of birds represented the name of 
the mountain — that the abode of the Solitary, 
to whom Alethe was about to consign herself, 
Avas situated. Little as I knew of the geogra- 
phy of Egypt, it at once struck me, that we 
had long since left this mountain behind ; ' and, 
on inquiring of our boatmen, I found my con- 
jecture confirmed. We had, indeed, passed it, 
on the preceding night ; and, as the wind had 
been, ever since, blowing strongly from the 
north, and the sun was already sinking towards 
the horizon, avo must be now, at least, a day's 
sail to the southward of the spot. 

This discovery, I confess, filled my heart with 
a feeling of jny which I found it difficult to con- 
ceal. It seemed as if fortune was conspiring 
with love in my behalf, and, by thus delaying 
the moment of our separation, afi'orded me a 
chance at least of happiness. Her look and 
manner, too, when, informed of our mistake, 
rather encouraged than chilled this secret hope. 
In the first moment of astonishment, her eyes 
opened upon me with a suddenness of splendor, 
under which I felt my own wink as though 
lightning had crossed them. But she again, as 
suddenly, let their lids fall, and, after a quiver 
of her lip, which showed the conflict of feeling 
then going on within, crossed her arms upon 
her bosom, and looked down silently upon the 
deck ; her whole countenance sinking into an 
expression, sad, but resigned, as if she now felt 
that fate was on the side of wrong, and saw 

1 The voyages on the Nile are, under favorable circum- 
stances, performed with considerable rapidity. "En cinq 
ou six jours," says JUaillet, " on pourroit aisement remonter 
de I'enibouchure du Nil 4 ses cataractes, ou descendre des 
cataractes jusqu'i la nier." The great uncertainty of the 
navigation is proved by what Belioni tells us: — " Nous ne 
mimes cette fois que deux jours et demi pour faire le trajet 



Love already stealing between her soul and 
heaven. 

I was not slow, of course, in availing myself 
of what I fancied to be the irresolution of her 
mind. But, stiU, fearful of exciting alarm by 
any appeal to feelings of regard or tenderness, 
I but addressed myself to her imagination, and 
to that love of novelty and wonders, which is 
ever ready to be awakened within the youthful 
breast. "We were now approaching that region 
of miracles, Thebes. " In a day or two," said 
I, "we shall see, towering above the waters, 
the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, and the bright 
Obelisks of the Sun. We shall visit the plain 
of Memnon, and behold those mighty statues 
that fling their shadows' at sunrise over the 
Libyan hills. We shall hear the image of the 
Son of the Morning responding to the first touch 
of light. From thence, in a few hours, a breeze 
like this will transport us to those sunny islands 
near the cataracts ; there, to wander, among the 
sacred palm groves of Philse, or sit, at noontide 
hour, in those cool alcoves,^ which the waterfall 
of Syene shadows under its arch. 0, who is 
there that, with scenes of such loveliness within 
reach, would turn coldly away to the bleak 
desert, and leave this fair world, with all its 
enchantments, shining unseen and unenjoyed ? 
At least" — I added, taking tenderly her hand 
in mine — " let a few more days be stolen from 
the dreary fate to which thou hast devoted thy- 
self, and then " 

She had heard but the last few words — the 
rest had been lost upon her. Startled by the 
tone of tenderness into which, in despite of all 
my resolves, I had suff"ered my voice to soften, 
she looked for an instant with passionate ear- 
nestness into my face ; — then, dropping upon 
her knees with her clasped hands upraised, ex- 
claimed, — " Tempt me not, in the name of God 
I implore thee, tempt me not to swerve from 
my sacred duty. O, take me instantly to that 
desert mountain, and I will bless thee for- 
ever." 

This appeal, I felt, could not be resisted ~ 
even though my heart were to break for it. 
Having silently intimated my assent to her 
prayer, by a slight pressure of her hand as I 

dn Caire i Melawi, auquel, dans notre second voyage, nous 
avions employes dix-huit jours." 

2 " EUcs ont pros de vingt metres (61 pieds) d'elevation ; 
et au lever du soleil, leurs ombres immenses s'etciident au 
loin sur la chalne Libyenne." Description generate lU 
TMbes par Me:isrs. Jollois et Desvilliers. 

3 Paul Lucas. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



731 



raised lier from the deck, I proceeded immedi- 
ately, as we were still in full career, for the 
south, to give orders that our sail should be in- 
stantly lowered, and not a moment lost in re- 
tracing our course. 

In giving these directions, however, it, for the 
first time, occurred to me, that, as I had hired 
this yacht in the neighborhood of Memphis, 
where it was probable the flight of the young 
Priest pss would be most vigilantly tracked, we 
should run the risk of betraying to the boatmen 
the place of her retreat ; — and there was now 
a most favorable opportunity for taking precau- 
tions against this danger. Desiring, therefore, 
that we should be landed at a small village on 
the shore, under pretence of paying a visit to 
some shrine in the neighborhood, I there dis- 
missed our barge, and was relieved from fear of 
further observation, by seeing it again set sail, 
and resume its course fleetly up the current. 

From the boats of all descriptions that lay 
idle beside the bank, I now selected one, in 
every respect, suited to my purpose — being, in 
its shape and accommodations, a miniature of 
our former vessel, but, at the same time, so light 
and small as to be manageable by myself alone, 
and requiring, with the advantage of the cur- 
rent, little more than a hand to steer it. This 
boat I succeeded, without much difficulty, in 
purchasing, and, after a short delay, we were 
again afloat down the current; — the sun just 
then sinking, in conscious glory, over his own 
golden shrines in the Libyan waste. 

The evening was calmer and more lovely than 
any that had yet smiled upon our voyage ; and, 
as we left the shore, a strain of sweet melody 
came soothingly over our ears. It was the voice 
of a young Nubian girl, whom we saw kneeling 
before an acacia, upon the bank, and singing, 
while her companions stood around, the wild 
song of invocation, which, in her country, they 
address to that enchanted tree : — 

" O, Abyssinian tree, 

We pray, we pray to thee ; 
By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
And tlie violet hue of thy flower, 

And the greeting mute 

Of thy bough's salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower.l 

" O, Abyssinian tree, 
How the traveller blesses thee. 



1 See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends down 
its branches to those who approach it, in M. Jomard's De- 
tcriptiun of Syene and the Cataracts. 



Wlien the night no moon allows, 
And the sunset hour is near, 

And thou bend'st thy boughs 

To kiss his brows. 
Saying, ' Come, rest t'>ee here.' 

O, Abyssinian tree, 

Thus bow thy head to me ! " 

In the burden of this song the companions of 
the young Nubiair joined; and we heard the 
words, " O, Abyssinian tree," dying away en 
the breeze, long after the whole group had been 
lost to our eyes. 

Whether, in the new arrangement which I had 
made for our voyage, any motive, besides those 
which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, 
even myself — so bewildered were then my feel- 
ings — determine. But no sooner had the cur- 
rent borne us away from all human dwellings, 
and we were alone on the waters, with not a 
soul near, than I felt how closely such solitude 
draws hearts together, and how much more we 
geemed to belong to each other, than when there 
were eyes around us. 

The same feeling, but without the same sense 
of its danger, was manifest in every look and 
word of Alethe. The consciousness of the one 
great eff'ort which she had made appeared t-- 
have satisfied her heart on the score of duty — 
while the devotedness with which she saw I at- 
tended to every wish, was felt with all that trust- 
ing gratitude which, in woman, is the dayspring 
of love. She was, therefore, happy, innocently 
happy ; and the confiding, and even affection- 
ate, unreserve of her manner, while it rendered 
my trust more sacred, made it also far more 
difficult. 

It was only, however, upon subjects uncon- 
nected with our situation or fate, that she yield- 
ed to such interchange of thought, or that her 
voice ventured to answer mine. The moment 
I alluded to the destiny that awaited us, all her 
cheerfulness fled, and she became saddened and 
silent. When I described to her the beauty of 
my own native land — its founts of inspiration 
and fields of glory — her eyes sparkled with sym- 
pathy, and sometimes even softened into fond- 
ness. But when I ventured to whisper, that, 
in that glorious country, a life full of love and 
liberty awaited her ; when I proceeded to con- 
trast the adoration and bliss she might com- 
mand, with the gloomy austerities of the life to 
which she was hastening — it was like the com- 
ing of a sudden cloud over a summer sky. Her 
head sunk, as she listened ; — I waited in vain 
for an answer ; and when, half playfully re- 



732 



THE EPICUREAN. 



preaching her for this silence, I stooped to take 
her hand, I could feel the warm tears fast falling 
over it. 

But even this — feeble as was the hope it held 
out — was still a glimpse of happiness. Though 
it foreboded that I should lose her, it also whis- 
pered that I was loved. Like that lake, in the 
land of Roses,' whose waters are half sweet, 
aalf bitter,' I felt my fate to be a compound of 
bliss and pain — but its very pain weU worth 
all ordinary bliss. 

And thus did the hours of that night pass 
along ; while every moment shortened our hap- 
py dream, and the current seemed to flow with 
a swifter pace than any that ever yet hurried to 
the sea. Not a feature of the whole scene but 
lives, at this moment, freshly in my memory ; 
— the broken starlight on the water ; — the rip- 
pling sound of the boat, as, without oar or sail, 
it Avent, like a thing of enchantment, down the 
stream ; — the scented fire, burning beside us 
upon the deck, and then that face, on which its 
light fell, revealing, at every moment, some new 
charm — some blush or look, more beautiful than 
the last ! 

Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of all else, 
in this world, our boat, left wholly to itself, 
would drive from its course, and, bearing us 
away to the bank, get entangled in the water 
flowers, or be caught in some eddy, ere I per- 
ceived where we were. Once, too, when the 
rustling of my oar among the flowers had star- 
tled away from the bank some wild antelopes, 
that had stolen, at that still hour, to drink of 
the Nile, what an emblem did I think it of the 
young heart then beside me — tasting, for the 
first time, of hope and love, and so soon, alas, 
to be scared from their sweetness forever ! 



CHAPTER XV. 

The night was now far advanced — the bend 
of our course towards the left, and the closing 
in of the eastern hills upon the river, gave 
warning of our approach to the hermit's dwell- 
ing. Every minute now appeared like the last 
of existence ; and I felt a sinking of despair at 
my heart, which would have been intolerable, 
had not a resolution that suddenly, and as if by 



1 The province of Arsinoe, now Fioum. 

3 Paul Lucas. 

3 There has been much controver.sy among the Arabian 



inspiration, occurred to me, presented a glimpso 
of hope which, in some degree, calmed my 
feeUngs. 

Much as I had, all my life, despised hypocri- 
sy — the very sect I had embraced being chiefly 
recommended to me by the war they continued 
to wage upon the cant of all others — it was, 
nevertheless, in hypocrisy that I now scrupled 
not to take refuge from that calamity which to 
me was far worse than either shame or death, 
ray separation from Alethe, In my despair, I 
adopted the humiliating plan — deeply humili- 
ating as I felt it to be, even amid the joy Avith 
which I welcomed it — of offering myself to 
this hermit, as a convert to his faith, and thus 
becoming the fellow-disciple of Alethe under 
his care ! 

From the moment I resolved upon this plan 
my spirit felt lightened. Though having fully 
before my eyes the mean labyrinth of imposture 
into which it would lead me, I thought of noth- 
ing but the chance of our continuing still to- 
gether. In this hope, all pride, all philosoph-» 
was forgotten, and every thing seemed tolerable* 
but the prospect of losing her. 

Thus resolved, it was with somewhat less re- 
luctant feelings, that I now undertook, at the 
anxious desire of my companion, to ascertain 
the site of that well-known mountain, in the 
neighborhood of which the anchoret's dwelling 
lay. We had already passed one or two stupen- 
dous rocks, which stood, detached, like fortress- 
es, over the river's brink, and which, in some 
degree, corresponded with the description on the 
leaf. So little was there of life now stirring 
along the shores, that I had begun almost to 
despair of any assistance from inquiry, when, on 
looking to the western bank, I saw a boatman 
among the sedges, towing his small boat, with 
some difficulty, up the current. Hailing him as 
we passed, I asked, — " Where stands the 
Mountain of the Birds .' " ' — and he had hard- 
ly time, as he pointed above us, to answer 
"There," when we perceived that we were just 
then entering into the shadow, which this 
mighty rock flings across the whole of the flood. 
In a few moments we had reached the mouth 
of the ravine, of which the Mountain of the 
Birds forms one of the sides, and through which 
the scanty canal from the Nile flows. At the 
sight of this awful chasm, within some of whose 

writers, with respect to the site of this mountain, for which 
see Quatremire, torn. i. art. Amoun. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



733 



dreary recesses (if we had rightly interpreted 
the leaf) the dwelling of the Solitary was to be 
found, our voices sunk at once into a low whis- 
per, while Alethe turned round to me with a 
look of awe and eagerness, as if doubtful wheth- 
er I had not already disappeared from her side. 
A quick movement, however, of her hand 
towards the ravine, told too plainly that her pur- 
pose was still unchanged. Immediately check- 
ing, therefore, with my oars, the career of our 
boat, I succeeded, after no small exertion, in 
turning it out of the current of the river, and 
steering into this bleak and stagnant canal. 

Our transition from life and bloom to the very 
depth of desolation was immediate. While the 
water on one side of the ravine lay buried in 
shadow, the white skeleton-like crags of the 
other stood aloft in the pale glare of moonlight. 
The sluggish stream through which we moved 
yielded sullenly to the oar, and the shriek of a 
few water birds, which we had roused from 
their fastnesses, was succeeded by a silence, so 
dead and awful, that our lips seemed afraid to 
disturb it by a breath ; and half-whispered ex- 
clamations, •' How dreary ! " — " How dismal ! " 
— were almost the only words exchanged be- 
tween us. 

We had proceeded for some time through this 
gloomy defile, when, at a short distance before 
us, among the rocks upon which the moonlight 
fell, we could perceive, on a ledge elevated but 
a little above the canal, a small hut or cave, 
which, from a tree or two planted around it, had 
some appearance of being the abode of a human 
being. "This, then," thought I, "is the home 
to which she is destined ! " — A chill of despair 
came again over my heart, and the oars, as I sat 
gazing, lay motionless in my hands. 

I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had caught 
the same object, drawing closer to my side than 
she had yet ventured. Laying her hand agitat- 
edly upon mine, "We must here," said she, 
" part forever." I turned to her, as she spoke ; 
there was a tenderness, a despondency in her 
countenance, that at once saddened and inflamed 
my soul. "Part ! " I exclaimed passionately — 
<'No ! — the same God shall receive us both. 
Thy faith, Alethe, shall, from this hour, be mine, 
and I will live and die in this desert with 
thee ! " 

Her surprise, her delight at these words, was 
like a momentary delirium. The wild, anxious 
smile, with which she looked into my face, as 
if to ascertain whether she had, indeed, heard 
my words aright, bespoke a happiness too much 



for reason to bear. At length the fulness of her 
heart found relief in tears ; and, murmuring 
forth an incoherent blessing on my name, she 
let her head fall languidly and powerlessly on 
my arm. The light from our boat-fire shor.o 
upon her face. I saw her eyes, which she hue*. 
closed for a moment, again opening upon me 
with the same tenderness, and — merciful Prov- 
idence, how I remember that moment — was on 
the point of bending down my lips towards hers, 
when, suddenly, in the air above us, as if com- 
ing direct from heaven, there burst forth a 
strain of choral music, that with its solemn 
sweetness filled the whole valley. 

Breaking away from ray caress at these super- 
natural sounds, the maiden threw herself trem- 
bling upon her knees, and, not daring to look 
up, exclaimed wildly, "My mother, O my 
mother ! " 

It was the Christian's morning hymn that we 
heard ; — the same, as I learned afterwards, that, 
on their high terrace at Memphis, she had been 
taught by her mother to sing to the rising sun. 

Scarcely less startled than my companion, I 
looked up, and saw, at the very summit of 
the rock above us, a light, appearing to come 
from a small opening or window, through which 
those sounds likewise, that had appeared to me 
so supernatural, issued. There could be no 
doubt, that we had now found — if not the 
dwelling of the anchoret — at least, the haunt 
of some of the Christian brotherhood of these 
rocks, by whose assistance we could not fail to 
find the place of his retreat. 

The agitation, into which Alethe had been 
thrown by the first burst of that psalmody, soon 
jaelded to the softening recollections which it 
brought back ; and a calm came over her brow, 
such as it had never before worn, since we met. 
She seemed to feel as if she had now reached 
her destined haven, and hailed, as the voice of 
heaven itself, those solemn sounds by which she 
was welcomed to it. 

In her tranquillity, however, I was very far 
from yet sympathizing. Full of impatience to 
learn all that awaited her as well as myself, I 
pushed our boat close to the base of the rock, so 
as to bring it directly under that lighted window 
on the summit, to explore my way up to which 
was now my immediate object. Having hastily 
received my instructions from Alethe, and made 
her repeat again the name of the Christian 
whom we sought, I sprang upon the bank, and 
was not long in discovering a sort of path, oj 
stairway, cut rudely out of the rick, and lead- 



734 



THE EPICUREAN. 



ing, as I found, by easy windings, up the 
steep. 

After ascending for some time, I arrived at a 
level space or ledge, -which the hand of labor 
had succeeded in converting into a garden,' 
and which was planted, here and there, with 
fig trees and palms. Around it, too, I could 
perceive, through the glimmering light, a num- 
ber of small caves or grottoes, into some of 
M-hich, human beings might find an entrance; 
while others appeared of no larger dimensions 
than those tombs of the Sacred Birds which 
are seen ranged around Lake Mceris. 

I was still, I found, but half way up the 
ascent, nor was there visible any further means 
of continuing my course, as the mountain from 
hence rose, almost perpendicularly, like a wall. 
At length, however, on exploring more closely, 
I discovered behind the shade of a fig tree a 
large ladder of wood, resting firmly against the 
rock, and aff'ording an easy and safe ascent up 
the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I again descended 
to the boat for Alethe, whom I found trembling 
already at her short solitude ; and- having led 
her up the stahway to this quiet garden, left her 
lodged there securely, amid its holy silence, 
while I pursued my way upward to the light 
upon the rock. 

At the top of the long ladder I found myself 
on another ledge or platform, somewhat smaller 
than the first, but planted in the same manner, 
with trees, and, as I could perceive by the min- 
gled light of morning and the moon, embellished 
with flowers. I was now near the summit ; — 
there remained but another short ascent, and, 
as a ladder against the rock suppHed, as before, 
the means of scaling it, I was in a few minutes 
at the opening from which the light issued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling 
of awe at the whole scene, as from an unwill- 
ingness to disturb rudely the rites on which I 
ii'.truded. My approach, therefore, being un- 
heard, an opportunity was, for some riioments, 
afforded me of observing the group within, 
before my appearance at the window was dis- 
covered. 

In the middle of the apartment, which seemed 
to have been once a Pagan oratory, there was 



1 The monks of Mount Sinni (Shaw says) have covered 
ovor near four acres of the naked rocks with fruitful gar- 
dens and orchards. 

- Tiiere was usually, TtrtuUian tells us, the image of 
Chri'^t on the communion cups. 

!i We are rather disposed to infer," says the late Bishop 



collected an assembly of about seven or eight 
persons, some male, some female, kneeling in 
silence round a small altar ; — while, among 
them, as if presiding over their solemn cere- 
mony, stood an aged man, who, at the moment 
of my arrival, was presenting to one of the 
female worshippers an alabaster cup, which she 
applied, with profound reverence, to her lips. 
The venerable countenance of the minister, as 
he pronounced a short prayer over her head, 
wore an expression of profound feeling, that 
showed how wholly he was absorbed in that 
rite ; and when she had drank of the cup — 
which I saw had engraven on its side the image 
of a head,* with a glory round it — the holy 
man bent down and kissed her forehead.' 

After this parting salutation, the whole group 
rose sUently from their knees ; and it was then, 
for the first time, that, by a cry of terror from 
one of the women, the appearance of a stranger 
at the M'indow was discovered. The -whole as- 
sembly seemed startled and alarmed, except 
him, that superior person, who, advancing from 
the altar, with an unmoved look, raised the 
latch of the door adjoining to the window, and 
admitted me. 

There was, in this old man's features, a mix- 
ture of elevation and sweetness, of simplicity 
and energy, which commanded at once attach- 
ment and homage ; and half hoping, half fear- 
ing, to find in him the destined guardian of 
Alethe, I looked anxiously in his face, as I en- 
tered, and pronounced the name " Melanius ! " — 
" Melanius is my name, young stranger," he 
answered ; " and whether in friendship or in 
enmity thou comest, Melanius blesses thee." 
Thus saying, he made a sign with his right hand 
above my head, while, with involuntary respect, 
I bowed beneath the benediction. 

" Let this volume," I replied, <' answer for the 
peacefulness of my mission " — at the same 
time, placing in his hands the copy of the 
Scriptures which had been his own gift to the 
mother of Alethe, and which her child noAv 
brought as the credential of her claims on his 
protection. At the sight of this sacred pledge, 
which he instantly recognized, the solemnity 
that had at first marked his reception of me 
softened into tenderness. Thoughts of other 



of Lincoln, in his very sensible work on TertiiUian, " t'Tit, 
at the conclusion of all their meetings for tlie purpose -/de- 
votion, the early Christians were accustomed to j""« the 
kiss of peace, in token of the brotherly love subsisting ue 
tween them." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



735 



times appeared to pass through his mind ; and 
as, with a sigh of recollection, he took the book 
from my hands, some words on the outer leaf 
caught his eye. They were few — but con- 
tained, most probably, the last wishes of the 
dying Theora ; for as he read them over eagerly, 
I saw tears in his aged eyes. " The trust," he 
said, with a faltering voice, " is precious and 
Bacred, and God will enable, I hope, his servant 
to guard it faithfully." 

During this short dialogue, the other persons 
of the assembly had departed — being, as I 
afterwards learned, brethren from the neighbor- 
ing bank of the Nile, who came thus secretly 
before daybreak,' to join in worshipping their 
God. Fearful lest their descent down the rock 
might alarm Alethe, I hurried briefly over the 
few words of explanation that remained, and 
leaving the venerable Christian to follow at his 
leisure, hastened anxiously down to rejoin the 
j'oung maiden 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Melanius was one of the first of those zealous 
Christians of Egypt, who, following the recent 
example of the hermit, Paul, bade farewell to 
all the comforts of social existence, and betook 
themselves to a life of contemplation in the 
desert. Less selfish, however, in his piety, than 
most of these ascetics, Melanius forgot not the 
world, in leaving it. He knew that man was 
not born to live wholly for himself; that his 
relation to humankind was that of the link to 
the chain, and that even his solitude should be 
turned to the advantage of others. In flying, 
therefore, from the din and disturbance of life, 
he sought not to place himself beyond the reach 
of its sympathies, but selected a retreat where 
he could combine all the advantages of solitude 
with those opportunities of being useful to his 
fellow-men, which a neighborhood to their 
populous haunts would aff'ord. 

That taste for the gloom of subterranean re- 
cesses, which the race of Misraim inherit from 



1 It was among the accusations of Celsus against the 
Christians, that they held their assemblies privately and 
contrary to law; and one of the speakers in the curious 
work of Minucitis Felix calls the Christians " latebrosa et 

ucifugax natio." 

2 See Macriiifs account of these valleys, given by Quatrc- 
mire, torn. i. p. 450. 

1 For a striking description of this region, see " Ramrses," 
* work which, though in general too technical and elabo- 



their Ethiopian ancestors, had, by hollowing 
out all Egypt into caverns and crypts, supplied 
these Christian anchorets with an ample choice 
of retreats. Accordingly, some found a shelter 
in the grottoes of Elethya ; — others, among the 
royal tombs of the ThebaVd. In the middle of 
the Seven Valleys,'' Avhere the sun rarely shines, 
a few have fixed their dim and melancholy 
retreat ; while others have sought the neigh- 
borhood of the red Lakes of Nitria,' and there, 
like those Pagan solitaries of old, who fixed 
their dwelling among the palm trees near the 
Dead Sea, pass their whole lives in musing 
amidst the sterility of nature, and seem to find, 
in her desolation, peace. 

It was on one of the mountains of the Said, 
to the east of the river, that Melanius, as we 
have seen, chose his place of seclusion — having 
all the life and fertility of the Nile on one side, 
and the lone, dismal barrenness of the desert 
on the other. Half way down this mountain, 
where it impends over the ravine, he found a 
series of caves or grottoes dug out of the rock, 
which had, in other times, ministered to some 
purpose of mystery, biit whose use had long 
been forgotten, and their recesses abandoned. 

To this place, after the banishment of his 
great master, Origen, Melanius, with a few 
faithful followers, retired, and there, by the 
example of his innocent life, as well as by his 
fervid eloquence, succeeded in winning crowds 
of converts to his faith. Placed, as he was, in 
the neighborhood of the rich city, Antinort,* 
though he mingled not with its multitude, his 
name and his fame were ever among them, and 
to all who sought after instruction or cor sola- 
tion, the cell of the hermit was always open. 

Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence of his 
own habits, he was yet careful to prf vide for 
the comforts of others. Content with a rude 
pallet of straw, himself, he had always for the 
stranger a less homely resting-place. From his 
grotto, the wayfaring and the indigent never 
went unrefreshed ; and, with the aid of some 
of his brethren, he had formed gardens along 
the ledges of the mountain, which gave an air 



rate, shows, m many passages, to what picturesque effects 
the scenery and mythology of Egypt may be made sub- 
servient. 

■* From the position assigned to Antinoe in this work, we 
should conclude that it extended much farther to the north, 
than the few ruins of it that remain would seem to indicate, 
and that the distance between the city and the Rlountain 
of the Birds was considerably less than what it appears fn 
be at present 



736 



THE EPICUREAN. 



of life and cheerfulness to his rocky dwelling, 
and supplied him with the chief necessaries of 
such a climate — fruit and shade. 

Though the acquaintance he had formed with 
the mother of Alethe, during the short period 
of her attendance at the school of Origen, was 
soon interrupted, and never afterwards renewed, 
the interest which he had then taken in her fate 
was far too lively to be forgotten. He had seen 
the zeal with which her young heart welcomed 
instruction ; and the thought that so promising 
a candidate for heaven should have relapsed 
into idolatry, came often, with disquieting ap- 
prehension, over his mind. 

It was, therefore, with true pleasure, that, but 
a year or two before Theora's death, he had 
learned by a private commiinication from her, 
transmitted through a Christian embalmer of 
Memphis, that " not only had her own heart 
taken root in the faith, but that a new bud had 
flowered Avith the same divine hope, and that, 
ere long, he might see them both transplanted 
to the desert." 

The coming, therefore, of Alethe was far less 
a surprise to him, than her coming thus alone 
was a shock and a sorrow ; and the silence of 
their first meeting showed how painfully both 
remembered that the tie which had brought 
them together was no longer of this world — 
that the hand, which should have been then 
joined with theirs, was mouldering in the tomb. 
I now saw that even religion like his was not 
proof against the sadness of mortality. For, as 
the 'old man put aside the ringlets from her 
forehead, and contemplated in thai clear coun- 
tenance the reflection of what hex mother had 
been, there mingled a mournfulness with his 
piety, as he said, '♦ Heaven rest her soul ! " 
which showed how little even the certainty of a 
heaven for those we love can reconcile us to the 
pain of having lost them on earth. 

The full light of day had now risen upon the 
desert, and our host, reminded, by the faint 
ooks of Alethe, of the many anxious hours we 
had passed without sleep, proposed that w-e 
should seek, in the chambers of the rock, such 
rest as a hermit's dwelling could off'er. Point- 
ing to one of the largest of these openings, as 
he addressed me — " Thou wilt find," he said, 
" in that grotto a bed of fresh doum leaves, and 
may the consciousness of having protected the 
orphan sweeten thy sleep ! " 

I felt how dearly this praise had been earned, 
and already almost repented of having deserved 
it. There was a sadness in the countenance of 



Alethe, as I took leave of her, to which the 
forebodings of my own heart but too faithfuUj 
responded; nor could I help fearing, as her 
hand parted lingeringly from mine, that I had, 
by this sacrifice, placed her beyond my reach 
forever. 

Having lighted for me a lamp, which, in these 
recesses, even at noon, is necessary, the holy 
man led me to the entrance of the grotto. And 
here I blush to say, my career of hypocrisy 
began. With the sole view of obtaining another 
glance at Alethe, I turned humbly to solicit the 
benediction of the Christian, and, having con- 
veyed to her, while bending reverently down, 
as much of the deep feeling of my soul as looks 
could express, I then, with a desponding spirit, 
hurried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me to the chamber with- 
in — the walls of which I found covered, like 
those of the grottoes of Lycopolis, with paint- 
ings, which, though executed long ages ago, 
looked as fresh as if their colors were but laid 
on yesterday. They were, all of them, repre- 
sentations of rural and domestic scenes ; and, 
in the greater number, the melancholy imagina- 
tion of the artist had called in, as usual, the 
presence of Death, to throw his shadow over 
the picture. 

My attention was particularly drawn to one 
series of subjects, throughout the whole of 
which the same group — consisting of a youth, 
a maiden, and two aged persons, who ajipeared 
to be the father and mother of the girl — were 
represented in all the details of their daily life. 
The looks and attitudes of the young people 
denoted that they were lovers ; and, sometimes, 
they were seen sitting under a canopy of flow- 
ers, with their eyes fixed on each other's faces, 
as though they could never look away ; some- 
times, they appeared walking along the banks 
of the Nile, — 

on one of those sweet nights 

When Isis, the pure star of lovers,i lights 

Her bridal crescent o'er tlie holy stream — 

When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam 

And number o'er the nights she hath to run, 

Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun.s 

Through all these scenes of endearment the 
two elder persons stood by ; — their calm coun- 
tenances touched with a share of that bliss, in 
whose perfect light the young lovers were baslr- 



1 Vide Plutarch, de hid. 

2 " Conjunctio solis cum luna, quod est veluti utriiisqua 
connubium." JablonsUi. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



737 



ing. Thus far, all was happiness ; — but the 
Bad lesson of mortality was yet to come. In the 
last picture of the series, one of the figures was 
missing. It Avas that of the young maiden, 
who had disappeared from among them. On 
the brink of a dark lake stood the three who 
remained ; wliile a boat, just departing for the 
City of the Dead, told too plainly the end of 
their dream of happiness. 

This memorial of a sorrow of other times — 
of a sorroAv, ancient as death itself — was not 
wanting to deepen the melancholy of my mind, 
or to add to the weight of the many bodings 
that pressed upon it. 

After a night, as it seemed, of anxious and 
unsleeping thought, I rose from my bed and 
returned to the garden. I found the Christian 
alone — seated, under the shade of one of his 
trees, at a small table, on which there lay a vol- 
ume unrolled, while a beautiful antelope was 
sleeping at his feet. Struck by the contrast 
which he presented to those haughty priests, 
whom I had seen surrounded by the pomp and 
gorgeousness of temples, " Is this, then," thought 
I, " the faith before which the world now trem- 
bles — its temple the desert, its treasury a book, 
and its High Priest the solitary dweller of the 
rock?" 

He had prepared for me a simple, but hospi- 
table repast, of which fruits from his own gar- 
den, the Avhite bread of Olyra, and the juice of 
the honey cane, formed the most costlj' luxuries. 
His manner to me was even more cordial and 
fatherly than before ; but the absence -of Alethe, 
and, still more, the ominous reserve, with which 
he not only, himself, refrained from all mention 
of her name, but eluded the few inquiries, by 
which I sought to lead to it, seemed to confirm 
all the apprehensions I had felt in parting from 
her. 

She had acquainted him, it was evident, with 
the whole history of our flight. My reputation 
as a philosopher — my desire to become a Chris- 
tian — all was already knowTi to the zealous 
anchoret, and the subject of my conversion was 
the very first on which he entered. O, pride of 
philosophy, how wert thou then humbled, and 
with what shame did I stand in the presence of 
that venerable man, not daring to let my eyes 
encounter his, while, with unhesitating trust in 
the sinceritj' of my intention, he welcomed me 
to a participation of his holy hope, and imprint- 
ed the Kiss of Charity on my infidel brow ! 

Embarrassed as I could not but feel by the 
Lamiliating consciousness of hypocrisy, I was 
93 



even still more perplexed by my almost total 
ignorance of the real tenets of the faith to 
which I professed myself a convert. Abashed 
and confused, and with a heart sick at its own 
deceit, I listened to the animated and eloquent 
gratulations of the Christian, as though they 
were words in a dream, without any link or 
meaning ; nor could disguise but by the mock- 
ery of a reverend bow, at every pause, the total 
want of self-possession, and even of speech, 
under which I labored. 

A few minutes more of such trial, and I must 
have avowed my imposture. But the holy man 
perceived my embarrassment ; — and, whether 
mistaking it for awe, or knowing it to be igno- 
rance, relieved me from my perplexity by, at 
once, changing the theme. Having gently 
awakened his antelope from its sleep, "You 
have doubtless," he said, "heard of my brother 
anchoret, Paul, who, from his cave in the mar- 
ble mountains, near the Red Sea, sends hourly 
the blessed ♦ sacrifice of thanksgiving ' to heaven. 
Of his walks, they tell me, a lion is the com- 
panion ; ' but, for me," he added "wdth a playful 
and significant smile, " who try my powers of 
taming but on the gentler animals, this feeble 
child of the desert is a far fitter playmate." 
Then, taking his staff, and putting the time- 
worn volume which he had been perusing into 
a large goat- skin pouch, that hung by his side, 
"I will now," said he, "conduct thee over my 
rocky kingdom, that thou mayest see in what 
drear and barren places that ♦ sweet fruit of the 
spirit,' Peace, may bo gathered." 

To speak of peace to a heart throbbing, as 
mine did, at that moment, was like talking of 
some distant harbor to the mariner sinking at 
sea. In vain did I look around for some sigu 
of Alethe ; — in vain make an effort even to 
utter her name. Consciousness of my own de- 
ceit, as well as a fear of awakening in the mind 
of Melanius any suspicion that might tend to 
frustrate my only hope, threw a fetter over my 
spirit and checked my tongue. In humble 
silence, therefore, I followed, while the cheerful 
old man, with slow, but firm step, ascended the 
rock, by the same ladders which I had mounted 
on the preceding night. 

During the time when the Decian Persecution 
was raging, many Christians, as he told me, of 
the neighborhood had taken refuge under his 
protection, in these grottoes ; and the small 

1 M. Chateaubriand has introduced Paul and his lion into 
the " Martyrs," liv ji 



738 



THE EPICUREAN. 



chapel upon the summit, where I had found his 
flock at prayer, was, in those awfal times of 
suffering, their usual place 'of retreat, where, by 
drawing up these ladders, they were enabled to 
secure themselves from pursuit. 

The view, from the top of the rock, extending 
on either side, embraced the two extremes of 
fertility and desolation ; nor could the Epicu- 
rean and the Anchoret, who now stood gazing 
from that height, be at any loss to indulge their 
respective tastes, between the living luxuriance 
of the world on one side, and the dead, pulse- 
less repose of the desert on the other. "When 
we turned to the river, what a picture of ani- 
mation presented itself ! Near us to the south, 
were the graceful colonnades of Antinoe, its 
proud, populous streets, and triumphal monu- 
ments. On the opposite shore, rich plains, all 
teeming with cultivation to the water's edge, 
seemed to offer up, as from verdant altars, their 
fruits to the sun ; while beneath us, the Nile, — 

the glorious stream, 

That late between its banks was seen to glide — 
With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 
Glittering, like jewels strung along a chain — 
Had now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd limbs, superbly spread. 

From this scene, on one side of the mountain, 
we had but to turn round our eyes to the other, 
and it was as if Nature herself had become sud- 
denly extinct ; — a wide waste of sands, bleak 
and interminable, wearying out the sun with its 
sameness of desolation ; — black, burnt-up rocks, 
that stood as barriers, at which life stopped ; — 
while the only signs of animation, past or 
present, were the footprints, here and there, of 
an antelope or ostrich, or the bones of dead 
camels, as they lay whitening at a distance, 
marking out the track of the caravans over the 
waste. 

After listening, while he contrasted, in a few 
eloquent words, the two regions of life and death 
on whose confines we stood, I again descended 
with my guide to the garden we had left. 
From thence, turning into a path along the 
mountain side, he led me to another row of 
grottoes, facing the desert, which had been once, 
he said, the abode of those brethren in Christ, 
who had fled with him to this solitude from the 
crowded world — but which death had, within 
a few short months, rendered tenantless. A 
cross of red stone, and a few faded trees, were 



the only traces these solitaries had left be- 
hind. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, while 
we descended to the edge of the canal ; and I 
saw opposite, among the rocks, that solitary 
cave, Avhich had so chilled me with its aspect 
on the preceding night. Beside the bank we 
found one of those rustic boats, which the 
Egyptians construct of planks of wild thorn, 
bound rudely together with bands of papyrus. 
Placing ourselves in this boat, and rather im- 
pelling than rowing it across, we made our way 
through the foul and shallow flood, and landed 
directly under the site of the cave. 

This dwelling was situated, as I have already 
mentioned, on a ledge of the rock ; and, being 
provided with a sort of window or aperture to 
admit the light of heaven, was accounted, I 
found, far more cheerful than the grottoes on the 
other side of the ravine. But there was a dreari- 
ness in the whole region around, to which light 
only lent additional horror. The dead white- 
ness of the rocks, as they stood, like ghosts, in 
the sunshine ; — that melancholy pool, half lost 
in the sands ; — all gave to my mind the idea 
of a wasting world. To dwell in a place so 
desolate seemed to me a living death ; and 
when the Christian, as we entered the cave, said, 
" Here is to be thy home," prepared as I had 
been for the worst, all my resolution gave 
way ; — every feeling of disappointed passion 
and humbled pride, which had been gathering 
round my heart for the last few hours, found a 
vent at once, and I burst into tears. 

Accustomed to human weakness, and perhaps 
guessing at some of the sources of mine, the good 
Hermit, without appearing to take any notice of 
this emotion, proceeded to expatiate, with a 
cheerful air, on, what he called, the comforts of 
my dwelling. Sheltered from the dry, burning 
wind of the south, my porch would inhale, he 
said, the fresh breeze of the Dogstar. Fruits 
from his own mountain garden should furnish 
my repast. The well of the neighboring rock 
would supply my beverage ; and " here," he 
continued — lowering his voice into a more 
solemn tone, as he placed upon the table the 
volume which he had brought — " here, my 
son, is that ' well of living waters,' in which 
alone thou wilt find lasting refreshment or 
peace ! " Thus saying, he descended the rock 
to his boat, and after a few plashes of his oar 
had died upon my ear, the solitude and silence 
that reigned around me was complete. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



739 



CHAPTER XVII. 

What a fate was mine ! — but a few weeks 
since, presiding over that gay Festival of the 
Garden, with all the luxuries of existence tribu- 
tary in my train ; and now — self-humbled into 
a solitary outcast — the hyj^ocritical pupil of a 
Christian anchoret — without even the excuse 
of religious fanaticism, or any other madness, 
but that of love, wild love, to extenuate my 
fall ! Were there a hope that, by this humili- 
ating waste of existence, I might purchase now 
and then a momentary glimpse of Alethe, even 
the depths of the desert, with such a chance, 
would be welcome. But to live — and live 
thus — without her, was a misery which I neither 
foresaw nor could endure. 

Hating even to look upon the den to which I 
was doomed, I hurried out into the air, and 
found my way, along the rocks, to the desert. 
The sun was going down, with that blood-red 
liue, which he so often wears, in this climate, 
at his setting. I saw the sands, stretching out, 
like a sea to the horizon, as if their waste ex- 
tended to the very verge of the Avorld — and, 
in the bitterness of my feelings, rejoiced to see 
so large a portion of creation rescued, even by 
this barren liberty, from the encroaching grasjj 
of man. The thought seemed to relieve my 
wounded pride, and, as I wandered over the 
dim and boundless solitude, to be thus free, 
even amidst blight and desolation, appeared to 
me a blessing. 

The only living thing I saw was a restless 
swallow, whose wings were of the same hue 
with the gray sands over which he fluttered.' 
"Why (thought I) may not the mind, like this 
bird, partake of the color of the desert, and 
sympathize in its austerity, its freedom, and 
its calm ? " — thvis vainly endeavoring, between 
despondence and defiance, to encounter with 
some degree of fortitude what yet my heart 
sickened to contemplate. But the effort Avas 
unavailing. Overcome by that vast solitude, 
whose repose was not the slumber of peace, but 
rather the sullen and burninsr silence of hate, I 



1 "Je VIS dans le desert des hirondelles d'un gris clair 
comme le sable sur lequel elles volent." Denon. 

2 In alluding to Whiston's idea of a comet having caused 
tlie deluge, M. Oirard, having remarked that the word Ty- 
phon means a deluge, adds, " On ne peut entendre par le 
teins du rfegiie de I'yphGn que celui pendant lequel le de- | ment. 



felt my spirit give way, and even love itself 
yielded to despair. 

Taking my seat on a fragment of a rock, and 
covering my eyes with my hands, I made an 
effort to shut out the overwhelming prospect. 
But all in vain — it was still bcfoie me, with 
every additional horror that fancy could suggest ; 
and when, again looking forth, I beheld the last 
red ray of the sun, shooting across the melan- 
choly and lifeless waste, it appeared to me like 
the light of that comet which once desolated 
this world, ^ and thus luridly shone out over the 
ruin that it had made ! 

Appalled by my own gloomy imaginations, I 
turned towards the ravine ; and, notwithstand- 
ing the disgust with which I had fled from my 
dwelling, was not ill pleased to find my way, 
over the rocks, to it again. On approaching 
the cave, to my astonishment, I saw a light with- 
in. At such a moment, any vestige of life was 
welcome, and I hailed the unexpected appear- 
ance with pleasure. On entering, however, I 
found the chamber all as lonely as I had left it. 
The light I had seen came from a lamp that 
burned brightly on the table ; beside it was un- 
folded the volume which Melanius had brought, 
and upon the open leaves — O, joy and surprise 
— lay the well-known cross of Alethe ! 

What hand, but her own, could have pre- 
pared this reception for me ? — The very thought 
sent a hope into my heart, before Avhich aU de- 
spondency fled. Even the gloom of the desert 
was forgotten, and my rude cave at once bright- 
ened into a bower. She had here reminded me, 
by this sacred memorial, of the vow which I 
had pledged to her under the Hermit's rock ; 
and I now scrupled not to reiterate the same 
daring promise, though conscious that through 
hypocrisy alone could I fulfil it. 

Eager to prepare myself for my task of im- 
posture, I sat down to the volume, -which I now 
found to be the Hebrew Scriptures ; and the 
first sentence, on which my eyes fell, was — 
" The Lord hath commanded the blessing, even 
Life forevermore ! " Startled by these words, 
in which it appeared to me as if the Spirit of 
my dream had again pronounced his assuring 



luge inonda la terre, terns pendant lequel on dut observer la 
comfete qui Toccasionna, et dont I'apparition fut, non seule- 
ment pour les peuples de I'Egypte, et de I'Ethiopie, mais en 
core pour tous les peuples le prfisage funeste de leur destruc- 
tion presque totale." Description de la Vallee de VEgare- 



740 



THE EPICUREAN. 



prediction,' I raised my eyes from the page, and 
repeated the sentence over and over, as if to try 
whether in these sounds there lay any charm or 
spell, to reawaken that faded illusion in my 
soul. But no — the rank frauds of the Mem- 
phian priesthood had dispelled all my trust in 
the promises of religion. My heart had again 
relapsed into its gloom of scepticism, and, to 
the word of "Life," the only answer it sent 
back was " Death ! " 

Being impatient, however, to possess myself 
of the elements of a faith, upon which — Avhat- 
ever it might promise for hereafter — I felt that 
all my happiness here depended, I turned over 
the pages with an earnestness and avidity, such 
as never even the most favorite of my studies 
had awakened in me. Though, like all who 
seek but the surface of learning, I flew desulto- 
rily over the leaves, lighting only on the more 
prominent and shining points, I yet found my- 
self, even in this undisciplined career, arrested, 
at every page, by the awful, the supernatural 
sublimity, the alternate melancholy and gran- 
deur of the images that crowded upon me. 

I had, till now, known the Hebrew theology 
but through the platonizing refinement of Phi- 
lo ; — as, in like manner, for my knowledge of 
the Christian doctrine I was indebted to my 
brother Epicureans, Lucian and Cclsus. Little, 
therefore, was my mind prepared for the simple 
jaajesty, the high tone of inspiration — the po- 
etry, in short, of heaven that breathed through- 
out these oracles. Could admiration have kin- 
dled faith, I should, that night, have been a 
believer ; so elevated, so awed was my imagi- 
nation by that wonderful book — its warnings 
of woe, its announcements of glory, and its un- 
rivalled strains of adoration and sorrow. 

Hour after hour, with the same eager and des- 
ultory curiosity, did I turn over the leaves ; — 
and when, at length, I lay down to rest, my 
fancy was still haunted by the impressions it 
had received. I went again through the various 
scenes of which I had read ; again called up, in 
sleep, the bright images that had passed before 
me, and when awakened at early dawn by the 
solemn Hymn from the chapel, imagined that I 
was still listening to the sound of the winds. 



1 " Many people," said Origen, " have been brought over 
to Christianity by the Spirit of God giving a sudden turn to 
Jheir minds, and offering visions to them either by day or 
night." On this Jortin remarks: — "Why should it be 
thought improbable that Pagans of good dispositions, but not 
free from prejudices, should have been called by divine ad- 



sighing mournfully through the harps of Israe 
on the willows. 

Starting from my bed, I hurried out upon the 
rock, with a hope that, among the tones of that 
morning choir, I might be able to distinguish 
the sweet voice of A'lethe. But the strain had 
ceased ; — I caught only the last notes of the 
Hymn, as, echoing up that lonely valley, they 
died away into the silence of the desert. 

"With the first glimpse of light I was again 
early at my study, and, notwithstanding the 
frequent distraction both of my thoughts and 
looks towards the distant, half-seen grottoes of 
the Anchoret, continued my task with unabat- 
ing perseverance through the day. Still alive, 
however, but to the eloquence, the poetry of 
what I studied, of its claims to authoritj', as a 
history, I never once paused to consider. My 
fiincy alone being interested by it, to fancy only 
I referred all that it contained ; and, passing 
rapidly from annals to prophecy, from narration 
to song, regarded the whole but as a tissue of 
oriental allegories, in which the deep melan- 
choly of Egyptian associations was interwoven 
with the rich and sensual imagery of the East. 

Towards sunset I saw the venerable Hermit, on 
his way, across the canal, to my cave. Though 
he was accompanied only by his graceful ante- 
lope, which came snuffing the wild air of the 
desert, as if scenting its home, I felt his visit, 
even thus, to be a most welcome relief. It was 
the hour, he said, of his evening ramble up the 
mountain — of his accustomed visit to those cis- 
terns of the rock, from which he drew nightly 
his most precious beverage. While he spoke, I 
observed in his hand one of those earthen cups," 
in which it is the custom of the inhabitants of 
the w-ilderness to collect the fresh dew among 
the rocks. Having proposed that I should ac- 
company him in his walk, he proceeded to lead 
me, in the direction of the desert, up the side 
of the mountain that rose above my dwelling, 
and which formed the southern waU or screen 
of the defile. 

Near the summit we found a seat, where the 
old man paused to rest. It commanded a full 
view over the desert, and was by the side of 
one of those hollows in the rock, those natural 



monitions, by dreams or visions, which might be a support 
to Christianity in those days of distress .' " 

2 Pulladius, who lived some time in Egypt, describes tha 
monk Ptolemseus, who inhabited fhe desert of Scete, as col- 
lecting in earthen cups the abundant dew from the rocks " 
Bibliothec. Pat. torn, xiii 



THE EPICUREAN. 



741 



reservoirs, in which are treasured the dews of 
night for the refreshment of the dwellers in the 
wilderness. Having learned from me how far I 
had advanced in my study — "In j-onder light," 
said he, pointing to a small cloud in the east, 
which had been formed on the horizon by the 
haze of the desert, and was now faintly reflect- 
ing the splendors of sunset — " in the midst of 
that light stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory 
thou hast read ; upon whose summit was the 
scene of one of those awful revelations, in which 
the Almighty has renewed from time to time 
his communication with Man, and kept alive 
the remembrance of his own Providence in this 
world." 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the immen- 
sity of the subject, the holy man continued his 
sublime theme. Looking back to the earliest 
annals of time, he showed how constantly every 
relapse of the human race into idolatry has been 
followed by some manifestation of Divine power, 
chastening the strong and proud by punishment, 
and winning back the humble by love. It was 
to preserve, he said, unextinguished upon earth, 
that great and vital truth — the Creation of the 
world by one Supreme Being — that God chose, 
from among the nations, a humble and enslaved 
race — that he brought them out of their cap- 
tivity " on eagles' wings," and, still surrounding 
every step of their course with miracles, has 
placed them before the eyes of all succeeding 
generations, as the depositaries of his will, and 
the ever-during memorials of his power.' 

Passing, then, in review the long train of 
inspired interpreters, whose pens and whose 
tongues were made the echoes of the Divine 
voice,* he traced throughout the events of suc- 
cessive ages, the gradual unfolding of the dark 
scheme of Providence — darkness without, but 
all light and glory within. The glimpses of a 
coming redemption, visible even through the 
wrath of Heaven ; — the long scries of prophe- 
cy through Avhich this hope runs, burning and 
alive, like a spark along a chain; — the slow 
and merciful preparation of the hearts of man- 
kind for the great trial of their faith and obe- 
dience that was at hand, not only by miracles 

1 The brief sketch here given of the Jewish dispensation 
Bgrees very much With the view taken of it by Dr. Sumner, 
III the first chapters of his eloquent work, the " Records of 
the Creation." 

s In the original, the discourses of the Hermit are given 
niucli mure at length. 

3 " It is impossible to deny," says Dr. Sumner, " that the 
Fanctions of the Mosaic Law are altogether temporal .... 
It is, indeed, one of the facts that can only be explained by 



that appealed to the living, but by prophecies 
launched into the future to carry conviction to 
the yet unborn ; — " through all these glorious 
and beneficent gradations we may track," said 
he, " the manifest footsteps of a Creator, ad- 
vancing to his grand, ultimate end, the saivation 
of his creatures." 

After some hours devoted to these holy in- 
structions, we returned to the ravine, and Me- 
lanius left me at my cave ; praying, as he parted 
from me — with a benevolence which I but ill, 
alas ! deserved — that my soul might, under 
these lessons, be " as a watered garden," and, 
ere long, " bear fruit unto life eternal." 

Next morning, I was again at my study, and 
even more eager in the awakening task than 
before. With the commentary of the Hermit 
freshly in my memory, I again read through, 
with attention, the Book of the Law. But in 
vain did I seek the promise of immortality in 
its pages.* " It tells me," said I, " of a God 
coming down to earth, but of the ascent of Man 
to heaven it speaks not. The rewards, the pun- 
ishments it announces, lie all on this side of the 
grave ; nor did even the Omnipotent offer to his 
own chosen servants a hope beyond the impass- 
able limits of this world. Where, then, is the 
salvation of which the Christian spoke ? or, if 
Death be at the root of the faith, can Life spring 
out of it ? " 

Again, in the bitterness of disappointment, 
did I mock at my own wiUing self-delusion — 
again rail at the arts of that traitress. Fancy, 
ever ready, like the Delilah of this wondrous 
book, to steal upon the slumbers of Reason, and 
deliver him up, shorn and powerless, to his foes. 
If deception, thought I, be necessary, at least 
let me not practise it on myself ; — in the des- 
perate alternative before me, let me rather be 
even hypocrite than dupe. 

These self- accusing reflections, cheerless as 
they rendered my task, did not abate, for a sin- 
gle moment, my industry in pursuing it. I read 
on and on, with a sort of suUen apathy, neither 
charmed by style, nor transported by imagery — 
the fatal blight in my heart having communi- 
cated itself to my imagination and taste. The 



acknowledging that he really acted under a Divine ( 
sion, promulgating a temporary law for a peculiar purpose" 
— a much more candid and sensible way of treating this 
very difficult point, than by either endeavoring, like War- 
burton, to escape from it into a paradox, or, still worse, con- 
triving, like Dr. Graves, to increase its difficulty by expla 
nation. Vide "On the Pentateuch," See also Home's In- 
troduction, &;c., vol. I. p. 22G. 



742 



THE EPICUREAN. 



curses and the blessings, the glory and the ruin, 
which the historian recorded and the prophet 
had predicted, seemed all of this world — all 
temporal and eartldy. That mortality, of which 
the fountain head had tasted, tinged the whole 
stream ; and when I read the words, •' all are 
of the dust, and all turn to dust again," * a feel- 
ing, like the wind of the desert, came wither- 
ingly over me. Love, Beauty, Glory, every 
thing most bright and worshipped uj^on earth, 
appeared to be sinking before my eyes, under 
this dreadful doom, into one general mass of 
corruption and silence. 

Possessed by the image of desolation I had 
thus called up, I laid my head upon the book, 
in a paroxysm of despair. Death, in all his 
most ghastly varieties, passed before me ; and I 
had continued thus for some time, as under the 
influence of a fearful vision, when the touch of 
a hand upon my shoulder roused me. Looking 
up, I saw the Anchoret standing by my side ; — 
his countenance beaming with that sublime 
tranquillity, which a hope, beyond this earth, 
alone can bestow. How I did envy him ! 

We again took our way to the seat upon the 
mountain — the gloom within my own mind 
making every thing around me more gloomy. 
Forgetting my hyjDOcrisy in my feelings, I pro- 
ceeded at once to make an avowal to him of all 
the doubts and fears which my study of the 
morning had awakened. 

" Thou art yet, my son," he answered, " but 
on the threshold of our faith. Thou hast seen 
but the first rudiments of the Divine plan ; — 
its full and consummate perfection hath not yet 
opened upon thy mind. However glorious that 
manifestation of Divinity on Mount Sinai, it was 
but the forerunner of another, still more glori- 
ous, which, in the fulness of time, was to burst 



1 While Voltaire, Volney, &c., refer to the Ecclesiastes, 
as abounding with tenets of materialism and Epicurism, Mr. 
Des VoBux and others find in it strong proofs of belief in a 
future state. The chief difficulty lies in the chapter from 
which this text is quoted ; and the mode of construction by 
wliich some writers attempt to get rid of it — namely, by 
putting these texts into the mouth of a foolish reasoner — 
appears forced and gratuitous. Vide Dr Hale's Analysis. 

2 This opinion of the Hermit may be supposed to have 
been derived from his master, Origen ; but it is not easy to 
ascertain the exact doctrine of Origen on this subject. In 
!lie Treatise on Prayer attributed to him, he asserts that God 
.he Father alone should be invoked — which, says Bayle, is 
to "encherir sur les Heresies des Sociniens." Notwith- 
standing this, however, and some other indications of, what 
was afterwards called, Arianism, (such as the opinion of the 
divinity being received hy communication, wh\c\\ Milner ns- 
serts to have been held by this Father,) Origen was one of 



upon the world ; when all, that before had s( 
dim and incomplete, was to be perfected, and 
the promises, shadowed out by the ' spirit of 
prophecy,' realized ; when the seal of silence, 
under which the Future had so long lain, was 
to be broken, and the glad tidhigs of life and 
immortality proclaimed to the world ! " 

Observing my features brighten at these words, 
the pious man continued. Anticipating some 
of the holy knowledge that was in store for me, 
he traced, through all its wonders and mercies, 
the great work of Redemi^tion, dwelling in de- 
tail upon every miraculous circumstance con- 
nected with it — the exalted nature of the Being, 
by whose ministry it was accomplished, the no- 
blest and first created of the Sons of God,^ in- 
ferior only, to the one, self-existent. Father ; — 
the mysterious incarnation of this heavenly mes- 
senger ; — the miracles that authenticated his 
divine mission ; — the example of obedience to 
God and love to man, which he set, as a shining 
light, before the world forever ; — and, lastly 
and chiefly, his death and resurrection, by which 
the covenant of mercy was sealed, and " life 
and immortality brought to light." 

" Such," continued the Hermit, " was the Me- 
diator, promised through all time, to ' make 
reconciliation for iniquity,' to change death into 
life, and bring ' healing on his wings ' to a dark- 
ened world. Such was the last crowning dis- 
pensation of that God of benevolence, in whose 
hands sin and death are but instruments of ever- 
lasting good, and who, through apparent evil 
and temporary retribution, bringing all things 
' out of darkness into his marvellous light,' pro- 
ceeds watchfully and unchangingly to the great, 
final object of his providence — the restoration 
of the whole human race to purity and happi- 
ness ! " ^ 



the authorities quoted by Athanasius in support of his high 
doctrines of co-eternity and co-essentiality. What Priestley 
says is, perhaps, the best solution of these inconsistencies ;- 
" Origen, as well as Clemens Alexandrinus, has been 
thought to favor the Arian principles ; but he did it only in 
words, and not in ideas." — Early Opinions, ^r. Whatever 
uncertainty, however, there may exist with respect to tl.e 
opinion of Origen himself on this subject, there is no doubt 
that the doctrines of his immediate followers were, at bast, 
Anti-Athanasian. " So many Bishops of Africa," says 
Priestley, " were, at this period (between the year 955 and 
258), Unitarians, that Athanasius says, 'The Son of G<id ' — 
meaning his divinity — 'was scarcely any longer preached 
in the churches.' " 

3 This benevolent doctrine — which not only goes far to 
solve the great problem of moral and physical evil, but 
which would, if received more generally, tend to soften the 
spirit of uncharitableness, so fatally prevalent among Chris- 



THE EPICUREAN. 



743 



With a mind astonished, if not touched, by 
these discourses, I returned to my cave, and 
found the lamp, as before, ready hghted to re- 
ceive me. The volume which I had been hith- 
erto studying, was replaced by another, which 
lay open upon the table, with a branch of fresh 
palm between its leaves. Though I could not 
doubt to whose gentle and guardian hand I was 
indebted for this invisible watchfulness over ray 
studies, there was yet a something in it, so like 
spiritual interposition, that it struck me with 
awe ; — and never more than at this moment, 
when, on approaching the volume, I saw, as the 
light glistened over its silver letters,' that it 
■was the very Book of Life of which the Her- 
mit had spoken ! 

The midnight hymn of the Christians had 
Bounded through the valley, before I had yet 
raised my eyes from that sacred volume ; and 
the second hour of the sun found me again over 
its pages. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

In this mode of existence I had now passed 
some days ; — my mornings devoted to reading, 
my nights to Ustening, under the wide canopy 
of heaven, to the holy eloquence of Melanius. 
The perseverance with which I inquired, and 
the quickness with which I learned, soon suc- 
ceeded in deceiving my benevolent instructor, 
who mistook curiosity for zeal, and knowledge 
for belief. Alas ! cold, and barren, and earthly 
was that knowledge — the word without the 
spirit, the shape without the life. Even when, 
as a relief from hypocrisy, I persuaded myself 
that I believed, it was but a brief delusion, a 
faith, whose hope crumbled at the touch — like 
the fruit of the desert shrub,^ shining and 
empty ! 

But, though my soul was still dark, the good 



tian sects — was maintained by that great light of the early 
Church, Origen, and has not wanted supporters among more 
modern Theologians. That Tillotson was inclined to the 
«[ii-.ion appears from his sermon preached before the queen. 
Paley is sui)posed to have held the same amiable doctrine ; 
and Newton (the author of the work on the Prophecies) is 
also among the supporters of it. For a full account of the 
arguments in favor of this opinion, derived botli from rea- 
son and the e.xpress language of Scripture, see Dr. South- 
wood Smith's very interesting work, " On the Divine Gov- 
ernment." See also Magee on Atonement, where the doc- 
trine of the advocates of Universal Restoration is thus brief- 
ly, and, I believe, fairly explained: — " Beginning with the 
existence of an infinitely powerful, wise, and good Being, 



Hermit saw not into its depths. The very fa- 
cility of my belief, wliich might have suggested 
some doiibt of its sincerity, Avas but regarded, 
by his innocent zeal, as a more signal triumph 
of the truth. His own ingenuousness led hin. 
to a ready trust in others ; and the examples oi 
such conversion as that of the philosopher, Jus- 
tin, who, during a walk by the sea shore, re- 
ceived the light into his soul, had prepared him 
for illumiilations of the spirit, even more rapid 
than mine. 

During all this time, I neither saw nor heard 
of Alethe ; — nor could my patience have 
endured through so long a privation, had not 
those mute vestiges of her presence, that wel- 
comed me every night on my return, made me 
feel that I was still living under her gentle 
influence, and that her sympathy hung rounc 
every step of my progress. Once, too, when I 
ventured to speak her name to Melanius, though 
he answered not my inquiry, there was a smile, 
I thought, of promise upon his countenance, 
which love, far more alive than faith, was ready 
to interpret as it desired. 

At length — it was on the sixth or seventh 
evening of my solitude, when I lay resting at 
the door of my cave, after the study of the day 
— I w'as startled by hearing my name called 
loudly from the opposite rocks ; and looking up, 
saw, upon the cliff near the deserted grottoes, 
Melanius and — O, I could not doubt — my 
Alethe by his side ! 

Though I had never, since the first night of 
my return from the desert, ceased to flatter 
myself with the fancy that I was still living in 
her presence, the actual sight of her once more 
made me feel for what a long age we had been 
separated. She was clothed aU in white, and, 
as she stood in the last remains of the sunshine, 
appeared to my too prophetic fancy like a part- 
ing spirit, whose last footsteps on earth that 
pure glory encircled. 



as the first and fundamental principle of rational religion, 
they pronounce the essence of this Being to be love, and 
from tliis infer, as a demonstrable consequence, that none 
of the creatures formed by such a Being will ever be made 

eternally miserable Since God ithey say) would ac* 

unjustly in inflicting eternal misery for temporary crimes 
the sufferings of the wicked can be but remedial, and will 
terminate in a complete purification from moral disorder, 
and in their ultimate restoration to virtue and happiness." 

1 The Codex Cottonianus of the New Testanjent is writ 
ten in silver letters on a purple ground. The Codex Cot- 
tonianus of the Sepluagint version of the Old Testament is 
supposed to be the identical copy that belonged to Origeii 

2 Vide Hamilton's ^gyptiaca. 



744 



THE EPICUREAN. 



With a delight only to be imagined, I saw 
them descend the rocks, and, placing themselves 
in the boat, proceed directly towards my cave. 
To disguise from Melanius the mutual delight 
with which we again met was impossible ; — nor 
did Alethe even attempt to make a secret of 
her joy. Though blushing at her own happi- 
ness, as little could her frank nature conceal it, 
as the clear waters of Ethiopia can hide their 
gold. Every look, every word, bespoke a ful- 
ness of affection, to which, doubtful as I was 
of our tenure of happiness, I knew not how to 
respond. 

I was not long, however, left ignorant of the 
bright fate that awaited me ; but, as wo wan- 
dered or rested among the rocks, learned every 
thing that had been arranged since our parting. 
She had made the Hermit, I found, acquainted 
with all that had passed between us ; had told 
him, without reserve, every incident of our 
voyage — the avowals, the demonstrations of 
affection on one side, and the deep sentiment 
that gratitiide had awakened on the other. Too 
wise to regard affections so natural with sever- 
ity — knowing that they were of heaven, and 
but made evil by man — the good Hermit had 
heard of our attachment with pleasure; and, 
fully satisfied, as to the honor and puritj' of my 
views, by the fidelity with which I had delivered 
my trust into his hands, saw, in my affection 
for the young orphan, but a providential re- 
source against that friendless solitude in which 
his death must soon leave her. 

As, listening eagerly, I collected these par- 
ticulars from their discourse, I could hardly 
trust my ears. It seemed a happiness too great 
to be true, to be real ; nor can words convey 
any idea of the joy, the shame, the Avonder with 
which I listened while the holy man himself 
declared that he awaited but the moment, when 
he should find me worthy of becoming a mem- 
ber of the Christian Church, to give me also the 
hand of Alethe in that sacred union, which 
alone sanctifies love, and makes the faith, which 
it pledges, holy. It was but yesterday, he 
added, that his young charge, herself, after a 
preparation of prayer and repentance, such as 
even her pure spirit required, had been admit- 
ted, by the sacred ordinance of baptism, into 
the bosom of the faith ; — and the white gar- 
nent she wore, and the ring of gold on her 

1 See, for the custom among the early Christians of wear- 
ing white for a few days after baptism, Ambro.i. de Mijst. — 
With respect to the ring, the Bishop of Lincoln says, in liis 
""ork on TertuUian, " The natural inference from these 



finger,' "were symbols," he added, "of that 
New Life into which she had been initiated." 

I raised my eyes to hers as he spoke, but 
■withdrew them again, dazzled and confused. 
Even her beauty, to my imagination, seemed to 
have undergone some brightening change ; and 
the contrast between that open and happy coun- 
tenance, and the unblest brow of the infidel 
that stood before her, abashed me into a senso 
of unworthiness, and almost checked my rap- 
ture. 

To that night, however, I look back, as an 
epoch in my existence. It proved that sorrow 
is not the only awakener of devotion, but that 
joy may sometimes quicken the holy spark into 
life. Returning to my cave, with a heart fuU, 
even to oppression, of its happiness, I could find 
no other relief to my overcharged feelings, than 
that of throwing myself on my knees, and ut- 
tering, for the first time in my life, a heartfelt 
prayer, that if, indeed, there were a Being who 
watched over mankind, he would send down 
one ray of his truth into my darkened soul, and 
make it worthy of the blessings, both here and 
hereafter, proffered to it ! 

My days now rolled on in a perfect dream of 
happiness. Every hour of the morning was 
welcomed as bringing nearer and nearer the 
blest time of sunset, when the Hermit and 
Alethe never failed to visit my now charmed 
cave, where her smile left, at each parting, a 
light that lasted till her return. Then, our 
rambles, together, by starlight, over the moun- 
tain ; our pauses, from time to time, to contem- 
plate the wonders of the bright heaven above 
us ; our repose by the cistern of the rock, and 
our silent listening, through hours that seemed 
minutes, to the holy eloquence of our teach- 
er ; all, all was happiness of the most heartfelt 
kind, and such as even the doubts,- the cold 
lingering doubts, that still hung, like a mist, 
around my heart, could neither cloud nor chilL 

As soon as the moonlight nights returned, we 
used to venture into the desert ; and those 
sands, which had lately looked so desolate, in 
my eyes, now assumed even a cheerful and 
smiling aspect. To the light, innocent heart of 
Alethe, every thing was a source of er.joyment. 
For her, even the desert had its jewels and 
flowers ; and, sometimes, her delight was to 
search among the sands for those beautiful peb- 

words (Tertull. dc Pudicitid.) appears to be", that a ring used 
to be given in baptism ; but 1 have found no otner trace oi 
sucli a custom." 



THE EPICUREAN. 



745 



oles of jasper ' that abound in them ; — some- 
times her ej-es •would sparkle -with pleasure on 
finding, perhaps, a stunted marigold, or one of 
those bitter, scarlet flowers,^ that lend their dry 
mockery of ornament to the desert. In all these 
pursuits and pleasures the good Hermit took a 
share — mingling occasionally with them the 
reflections of a benevolent piety, that lent its 
own cheerful hue to all the works of creation, 
and saw the consoling truth, " God is Love," 
written legibly every where. 

Such was, for a few weeks, my blissful life. 
O, mornings of hope, O, nights of hapj^iness, 
with what melancholy pleasure do I retrace 
your flight, and how reluctantly pass to the sad 
events that followed ! 

During this time, in compliance with the 
washes of Melanius, who seemed unwilling that 
I should become wholly estranged from the 
world, I used occasionally to pay a visit to the 
neighboring city, Antinoe,' which, being the 
capital of the Thebai'd, is the centre of all the 
luxury of TJjaper Egypt. But here, so changed 
was my every feeling by the all-absorbing pas- 
sion which now possessed me, that I sauntered 
along, wholly iininterested bj' either the scenes 
or the people that surrounded me, and, sigh- 
ing for that rocky solitude where my Alethe 
brcatjicd, felt this to be the wilderness, and that 
the world. 

Even the thoughts of my own native Athens, 
that at every step were called up, by the light 
Grecian architecture of this imperial citj', did 
not awaken one single regret in my heart — one 
wish to exchange even an hour of mj^ desert 
for the best luxuries and honors that awaited 
me in the Garden. I saw the arches of tri- 
umph ; — I walked under the superb portico, 
which encircles the v.'hole city with its marble 
shade ; — I stood in the Circus of the Sun, by 
whose rose-colored pillars the mysterious move- 
ments of the Nile are measured ; — on all these 
proud monuments of glory and art, as well as 
on the gay multitude that enlivened them, I 
looked with an unheeding eye. If they awa- 
kened in me any thought, it was the mournful 
idea, that, one day, like Thebes and Heliopolis, 
this pajrcant would pass away, leaving nothing 
beliind but a few mouldering ruins — like sea 
shells found where the ocean has been — to teU 
that the great tide of Life was once there ! 



1 Vide Clarke. 

4 " Les Mesembrijanthemum nodijlorum et ZygophyUum coc- 
T tiiuuvi, plantes grasses des deserts rejetees, i cause de, leur 
I. 94 



But, though indifferent thus to all that had 
formerly attracted me, there were subjects, once 
alien to my heart, on Avhich it was now most 
tremblingly alive ; and some rumors which had 
reached me, in one of my visits to the city, of 
an expected change in the policy of the Em- 
peror towards the Christians, filled my mind 
with apprehensions as new as they Avere dread- 
ful to me. 

The toleration and even favor which the Chris- 
tians enjoyed, during the first four years of the 
reign of Valerian, had removed from them all 
fear of a renewal of those horrors, which they 
had experienced under the rule of his prede- 
cessor, Decius. Of late, however, some loss 
friendly dispositions had manifested themselves. 
The bigots of the court, taking alarm at the 
rapid spread of the new faith, had succeeded in 
filling the mind of the monarch with that re- 
ligious jealousy, which is the ever-ready parent 
of cruelty and injustice. Among these coun- 
sellors of evil was Macrianus, the Praetorian 
Prefect, who was, by birth, an Egyptian, and 
had long made himself notorious — so akin is 
superstition to intolerance — by his addiction 
to the dark practices of demon worship and 
magic. 

From this minister, who was now high in the 
favor of Valerian, the new measures of severity 
against the Christians were expected to emanate. 
All tongues, in all quarters, were busy with the 
news. In the streets, in the public gardens, on 
the steps of the temples, I saw, every whore, 
groups of inquirers collected, and heard the 
name of Macrianus upon every tongue. It was 
dreadful, too, to observe, in the countenances 
of those who spoke, the variety of feeling with 
which the rumor was discussed, according as 
thej' feared or desired its truth — according as 
they were likely to be among the torturers or 
the victims. 

Alarmed, though still ignorant of the whole 
extent of the danger, I hurried back to the ra- 
vine, and, going at once to the grotto of Mela- 
nius, detailed to him every particular of the in- 
telligence I had collected. He listened to me 
with a composure, which I mistook, alas ! for 
confidence in his own security ; and, naming 
the hour for our evening walk, retired into his 
grotto. 

At the accustomed time, accompanied by 



■Xrreti, par les chameaiix, les ch^vres, et 
Delile upon the Plants of E^ypt. 
s Vide Savury and Q^uatremere. 



gazelles." M 



746 



THE EPICUREAN. 



Alethe, he came to my cave. It was evident 
tliat he had not communicated to her the intel- 
ligence which I had brought, for never hath 
brow worn such happiness as that which now 
played around hers : — it was, alas ! not of this 
earth. Melanius, himself, though composed, 
was thoughtful ; and the solemnity, almost ap- 
proaching to melancholy, with which he placed 
the hand of Alethe in mine — in the perform- 
ance, too, of a ceremony that ought to have 
filled my heart with joy — saddened and alarmed 
me. This ceremony was our betrothment, the 
act of plighting our faith to each other, which 
we now solemnized on the rock before the door 
of my cave, in the face of that calm, sunset 
heaven, whose one star stood as our witness. 
After a blessing from the Hermit upon our 
spousal pledge, I placed the ring — the earnest 
of our future union — on her finger, and, in the 
blush, with which she surrendered to me her 
whole heart at that instant, forgot every thing 
but my happiness, and felt secure even against 
fate ! 

We took our accustomed walk, that evening, 
over the rocks and on the desert. So bright 
was the moon — more like the daylight, indeed, 
of other climes — that we could plainly see the 
tracks of the wild antelopes in the sand ; and 
it was not without a slight tremble of feeling in 
his voice, as if some melancholy analogy oc- 
curred to him as he spoke, that the good Hermit 
said, " I have observed in the course of my 
walks,' that wherever the track of that gentle 
animal appears, there is, almost always, found 
the footprint of a beast of prey near it." He 
regained, however, his usual cheerfulness before 
we parted, and fixed the following evening for 
an excursion on the other side of the ravine, to 
a point looking, he said, " towards that north- 
ern region of the desert, where the hosts of 
the Lord encamped in their departure out of 
bondage." 

Though, when Alethe was present, all my 
fears even for herself were forgotten in that per- 
petual element of happiness, which encircled 
her like the air that she breathed, no sooner was 
I alone, than vague terrors and bodings crowded 
upon me. In vain did I endeavor to reason 
away my fears, by dwelling only on the most 
cheering circumstances — on the reverence with 

1 " Je remarquai, avec une reflexion triste, qu'un animal 
de proie accompagne presque toujoura les pas de ce joli et 
frele individu." 

2 " Those Christians who sacrificed to idols to save them- 
selves were called by various names, Thurificati, Sacr\ficati, 



w^hich Melanius was regarded, even by the Pa- 
gans, and the inviolate security with which he 
had lived through the most perilous periods, 
not only safe himself, but affording sanctuary in 
the depths of his grottoes to others. Though 
somewhat calmed by these considerations, yet 
when at length I sunk off to sleep, dark, hor- 
rible dreams took possession of my mind. 
Scenes of death and of torment passed confused- 
ly before me ; and, when I awoke, it was with 
the fearful impression that all these horrors were 
real. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

At length, the day dawned — that dreadful 
day. Impatient to be relieved from my sus- 
pense, I threw myself into my boat — the same 
in which we had performed our happy voyage — 
and, as fast as oars could speed me, hurried 
away to the city. I found the suburbs silent 
and solitary, but, as I approached the Forum, 
loud yells, like those of barbarians in combat, 
struck on my ear, and, when I entered it — 
great God, what a spectacle presented itself ! 
The imperial edict against the Christians had 
arrived during the night, and already the wild 
fury of bigotry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the Forum, 
was the tribunal of the Governor. Two statues 
— one of Apollo, the other of Osiris — stood at 
the bottom of the steps that led up to his judg- 
ment seat. Before these idols were shrines, to 
which the devoted Christians were dragged from 
all quarters by the soldiers and mob, and there 
compelled to recant, by throwing incense into 
the flame, or, on their refusal, hurried away to 
torture and death. It was an appalling scene ; — • 
the consternation, the cries of some of the vic- 
tims — the pale, silent resolution of others ; — 
the fierce shouts of laughter that broke from 
the multitude, when the dropping of the frank- 
incense on the altar proclaimed some denier of 
Christ ; * and the fiend-like triumph with which 
the courageous Confessors, who avowed their 
faith, were led away to the flames ; — never 
could I have conceived such an assemblage of 
horrors ! 

Though I gazed but for a few minutes, in 

Mittentes, J^egatorcs," &c. Baronius mentions a bishop of 
this period (253), Marcellinus, who, yielding to the thrcais 
of the Gentiles, threw incense upon the altar. Vide Aruob 
contra Oent. lib. vii. 



THE EPICUREAN. 



747 



those minutes I felt aad fancied enough for 
years. Already did the form of Alethe appear 
to flit before me through that tumult ; — I 
heard them shout her name ; — her shriek fell 
on my ear ; and the very thought so palsied me 
with terror, that I stood fixed and statue-like on 
the spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful preciousness 
of every moment, and that — perhaps, at this 
very instant — some emissaries of blood might 
be on their way to the Grottoes, I rushed wildly 
out of the Forum, and made my way to the 
quay. 

The streets were now crowded; but I ran 
headlong through the multitude, and was al- 
ready under the portico leading down to the 
river — already saw the boat that was to bear me 
to Alethe — when a Centurion stood sternly in 
my path, and I was surrounded and. arrested by 
soldiers ! It was in vain that I implored, that I 
struggled with them as for life, assuring them 
that I was a stranger — that I was an Athenian 
— that I was — 7iot a Christian. The precipita- 
tion of my flight was sufficient evidence against 
me, and unrelentingly, and by force, they bore 
me away to the quarters of their Chief. 

It was enough to drive me at once to mad- 
ness ! Two hours, two frightful hours, was I 
kept waiting the arrival' of the Tribune of their 
Legion * — my brain burning with a thousand 
fears and imaginations, which every passing 
minute made but more likely to be realized. 
All I could collect, too, from the conversations 
of those around me but added to the agonizing 
apprehensions with which I was racked. Troops, 
it was said, had been sent in all directions 
through the neighborhood, to bring in the re- 
bellious Christians, and make them bow before 
the Gods of the Empire. With horror, too, I 
heard of Orcus — Orcus, the High Priest of 
Memphis — as one of the principal instigators 
of this sanguinary edict, and as here present in 
Antinoe, animating and directing its execution. 

In this state of torture I remained till the ar- 
rival of the Tribune. Absorbed in my own 
thoughts, I had not perceived his entrance ; — 
till, hearing a voice, in a tone of friendly sur- 
prise, exclaim, " Alciphron ! " I looked up, and 
in this legionary Chief recognized a young 
Roman of rank, who had held a military com- 
mand, the year before, at Athens, and was one 
of the most distinguished visitors of the Gar- 
den. It was no time, however, for courtesies ; — 

1 A rank, resembling that of Colonel. 



he was proceeding with all cordiality to greet 
me, but, having heard him order my instant re« 
lease, I could wait for no more. Acknowl- 
edging his kindness but by a grasp of the hand, 
I flew off', like one frantic, through the streets, 
and, in a few minutes, was on the river. 

My sole hope had been to reach the Grottoes 
before any of the detached parties should ar- 
rive, and, by a timely flight across the desert, 
rescue, at least, Alethe from their fury. Tlie 
ill-fated delay that had occurred rendered this 
hope almost desperate ; but the tranquillity I 
found every where as I proceeded down the 
river, and my fond confidence in the sacredness 
of the Hermit's retreat, kept my heart from 
sinking altogether under its terrors. 

Between the current and my oars, the boat 
flew, with the speed of wind, along the waters ; 
and I was already near the rocks of the ravine, 
when I saw, turning out of the canal into the 
river, a barge crowded with people, and glitter- 
ing with arms ! How did I ever survive the 
shock of that sight ? The oars dropped, as if 
struck out of my hands, into the water, and I 
sat, helplessly gazing, as that terrific vision ap- 
proached. In a few minutes, the current brought 
us together ; — and I saw, on the deck of the 
barge, Alethe herseK and the Hermit sur- 
rounded by soldiers ! 

We were already passing each other, when, 
with a desperate eff"ort, I sprang from my boat 
and lighted upon the edge of their vessel. I 
knew not what I did, for despair was my only 
prompter. Snatching at the sword of one of 
the soldiers, as I stood tottering on the edge, I 
had succeeded in wresting it out of his hands, 
w-hen, at the same moment, I received a thrust 
of a lance from one of his comrades, and feU 
backward into the river. I can j.sc remember 
rising again and making a grasp at the side of 
the vessel ; — but the shock, and the faintnesa 
from my wound, deprived me of all conscious- 
ness, and a shriek from Alethe, as I sank, is all 
I can recollect of what followed. 

Woidd I had then died ! — Yet, no. Almighty 
Being — I should have died in darkness, and I 
have lived to know Thee ! 

On returiung to my senses, I found myself 
reclined on a couch, in a splendid apartment, 
the whole appearance of which being Grecian, 
I, for a moment, forgot aU that had passed, and 
imagined myself in my own home at Athens, 
But too soon the whole dreadful certainty 
flashed upon me ; and, starting wildly — dis- 
abled as I was — from my couch, I called loud- 



748 



THE EPICUREAN. 



ly, and with the shriek of a maniac, upon 
Alcthe. 

I was in the house, I then found, of my friend 
and disciple, the young Tribune, who had made 
the Governor acquainted with my name and 
condition, and had received me under his roof, 
when brought, bleeding and insensible, to Anti- 
noe. From him I now learned at once — for I 
could not wait for details — the sum of all that 
had happened in that dreadful interval. Mela- 
nius v,'as no more — Alethe stiU alive, but in 
prison ! 

" Take me to her " — I had but time to say 
— «' take me to her instantly, and let me die by 
her side" — when, nature again failing under 
such shocks, I relapsed into insensibility. In 
this state I continued for near an hour, and, on 
recovering, found the Tribune by my side. The 
horrors, he said, of the Forum were, for that 
day, over — but Avhat the morrow might bring, 
he shuddered to contemplate. His nature, it 
was plain, revolted from the inhuman duties in 
which he was engaged. Touched by the ago- 
nies he saw me suffer, he, in some degree, re- 
lieved them, by promising that I should, at 
nightfall, be conveyed to the prison, and, if 
possible, through his influence, gain access to 
Alethe. She might yet, he added, be saved, 
could I succeed in persuading her to comply 
with the terms of the edict, and make sacrifice 
to the Gods. — " Otherwise," said he, •' there is 
no hope ; — the vindictive Orcus, w ho has re- 
sisted even this short respite of mercy, will, to- 
morrow, inexorably demand his prey." 

He then related to me, at my own request — 
though every word was torture — all the har- 
rowing details of the proceeding before the Tri- 
bunal. " I have seen courage," said he, '< in its 
noblest forms, in the field ; but the calm intre- 
pidity with which that aged Hermit endured 
torments — which it was hardly less torment 
to witness — surpassed all that I could have 
conceived of human fortitude ! " 

My poor Alethe, too — in describing to me 
ner conduct, the brave man wept like a child. 
Overwhelmed, he said, at first by her apprehen- 
sions for my safety, she had given way to a full 
burst of womanly weakness. But no sooner 
was she brought before the Tribunal, and the 



declaration of her faith was demanded of her, 
than a spirit almost supernatural seemed to ani- 
mate her whole form. " She raised her eyes," 
said he, " calmly, but with fervor, to heaven, 
while a blush was the only sign of mortal feeling 
on her features ; — and the clear, sweet, and un- 
trembling voice, with Avhich she pronounced her 
own doom, in the words, 'I am a Christian ! ' ' 
sent a thrill of admiration and pity throughout 
the multitude. Her youth, her loveliness, af- 
fected all hearts, and a cry of ' Save the young 
maiden ! ' was heard in all directions." 

The implacable Orcus, however, would not 
hear of mercy. Resenting, as it appeared, with 
all his deadliest rancor, not only her own escape 
from his toils, but the aid with which she had, 
so fatally to his views, assisted mine, he de- 
manded loudly and in the name of the insulted 
sanctuary of Isis, her instant death. It was but 
by the firm intervention of the Governor, mIio 
shared the general sympathy in her fate, that 
the delay of another day was granted to give 
a chance to the young maiden of yet recalling 
her confession, and thus affording some pretext 
for saving her. 

Even in yielding, with evident reluctance, to 
this respite, the inhuman Priest would yet ac- 
company it with some piark of his vengeance. 
Whether for the pleasure (observed the Trib- 
une) of mingling mockery with his cruelty, or 
as a warning to her of the doom she must ulti- 
mately expect, he gave orders that there should 
be tied round her brow one of those chaplets of 
coral, ^ with which it is the custom of young 
Christian maidens to array themselves on the 
day of their martyrdom ; — " and, thus fearful- 
ly adorned," said he, ♦' she was led away, amidst 
the gaze of the pitying multitude, to prison." 

With these harro'wing details the short in- 
terval tUl nightfall — every minute of which 
seemed an age — was occupied. As soon as it 
grew dark, I was placed upon a litter — my 
wound, though not dangerous, requiring such 
a conveyance — and, under. the guidance of my 
friend, I was conducted to the prison. Through 
his interest with the guard, we were without 
difficulty admitted, and I was borne into the 
chamber where the maiden lay immured. Even 
the veteran guardian of the place seemed 



1 The merit of the confession " Christianus sum," or 2 Une " de ces coiironnes de grain de corail, dont les vi- 
' Christiana sum," was considerably enhanced by the clear- erges martyres ornoient leurs cheveux en allant i la mort.' 
ness and distinctness with which it was pronounced. En- Les Martyrs, 
lebliis mentions the martyr Vetins as making it Xa^ivporaTri 1 



THE EPICUREAN. 



749 



touched with compassion for his prisoner, and 
supposing her to be asleep, had the litter placed 
gently near her. 

She was half reclining, with her face hid be- 
neath her hands, upon a couch — at the foot 
of which stood an idol, over whose hideous fea- 
tures a lamp of naphtha, that hung from the 
ceiling, shed a wild and ghastly glare. On a 
table before the image stood a censer, with a 
small vessel of incense beside it — one grain of 
wliich, thrown voluntarily into the flame, would, 
even now, save that precious life. So strange, 
so fearful was the whole scene, that I almost 
doubted its reality. Alethe ! my own, happy 
Alethe ! can it, I thought, be thou that I look 
upon ? 

She now, slowly, and with difficulty, raised 
her head from the couch, on observing which, 
the kind Tribune withdrew, and we were left 
alone. There was a paleness, as of death, over 
her features ; and those eyes, which, when last 
I saw them, were but too bright, too happy for 
this world, looked dim and sunken. In raising 
herself up, she put her hand, as if from pain, to 
her forehead, whose marble hue but appeared 
more deathlike from those red bands that lay so 
awfully across it. 

After wandering for a minute vaguely, her 
eyes at length rested upon me — and, with a 
shriek, half terror, half joy, she sprung from 
the couch, and sunk upon her knees by my 
side. She had believed me dead; and, even 
now, scarcely trusted her senses. " My hus- 
band ! my love ! " she exclaimed ; *' O, if thou 
comest to call me from this world, behold I am 
ready ! " In saying thus, she pointed wildly 
to that ominous wreath, and then dropped her 
head down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 
pierced it. 

"Alethe!" I cried — terrified to the very 
soul by that mysterious pang — and, as if the 
sound of my voice had reanimated ker, she 
looked up, with a faint smile, in my face. Her 
thoughts, which had evidently been wandering, 
became coUected; and in her joy at my safety, 
her sorrow at my suffering, she forgot entirely 
the fate that impended over herself. Love, in- 
nocent love, alone occupied all her thoughts ; 
and the warmth, the aff"ection, the devotedness, 
with Avhich she spoke — O, how, at any other 
moment, I would have blessed, have lingered 
upon every word ! 

But the time flew fast — that dreadful morrow 
was approaching. Already I saw her writhing 
in the hands of the torturer — the flames, the 



racks, the wheels were before my eres ! Half 
frantic with the fear that her resolution was 
fixed, I flung myself from the litter in an agony 
of weeping, and supplicated her, by the love she 
bore me, by the happiness that awaited us, by 
her own merciful God, who was too good to 
require such a sacrifice — by aU that the most 
passionate anxiety could dictate, I implored that 
she would avert from us the doom that was 
coming, and — but for once — comply with the 
vain ceremony demanded of her. 

Shrinking from me, as I spoke — but with a 
look more of sorrow than reproach — "What, 
thou, too ! " she said mournfully — " thou, into 
whose inmost spirit I had fondly hoped the 
same light had entered as into my own ! No, 
never be thou leagued with them who would 
tempt me to ' make shipwreck of my faith ! ' 
Thou, who couldst alone bind me to life, use 
not, I entreat thee, thy power ; but let me 
die, as He I serve hath commanded — die for 
the Truth. Remember the holy lessons we 
heard together on those nights, those happy 
nights, when both the present and future smiled 
upon us — when even the gift of eternal life 
came more welcome to my soul, from the glad 
conviction that thou wert to be a sharer in its 
blessings ; — shall I forfeit now that divine priv- 
ilege ? shall I deny the true God, whom we then 
learned to love ? 

" No, my own betrothed," she continued — 
pointing to the two rings on her finger — " be- 
hold these pledges — they are both sacred. I 
should have been as true to thee as I am now to 
heaven, — nor in that life to which I am hasten- 
ing shall our love be forgotten. Should the 
baptism of fire, through which I shall pass to- 
morrow, make me worthy to be heard before the 
throne of Grace, I will intercede for thy soul — 
I will pray that it may yet share with mine that 
'inheritance, immortal and undefiled,' which 
Mercy off'ers, and that thou — and my dear 
mother — and I " 

She here dropped her voice ; the momentary 
animation, with which devotion and aff'ection 
had inspired her, vanished ; — and there came a 
darkness over all her features, a livid dark- 
ness — -ke the approach of death — that made 
me shudder through every limb. Seizing my 
hand convulsively, and looking at me with a 
fearful eagerness, as if anxious to hear some 
consoling assurance from my own lips — "Be- 
lieve me," she continued, " not all the torments 
they are preparing for me — not even this deep, 
burning pain in my brow, to which they will 



;5o 



ALCIPKRON. 



hardly find an equal — could be half so dreadful 
to me, as the thought that I leave thee, with- 
out " 

Here her voice again failed ; her head sunk 
upon my arm, and — merciful God, let me for- 
get what I then felt — I saw that she was dying ! 
Whether I uttered any cry, I know not ; — but 
the Tribune came rushing into my chamber, 
and, looking on the maiden, said, with a face 
full of horror, " It is but too true ! " 

He then told me in a low voice, what he had 
just learned from the guardian of the prison, 
that the band round the young Christian's 
brow ' was — O horrible ! — a compound of the 
most deadly poison — the hellish invention of 
Orcus, to satiate his vengeance, and make the 
fate of his poor victim secure. My first move- 
ment was to untie that fatal wreath — but it 
would not come away — it w^ould not come 
away ! 

Roused by the pain, she again looked in my 
face ; but, unable to speak, took hastily from 
her bosom the small silver cross which she had 
brought with her from my cave. Having pressed 
it to her own lips, she held it anxiously to mine, 
and seeing me kiss the holy sjonbol with fervor, 
looked happy, and smiled. The agony of death 
seemed to have passed away ; — there came sud- 
denly over her features a heavenly light, some 
share of which I felt descending into my own 



1 We find poisonous crowns mentioned by Pliny, under 
the designation of " corona ferales." Pasdialius, too, gives 
the following account of these " deadly garlands," as he 
calls them : — " Sed mirum est tam salutare inventum hu- 
manara nequitiara reperisse, quomodo ad nefarios usus tra- 



soul, and, in a few minutes more, she expire;! 
in my arms. 

Here ends the Manuscript ; hut, on the outer cover 
is fou7id, in the handwriting of a much later pe- 
riod, the following Notice, extracted, as it appears, 
from some Egyptian martyrology : — 

" Alciphrox — an Epicurean philosopher, 
converted to Christianity A. D. 257, by a young 
Egyptian maiden, who suffered martyrdom in 
that year. Immediately upon her death he be- 
took himself to the desert, and lived a life, it is 
said, of much holiness and penitence. During 
the persecution under Diocletian, his sufferings 
for the faith were most exemplary ; and being 
at length, at an advanced age, condemned to 
hard labor, for refusing to comply with an Im- 
perial edict, he died at the Brass Mines of Pales- 
tine, A. D. 297. — 

" As AlcijDhron held the opinions maintained 
since by Arius, his memorj^ has not been spared 
by Athanasian writers, who, among other 
charges, accuse him of having been addicted to 
the superstitions of Egypt. For this calumny, 
however, there appears to be no better founda- 
tion than a circumstance, recorded by one of his 
brother monks, that there was found, after his 
death, a small metal mirror, like those used in the 
ceremonies of Isis, suspended around his neck." 

diicent. Nempe, repertte sunt nefands coronae harum, quaa 
dixi, tam salubrium per nomen quidem et speciem imita- 
trices, at re et effectu ferales, atque adeo capitis, cui impo- 
nuntur, interfectrices." De Coronis. 



ALCIPHRON 



A FRAGMENT. 



LETTER I. 

FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT 
ATHENS. 

Well may you wonder at my flight 

From those fair Gardens, in whose bowers 
Lingers whate'er of wise and bright, 
K>i Beauty's smile or Wisdom's light, 
Is left to grace this world of ours. 



Well may my comrades, as they roam, 
On such sweet eves as this, inquire 

Why I have left that happy home 
Where all is found that all desire. 
And Time hath wings that never tire ; 

Where bliss, in all the countless shapes 
That Fancy's self to bliss hath given, 

Comes clustering round, like roadside grapes 
That woo the traveller's Up, at even ; 



ALCIPHRON. 



751 



Where Wisdom flings not joy away — 
As Pallas in the stream, they say, 
Once flung her flute — but smiling owns 
That woman's lip can send forth tones 
Worth all the music of those spheres 
So many dream of, but none hears ; 
Where Virtue's self puts on so well 

Her sister Pleasure's smile that, loath 
From either nymph apart to dwell, 

We finish by embracing both. 

Yes, such the place of bliss, I own, 
From all whose charms I just have flown ; 
And ev'n while thus to thee I write. 

And by the Nile's dark flood recline, 
Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight 
Back to those groves and gardens bright, 
And often think, by this sweet light. 

How lovelily they all must shine ; 
Can see that graceful temple throw 

Down the green slope its Icngthen'd shade, 
While, on the marble steps below. 

There sits some fair Athenian maid, 
Over some favorite volume bending ; 

And, by her side, a youthful sage 
Hoi Is back the ringlets that, descending. 

Would else o'ershadow all the page. 
But hence such thoughts ! — nor let me grieve 
O'er scenes of joy that I but leave, 
As the bird quits a while its nest 
To come again with livelier zest. 

And now to tell thee — what I fear 
Thoii'lt gravely smile at — why I'm here. 
Though through my life's short, sunny dream, 

I've floated without pain or care. 
Like a light leaf, down pleasure's stream, 

Caught in each sparkling eddy there ; 
Though never Mirth awaked a strain 
That my heart echoed not again ; 
Yet have I felt, when ev'n most gay. 

Sad thoughts — I knew not whence or why — 

Suddenly o'er my spirit fly. 
Like clouds, that, ere we've time to say 

" How bright the sky is ! " — shade the 
sky. 
Sometimes so vague, so undefin'd 
Were these strange dark'nings of my mind — 
While nought but joy around me beam'd — 

So causelessly they've come and flown, 
That not of life or earth they seem'd, 

But shadows from some world unknown. 
More oft, however, 'twas the thought 

How soon that scene, with all its play 

Of life and gladness must dee"^y — 



Those lips I press'd, the hands I caught — 

Myself — the crowd that mirth had brought 

Around me — swept like weeds away ! 

This thought it was that came to shed 

O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys ; 
And, close as shade with sunshine, wed 

Its sadness with my happiest joys. 
O, but for this disheart'ning voice 

Stealing amid our mirth to say 
That all, in which we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earthworm s prey — 
But for this bitter — only this — 
Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 
>0f draining to its dregs the whole, 
I should turn earth to heav'n, and be, 
K bliss made Gods, a Deity ! 

Thou know'st that night — the very last 
That 'mong my Garden friends I pass'd — 
When the School held its feast of mirth 
To celebrate our founder's birth. 
And all that He in dreams but saw 

When he set Pleasure on the throne 
Of this bright M'orld, and wrote her law 

In human hearts, was felt and known 
Not in unreal dreams, but true. 
Substantial joy as pulse e'er knew — 
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt 
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt. 

That night, when all our mirth was o'er, 

The minstrels silent, and the feet 
Of the young maidens heard no more — 

So stilly was the time, so sweet. 
And such a calm came o'er that scene. 
Where life and revel late had been — 
Lone as the quiet of some bay. 
From which the sea hath ebb'd away — 
That still I linger'd, lost in thought, 

Gazing upon the stars of night, 
Sad and intent, as if I sought 

Some mournful secret in their light ; 
And ask'd them, 'mid that silence, why 
Man, glorious man, alone must die. 
While they, less wonderful than he. 
Shine on through all eternity. 

That night — thou haply mayst forget 
Its loveliness — but 'twas a night 

To make earth's meanest slave regret 
Leaving a world so soft and bright. 

On one side, in the dark-blue sky, 

Lonely and radiant, was the eye 



752 



ALCIPHRON. 



Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 

'Mong stars that came out one by one, 
The young moon — like the Roman mother 

Among her living jewels — shone. 
" that from yonder orbs," I thought, 

" Pure and eternal as they are, 
" There could to earth some power be brought, 
" Some charm, with their own essence fraught, 

" To make man deathless as a star, 
' And open to his vast desires 

•' A course, as boundless and sublime 
'' As that which waits those comet fires, 

" That burn and roam, throughout all 
time ! " 

While thoughts like these absorb'd my mind, 

That weariness which earthly bliss, 
However sweet, still leaves belund, 

As if to show how earthly 'tis. 
Came lulling o'er me, and I laid 

Mj limbs at that fair statue's base — 
That miracle, which Art hath made 

Of all the choice of Nature's grace — 
To which so oft I've knelt and sworn, 

That, could a living maid like her 
Unto this wondering world be born, 

I would, myself, turn worshipper. 

Sleep came then o'er me — and I seem'd 

To be transported far away 
To a bleak desert plain, where gleam'd 

One single, melancholy ray, 
Tliroughout that darkness dimly shed 

From a small taper in the hand 
Of one, who, pale as are the dead. 

Before me took his spectral stand. 
And said, while, awfully, a smile 

Came o'er the wanness of his cheek — 
" Go, and, beside the sacred Nile, 

" You'll find th' Eternal Life you seek." 

Soon as he spoke these words, the hue 
Of death o'er all his features grew 
Like the pale morning, when o'er night 
She gains the victory, full of light ; 
While the small torch he held became 
A glory in his hand, whose flame 
Brighten'd the desert suddenly, 

Ev'n to the far horizon's line — 
Along whose level I could see 

Gardens and groves, that seem'd to shine, 
As if then o'er them freshly play'd 
A vernal rainbow's rich cascade ; 
And music floated everj- where, 
Circling, as 'twere itse f the air, 



And spirits, on whose wings the hue 
Of heav'n still linger'd, round me flew, 
Till from all sides such splendors broke, 
That with the excess of light, 1 woke ! 

Such was my dream ; — and, I confess, 

Though none of all our creedless school 
E'er conn'd, believ'd, or reverenc'd less 

The fables of the priest-led fool, 
Who tells us of a so\il, a mind, 
Separate and pure, within us shrin'd. 
Which is to live — ah, hope too bright ! — 
Forever in yon fields of light ; 
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes 

Of Gods are on him — as if, blest 
And blooming in their own blue skies, 
Th' eternal Gods were not too wise 

To let weak man disturb their rest ! — 
Though thinking of such creeds as thou 

And all our Garden sages think. 
Yet is there something, I allow. 

In dreams like this — a sort of link 
With worlds unseen, which, from the hour 

I first could lisp my thoughts tUl now, 
Hath master'd me with spell-like power. 

And who can tell, as we're combin'd 
Of various atoms — some refin'd. 
Like those that scintillate and play 
In the fix'd stars — some, gross as they 
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay — 
Who can be sure, but 'tis the best 

And brightest atoms of oui- frame. 

Those most akin to stellar flame. 
That shine out thus, when we're at rest ; — 
Ev'n as the stars themselves, whose light 
Comes out but in the silent night. 
Or is it that there lurks, indeed. 
Some truth in Man's prevailing creed. 
And that our Guardians, from on high. 

Come, in that pause from toil and sin. 
To put the senses' curtain by, 

And on the wakeful soul look in ! 

Vain thought ! — but yet, howe'er it be. 
Dreams — more than once — have prov'd to 

me 
Oracles, truer far than Oak, 
Or Dove, or Tripod ever spoke. 
And 'twas the words — thou'lt hear and smile — 

The words that phantom seem'd to speak — 
" Go, and beside the sacred Nile 

" You'll find th' Eternal Life you seek — " 
That, haunting me by night, by day. 

At length, as with the unseen hand 



ALCIPHRON. 



753 



Of Fate itself, urg'd me away 
From Athens to this Holy Land ; 

Where, 'mong the secrets, still untaught, 
The myst'ries that, as yet, nor sun 

Nor eye hath reach'd — O, blessed thought ! 
May sleep this everlasting one. 

Farewell — when to our Garden friends 
Thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends 
The gayest of their school thus far, 
Wandering beneath Canopus' star, 
Tell them that, wander where he will. 

Or, howsoe'er they now condemn 
His vague and vain pursuit, he still 

Is worthy of the School and them ; — 
Still, all their own — nor e'er forgets, 

Ev'n while his heart and soul pursue 
Th' Eternal Light which never sets. 

The many meteor joys that do, 
But seeks them, hails them with delight 
Where'er they meet his longing sight. 
And, if his life must wane away. 
Like other lives, at least the day, 
The hour it lasts shall, like a fire 
With incense fed, in sweets expire. 



LETTER IL 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Memphis. 
'Tis true, alas — the mysteries and the lore 
I came to study on this wondrous shore, 
Are all forgotten in the new delights. 
The strange, wild joys that fill my days and 

nights. 
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak 
From subterranean temples, those / seek 
Come from the breathing shrines where Beauty 

lives, 
And Love, her priest, the soft responses gives. 
Instead of honoring Isis in those rites 
At Coptos held, I hail her, when she lights 
Her first young crescent on the holy stream — 
When wandering youths and maidens watch her 

beam 
And number o'er the nights she hath to run. 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. 
While o'er some mystic leaf, that dimly lends 
A clew into past times, the student bends. 
And by its glimmering guidance learns to tread 
Back through the shadowy knowledge of the 

dead — 
The only skill, alas, I yet can claim 
Lies in deciphering some new lov'd one's name — 
95 



Some gentle missive, hinting time and place. 
In language, soft as Memphian reed can trace. 

And where — O where's the heart that could 

withstand 
Th' unnumber'd witcheries of this sun-born 

land. 
Where first young Pleasure's banner was un- 
furl' d, 
And Love hath temples ancient as the world '• 
Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn, 
Hides but to win, and shades but to adorn ; 
Where that luxurious melancholy, born 
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom 
Making joy holy ; — where the bower and tomb 
Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns from 

Death 
The instant value of each moment's breath. 

Couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream 
This lovely land now looks ! — the glorious 

stream, 
That late, between its banks, was seen to glide 
'Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side 
Glittering like jewels strung along a chain. 
Hath now sent forth its -waters, and o'er plain 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch'd Hmbs, hath grandly 

spread. 
While far as sight can reach, beneath as clear 
And blue a heav'n as ever bless'd our sphere. 
Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry 



And high-built temples, fit to be the homes 
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose hour 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that 

make 
One theatre of this vast, peopled lake, 
Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives 
Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 
Here, up the steps of temples from the wave 
Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 
Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands 
And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands ; 
While there, rich barks — fresh from those 

sunny tracts 
Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts — 
Glide, with their precious lading to the sea. 
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros' ivory. 
Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains 
Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 
Here, where the waters wind iiato a bay 
Shadrwy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way 



J5i 



ALCIPHRON. 



To Sats or Bubastus, among beds 
Of lotus flowers, that close above their heads, 
Push their light barks, and there, as in a bower, 
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour ; 
Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat. 
That leaf, from which its waters drink most 

sweet. — 
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 
Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 
Is i^layed in the cool current by a train 
Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,' whose 

chain 
Around two conquerors of the world was cast, 
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 

For O, believe not them, who dare to brand. 
As poor in charms, the women of this land. 
Though darken'd by that sun, whose spirit flows 
Through every vein, and tinges as it goes, 
'Tis but th' irabrowning of the fruit, that 

tells 
How rich within the soul of ripeness dwells — 
The hue their own dark sanctuaries wear, 
Announcing heav'n in half-caught glimpses 

there. 
And never yet did telltale looks set free 
The secret of young hearts more tenderly. 
Such eyes ! — long, shadowy, with that languid 

fall 
Of the fring'd lids, which may be seen in all 
Who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays — 
Lending such looks as, on their marriage days. 
Young maids cast down before a bridegroom's 

gaze ! 
Then for their grace — mark but the nymph- 
like shapes 
Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes 
From green Anthylla, or light urns of flowers — 
Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest hours. 
E'er imag'd forth, even at the touch of him^ 
Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb ! 
Then, canst thou wonder if, 'mid scenes like 

these, 
I should forget all graver mysteries, 
All lore but Love's, all secrets but that best 
In heav'n or earth, the art of being bless'd ! 
Yet are there times — though brief, I own, their 

stay, 
Like summer clouds that shine themselves 

away — 
Moments of gloom, when ev'n these pleasures 

pall 
Upon my sadd'ning heart, and I recall 

1 Cleopatra. 
» Apelles. 



That Garden dream — that promise of a power, 
O, were there such ! — to lengthen out life's 

hour, 
On, on, as through a vista, far away 
Opening before us into endless day ! 
And chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought 
Come on that evening — bright as ever brought 
Light's golden farewell to the world — when 

first 
Th' eternal pyramids of Memphis burst 
Awfully on my sight — standing sublime 
'Tvvixt earth and heav'n, the watchtowers of 

Time, 
From whose lone summit, when his reign hath 

pass'd 
From earth forever, he will look his last ! 

There hung a calm and solemn sunshine round 
Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound 
In the still air that circled them, which stole 
Like music of past times into my soul. 
I thought what myriads of the wise and brave 
And beautiful had sunk into the grave, 
Since earth first saw these wonders — and I 
said, 
Are things eternal only for the Dead ? 
Hath Man no loftier hope than this, M'hich 

dooms 
His only lasting trophies to be tombs ? 
But 'tis not so — earth, heaven, all nature 

shows 
He may become immortal — may unclose 
The wings within him wrapp'd, and proudly 

rise 
Redeem'd from earth, a creature of the skies 1 

■ And who can say, among the written spells 
' From Hermes' hand, that, in these shrines and 

cells 
' Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there may not 

be 
' Some secret clew to immortality, 
' Some amulet, whose spell can keep life's 

fire 
' Awake within us, never to expire ! 
' 'Tis known that, on the Emerald Table,' hid 
' For ages in yon loftiest pyramid, 
' The Thrice-Great * did himself, engrave, of 

old, 
' The chemic mystery that gives endless gold. 
• And why may not this mightier secret dwell 
' Within the same dark chambers ? who can 

teU 

8 See Notes on the Epicurean 
* The Hermes Trismegistus 



ALOIPHRON. 



755 



'• But that those kings, who, by the -written 

skill 
"Of th' Emerald Table, eall'd forth gold at 

will, 
" And quarries upon quarries heap'd andhurl'd, 
" To build them domes that might outstand the 

world — 
" Who knows but that the heavenlier art, which 

shares 
" The life of Gods with man, was also theirs — 
" That they themselves, triumphant o'er the 

power 
" Of fate and death, are living at this hour ; 
" And these, the giant homes they still possess, 
" Not tombs, but everlasting palaces, 
"Within whose depths, hid from the world 

above, 
"Even now they wander, with the few they 

love, 
" Through subterranean gardens, b)' a light 
" Unknown on earth, which hath nor dawn nor 

night ! 
" Else, why those deathless structures ? why 

the grand 
" And hidden halls, that undermine this land ? 
" Why else hath none of earth e'er dared to go 
" Through the dark windings of that realm 

below, 
" Nor aught from heav'n itself, except the God 
" Of Silence, through those endless labyrinths 

trod ? " 
Thus did I dream — wild, wandering dreams, I 

own, 
But such as haunt me ever, if alone. 
Or in that pause 'twixt joy and joy I be. 
Like a ship hush'd between two waves at sea. 
Then do these spirit whisperings, like the sound 
Of the Dark Future, come appalling round ; 
Nor can I break the trance that holds me then, 
Till high o'er Pleasure's surge I mount again ! 

Ev'n now for new adventure, new delight. 
My heart is on the wing ; — this very night, 
The Temple on that island, half way o'er 
From Memphis' gardens to the eastern shore, 
Sends up its annual rite ' to her, whose beams 
Bring the sweet time of night flowers and 

dreams ; 
The nymph, who dips her urn in silent lakes. 
And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes ; — 
O, not our Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins, 

' Tlie great Festival of tbe Moon. 



But she who haunts the gay Bubastian' grove. 
And owns she sees, from her bright heav'n 

above. 
Nothing on earth to match that heav'n but 

Love. 
Think, then, what bliss will be abroad to- 
night ! — 
Besides those sparkling nymphs, who meet the 

sight 
Day after day, familiar as the sun, 
Coy buds of beauty, yet unbreath'd upon. 
And all the hidden loveliness, that lies, — 
Shut up, as are the beams of sleeping eyes, 
Within these twilight shrines — to-night shall 

be 
Let loose, Uke birds, for this festivity ! 

And mark, 'tis nigh ; already the sun bids 
Ills evening farewell to the Pyramids, 
As he hath done, age after age, till they 
Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray ; 
While their great shadows, stretching from the 

light, 
Look like the first collossal steps of Night, 
Stretching across the valley, to invade 
The distant hills of porphyry with their shade. 
Around, as signals of the setting beam. 
Gay, gilded flags on every house top gleam : 
"While, hark ! — from all the temples a rich 

swell 
Of music to the Moon — farewell — farewell. 



LETTER IIL 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

MempkU, 
Theee is some star — or it may be 

That moon we saw so near last night — 
Which comes athwart my destiny 

Forever, with misleading light. 
If for a moment, pure and wise 

And calm I feel, there quick doth fall 
A spark from some disturbing eyes. 
That through my heart, soul, being flies. 

And makes a wildfire of it all. 
I've seen — O, Cleon, that this earth 
Should e'er have giv'n such beauty birth ! — 
That man — but, hold — hear all that pass'd 
Since yesternight, from first to last. 



2 Bubastis, or 
tbology. 



, was the Diana of tlie Egyptian my 



7oG ALCIPHRON. 


The rising of the Moon, calm, slow, 


Landed upon the isle, I soon 


And beautiful, as if she came 


Through marble alleys and small groves 


Fresh from the Elysian bowers below. 


Of that mysterious palm she loves. 


Was, with a loud and sweet acclaim, 


Reach'd the fair Temple of the Moon ; 


Welcom'd from every breezy height. 


And there — as slowly through the last 


"Where crowds stood waiting for her light. 


Dim-lighted vestibule I pass'd — 


And well might they who view'd the scene 


Between the porphyry pillars, twin'd 


Then lit lap all around them, say. 


With palm and ivy, I could see 


lliat never yet had Nature been 


A band of youthful maidens wind. 


Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray. 


In measur'd walk, half dancinglj% 


Or rival!' d her own noontide face, 


Round a small shrine, on which was plac'd 


With purer show of moonlight grace. 


That bird,' whose plumes of black and 
white 
Wear in their hue, by Nature trae'd. 


Memphis — still grand, though not the same 


Unrivall'd Memphis, that could seize 


A type of the moon's shadow'd light. 


From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame, 




And wear it bright through centuries — 


In drapery, like woven snow, 


Now, in the moonshine, that came down 


These nymphs were clad ; and each, below 


Like a last smile upon that crown. 


The rounded bosom, loosely wore 


Memphis, still grand, among her lakes, 


A dark-blue zone, or bandelet, 


Her pyramids and shrines of fire, 


With little silver stars all o'er. 


Rose, like a vision, that half breaks 


As are the skies at midnight, set, 


On one who, dreaming still, awakes 


WhUe in their tresses, braided through, 


To music from some midnight choir : 


Sparkled that flower of Egypt's lakes, 


While to the west — where gradual sinks 


The silvery lotus, in whose hue 


In the red sands, from Libya roll'd. 


As much delight the young moon takes, 


Some mighty column, or fair sphinx 


As doth the Day-God to behold 


That stood in kingly courts, of old — 


The lofty bean flower's buds of gold. 


It seem'd as, 'mid the pomps that shone 


And, as they gracefully went round 


Thus gayly round him. Time look'd on, 


The worshipp'd bird, some to the beat 


Waiting till all, now bright and blest. 


Of castanets, some to the sound 


Should sink beneath him like the rest. 


Of the shrill sistrum tun'd their feet ; 




While others, at each step they took. 


No sooner had the setting sun 


A tinkling chain of silver shook. 


Proclaim'd the festal rite begun. 




And, 'mid their idol's fullest beams. 


They seem'd aU fair — but there was one 


The Egyptian world was all afloat. 


On whom the light had not yet shone, 


Than I, who live upon these streams. 


Or shone but partly — so downcast 


Like a young Nile bird, turn'd my boat 


She held her brow, as slow she pass'd. 


To the fair island, on whose shores. 


And yet to me, there seem'd to dwell 


Through leafy palms and sycamores. 


A charm about that unseen face — 


Already shone the moving lights 


A something, in the shade that fell 


Of pilgrims, hastening to the rites. 


Over that brow's imagin'd grace. 


While, far around, like ruby sparks 


Which won me more than all the best 


Upon the water, lighted barks. 


Outshining beauties of the rest. 


Of every form and kind — from those 


And her alone my eyes could see, 


That down Syene's cataract shoots. 


Enchain'd by this sweet mystery ; 


To the grand, gilded barge, that rows 


And her alone I watch'd, as round 


To tambor's beat and breath of flutes. 


She glided o'er that marble ground. 


And wears at night, in words of flame. 


Stirring not more th' unconscious air 


On the rich prow, its master's name ; — 


Than if a Spirit were moving there. 


AU were alive, and made this sea 


Till suddenly, wide open flew 


Of cities busy as a hill 


The Temple's folding gates, and threw 


Of summer ants, caught suddenly 




In the overflowing of a rill. 


1 The IbU. 



ALCIPHRON. 757 


A splendor from within, a flood 


Or wreath of lotus, which, I thought. 


Of glory where these maidens stood. 


Like those she wore at distance shone. 


While, with that light — as if the same 




Rich source gave birth to both — there came 


But no, 'twas vain — hour after hour. 


A swell of harmony, as grand 


Till my heart's throbbing turn'd to 


As e'er was born of voice and hand, 


pain. 


Filling the gorgeous aisles around 


And my strain'd eyesight lost its power, 


"With luxury of light and sound. 


I sought her thus, but all ir Yain. 




At length, hot — wilder'd — in despair, 


Then was it, by the flash that blaz'd 


I rush'd into the cool night air. 


Full o'er her features — 'twas then, 


And hurrying (though with many a look 


As startingly her eyes she rais'd. 


Back to the busy Temple) took 


But quick let fall their lids again, 


My way along the moonlight shore. 


I saw — not Psyche's self, when first 


And sprung into my boat once more. 


Upon the threshold of the skies 




She paus'd, while heaven's glory burst 


There is a Lake, that to the north 


Newly upon her downcast eyes. 


Of Memphis stretches grandly forth, 


Could look more beautiful or blush 


Upon whose silent shore the Dead 


With holier shame than did this maid. 


Have a proud City of their own,' 


Whom now I saw, in all that gush 


With shrines and pyramids o'erspread — 


Of splendor from the aisles, display'd. 


Where many an ancient kingly head 


Never — though well thou know'st how much 


Slumbers, immortaliz'd in stone ; 


I've felt the sway of Beauty's star — 


And where, through marble grots beneath, 


Never did her bright influence touch 


The lifeless, rang'd like sacred things. 


M)'' soul into its depths so far ; 


Nor wanting aught of life but breath. 


And had that vision linger'd there 


Lie in their painted coverings. 


One minute more, I should have flown. 


And on each now successive race. 


Forgetful who I was and where. 


That visit their dim haunts below, 


And, at her feet in worship thrown, 


Look with the same unwithering face, 


Proffer'd my soul through life her own. 


They wore three thousand years ago. 




There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves 


But, scarcely had that burst of light 


The neighborhood of death, in groves 


And" music broke on ear and sight. 


Of asphodel lies hid, and weaves 


Than up the aisle the bird took wing. 


His hushing spell among the leaves — 


As if on heavenly mission sent. 


Nor ever noise disturbs the air, 


While after him, with graceful spring. 


Save the low, humming, mournful sound 


Like some unearthly creatures, meant 


Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer 


To live in that mix'd element 


For the fresh Dead intomb'd around. 


Of light and song, the young maids went ; 




And she, who in my heart had thrown 


'Twas towards this place of death — in mood 


A spark to burn for life, was flown. 


Made up of thoughts, half bright, half 
dark — 
I now across the shining flood 


In vain I tried to follow ; — bands 


Of reverend chanters fill'd the aisle : 


Unconscious turn'd my light- wing'd bark. 


Where'er I sought to pass, their wands 


The form of that young maid, in all 


Motion'd me back, while many a file 


Its beauty, was before me still ; 


Of sacred nymphs — but ah, not they 


And oft I thought, if thus to call 


Whom my eyes look'd for — throng'd the 


Her image to my mind at will, 


way. 


If but the memory of that one 


Perplex'd, impatient, 'mid this crowd 


Bright look of hers, forever gone, 


Of faces, lights — the o'erwhelming cloud 


Was to my heart worth all the rest 


Of incense round me, and my blood 


Of womankind, beheld, possess'd — 


Full of its new-born fire — I stood, 




Nor mov'd, nor breath' d, but when I caught 


1 Necropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the south oi 


A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone. 


Memphis. 



7jS 



ALCIPHKON. 



"SYhnt -would it be, if wholly mine, 

Within these arms, as in a shrine, 

Hallow'd bj^ Love, I saw her shine — 

An idol, worshipp'd by the light 

Of her own beauties, day and night — 

If 'twas a blessing but to see 

And lose again, what would this be ? 

In thoughts like these — but often cross'd 
By darker threads — mj' mind was lost, 
Tni, near that City of the Dead, 
Wak'd from my trance, I saw o'erhead — 
As if by some enchanter bid 

Suddenly from the wave to rise — 
Pyramid over pyramid 

Tower in succession to the skies ; 
While one, aspiring, as if soon 

'Twould touch the heavens, rose o'er all : 
And, on its summit, the white moon 

Rested, as on a pedestal ! 

The silence of the lonely tombs 
And temples round, where nought was 
heard 
IJut the high palm-tree's tufted plumes, 

Shaken at times, by breeze or bird, 
Form'd a deep contrast to the scene 
Of revel, where I late had been ; 
To those gay sounds, that still came o'er, 
Faintly, from many a distant shore. 
And th' unnumber'd lights, that shone 
Far o'er the flood, from Memphis on 
To the Moon's Isle and Babylon. 

My oars were lifted, and my boat 

Lay rock'd ujjon the rippling stream; 
While my vague thoughts, alike afloat. 

Drifted through many an idle dream, . 
With all of which, wild and unfix'd 
As was their aim, that vision mix'd, 
Ttiat bright nymph of the Temple — now, 
Witti the same innocence of brow 
She vore within the Hghted fane — 
Now knv:..! g, through each pulse and vein, 
With passir.i' of such deepfelt fire 
As Gods migi t glory to inspire ; — 
And now — O Darkness of the tomb. 

That must eclipse ev'n light like hers ! 
Cold, dead, and blackening 'mid the gloom 

Of those eternal sepulchres. 

Scarce had I turn'd my eyes away 

From that dark death-place, at the thought, 
When by the sound of dashing spray 

From a light oar my ear was caught, 



WhUe past me, — through the moonlight - 
sail'd 

A little gilded bark, that bore 
Two female figures, closely veil'd 

And mantled, towards that funeral shore. 
They landed — and the boat again 
Put off across the watery plain. 

Shall I confess — to thee 1 may — 

That never yet hath come the chance 
Of a new music, a new ray 

From woman's voice, from woman's glance, 
Which — let it find me how it might, 

In joy or grief — I did not bless, 
And wander after, as a light 

Leading to undreamt happiness. 
And chiefly now, when hopes so vain 
Were stirring in my heart and brain. 
When Fancy had aUur'd my soul 

Into a chase, as vague and far 
As would be his, who fix'd his goal 

In the horizon, or some star - 
A711/ bewilderment, that brought 
More near to earth my high-flown thought — 
The faintest glhnpse of joy, less pure, 
Less high and heavenly, but more sure, 
Came welcome — and was then to me 
What the first flowery isle must be 
To vagrant birds, blown out to sea. 

Quick to the shore I urg'd my bark. 

And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed 
Between the lofty tombs, could mark 

Those figures, as with hasty tread 
They glided on — till in the shade 

Of a small pyramid, which through 
Some boughs of palm its peak display' d, 

They vanish'd instant from my view. 

I hurried to the spot — no trace 
Of life was in that lonely place ; 
And, had the creed I hold by taught 
Of other worlds, I might have thought 
Some mocking spirits had from thence 
Come in this guise to cheat my sense. 

At length, exploring darkly round 
The Pyramid's smooth sides, I found 
An iron portal — opening high 

'Twixt peak and base — and, with a pray'r 
To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye 

Alone beheld me, sprung in there. 
Downward the narrow stairway led 
Through many a duct obscure and dread, 

A labyrinth for mystery made. 



ALCIPHRON. 759 


With wanderings onward, backward, round, 


Of her who on that altar slept ; 


A.nd gathering still, where'er it wound, 


And near it stood, when first I came — 


But deeper density of shade. 


Bending her brow, as if she kept 




Sad watch upon its silent flame — 


Scarce had I ask'd mj-self, " Can aught 


A female form, as yet so plac'd 


" That man delights in sojourn here ? " — 


Between the lamp's strong glow and me, 


Wlien, suddenly, far off, I caught 


That I but saw, in outline trac'd. 


A glimpse of light, remote, but clear — 


The shadow of her sj-mmetry. 


"Whose welcome glimmer seem'd to pour 


Yet did my heart — I scarce knew why — 


From some alcove or cell, that ended 


Ev'n at that shadow'd shape beat high. 


The long, steep, marble corridor, 


Nor was it long, ere full in sight 


Through which I now, all hope, descended. 


The figure turn'd ; and by the light 


Never did Spartan to his bride 


That touch'd her features, as she bent 


With warier foot at midnight glide. 


Over the crystal monument. 


It seem'd as echo's self were dead 


I saw 'twas she — the same — the same — 


In this dark place, so mute my tread. 


That lately stood before me, bright'ning 


Reaching, at length, that light, I saw — 


The holy spot, where she but came 


listen to the scene, now rais'd 


And went again, like summer lightning ! 


Before my eyes — then guess the awe. 




The still, rapt awe with which I gaz'd. 


Upon the crystal, o'er the breast 


'Twas a small chapel, lin'd around 


Of her who took that silent rest. 


With the fair, spangling marble, found 


There was a cross of silver lying — 


In many a ruin'd shrine that stands 


Another type of that blest home. 


Half seen above the Libyan sands. 


Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying 


The walls were richly sculptur'd o'er, 


Build for us in a world to come : — 


And character'd with that dark lore 


This silver cross the maiden rais'd 


Of times before the Flood, whose key 


To her pure lij^s : — then, having gaz'd 


Was lost in th' "Universal Sea." — 


Some minutes on that tranquil face. 


While on the roof was pictur'd bright 


Sleeping in all death's mournful grace, 


The Theban beetle, as he shines, 


Upward she turn'd her brow serene. 


When the Nile's mighty flow declines. 


As if, intent on heav'n, those eyes 


And forth the creature springs' to light, 


Saw then nor roof nor cloud between 


With life regenerate in his wings : — 


Their own pure orbits and the skies ; 


Emblem of vain imaginings ! 


And, though her lips no motion made. 


Of a new world, when this is gone. 


And that fix'd look was all her speech. 


In which the spirit still lives on ! 


I saw that the rapt spirit pray'd 




Deeper within than words could reach. 


Direct beneath this type, reclin'd 




On a black granite altar, lay 


Strange pow'r of Innocence, to turn 


A female form, in crystal shrin'd. 


To its own hue whate'er comes near. 


And looking fresh as if the ray 


And make ev'n vagrant Passion burn 


Of soul had fled but j'esterday. 


With purer warmth within its sphere ! 


While in relief, of silv'ry hue. 


She who, but one short hour before, 


Grav'd on the altar's front were seen 


Had come, like sudden wildfire, o'er 


A branch of lotus, brok'n in two, 


My heart and brain — whom gladly, even 


As that fair creature's life had been 


From that bright Temple, in the face 


And a small bird that from its spray 


Of those proud ministers of heav'n. 


Was winging, like her soul, away. 


I would have borne, in wQd embrace, 




And risk'd all punishment, divine 


But brief the glimpse I now could spare 


And human, but to make her mine ; — 


To the wild, mystic wonders round ; 


She, she was now before me, thrown 


For there was yet one wonder there, 


By fate itself into my arms — 


That held me as by witch'ry bound. 


There standing, beautiful, alone. 


The lamp, that through the chamber shed 


With nought to guard her, but hei 


Its vivid beam, was at the head 


charms. 



no ALCIPHRON. 


Yet did I, then — did ev'n a breath 


Though the red sun for hours hath bum'd, 


From my parch'd lips, too parched to move, 


And now, in his mid course, hath met 


1 Disturb a scene where thus, beneath 


The peak of that eternal pile 


Earth's silent covering, Youth and Death 


He pauses still at noon to bless, 


Held converse through undying love ? 


Standing beneath his downward smile. 


No — smile and taunt me as thou wilt — 


Like a great Spirit, shadowless ! — 


Though but to gaze thus was delight, 


Nor yet she comes — while here, alone, 


Yet seemed it like a wrong, a guilt. 


Saunt'ring this death- peopled place, 


To win by stealth so pure a sight : 


Where no heart beats except my own, 


And rather than a look profane 


Or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, 


Should then have met those thoughtful eyes, 


By turns I watch, and rest, and trace 


Or voice, or whisper broke the chain 


These lines, that are to waft to thee 


That link'd her spirit with the skies, 


My last night's wondrous history. 


I would have gladl}% in that place, 




From which I watched her heav'nward face. 


Dost thou remember, in that Isle 


Let my heart break, without one beat 


Of our own Sea, where thou and I 


That could disturb a prayer so sweet. 


Linger'd so long, so happy a whUe, 


Gently, as if on every tread. 


Till all the surmner flowers went by — 


My life, my more than life depended. 


How gay it was, when sunset brought 


Back through the corridor that led 


To the cool Well our favorite maids — 


To this blest scene I now ascended. 


Some we had won, and some we sought - 


And with slow seeking, and some pain. 


To dance within the fragrant shades, 


And many a winding tried in vain, 


And till the stars wont down attune 


Emcrg'd to upper air again. 


Their Fountain Hymns ' to the young moon ? 


The sun had freshly ris'n, and down 


That time, too — 0, 'tis like a dream — 


The marble hills of Araby, 


When from Scamander's holy tide 


Scatter'd, as from a conqueror's crown. 


I sprung as Genius of the Stream, 


His beams into that living sea. 


And bore away that blooming bride, 


There seem'd a glory in his light. 


Who thither came, to yield her charms 


Newly put on — as if for pride 


(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) 


Of the high homage paid this night 


Lito the cold Scamander's arms, 


To his own Isis, his young bride. 


But met, and welcom'd mine, instead — 


Now fading feminine away 


Wondering, as on my neck she fell. 


In her proud Lord's superior ray. 


How river gods could love so well ! 




Who would have thought that he, who rov'd 


My mind's first impulse was to fly 


Like the first bees of summer then. 


At once from this entangling net — 


Rifling each sweet, nor ever lov'd 


New scenes to range, new loves to try, 


But the free hearts, that lov'd again. 


Or, in mirth, wine, and luxury 


Readily as the reed replies 


Of every sense, that night forget. 


To the least breath that round it sighs ; 


But vain the effort — spell-bound still, 


Is the same dreamer who, last night, 


I linger'd, without power or will 


Stood aw'd and breathless at the sight 


To turn my eyes from that dark door. 


Of one Egyptian girl ; and now 


A\Tiich now enclos'd her 'mong the dead ; 


AVanders among these tombs, with brow 


Oft fancying, through the boughs that o'er 


Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just. 


The sunny pile their flickering shed. 


Himself, had ris'n from out their dust ! 


'Twas her light form again I saw 




Starting to earth — still pure and bright, 


Yet so it is — and the same thirst 


But wakening, as I hop'd, less awe. 


For something high and pure, above 


Thus seen by morning's natural light, 


This withering world, which, from the first. 


Than in that strange, dim cell at night. 


Made me drink deep of woman's love — 


But no, alas — she ne'er return'd : 


1 These Songs ot the Well, as they were called by the 


Nor yet — though still I watch — nor yet, 


ancients, are still common in the Greek isles. 



ALCIPHRON. 



761 



As the one joj', to heav'n most near 
Of all our hearts can meet with here — 
Still burns me up, still keeps awake 
A fever nought but death can slake. 

Farewell ; whatever may befall — 

Or bright, or dark - thou'lt know it all. 



LETTER IV. 

FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, TO 
DECIUS, THE PR^TORIAN PREFECT. 

Rejoice, my friend, rejoice : — the youthful 

Chief 
Of that light Sect which mocks at all belief. 
And, gay and godless, makes the present hour 
Its only heaven, is now within our power. 
Smooth, impious school ! — not all the weapons 

aim'd. 
At priestly creeds, since first a creed was fram'd, 
E'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield. 
The Bacchant's pointed spear in laughing flowers 

conceal'd. 
And 0, 'twere victory to this heart, as sweet 
As any thou canst boast — ev'n when the feet 
Of thy proud war steed wade through Christian 

blood, 
To wrap this scoffer in Faith's blinding hood, 
And bring him, tam'd and prostrate, to implore 
The vilest gods ev'n Egypt's saints adore. 
What ! — do these sages think, to them alone 
The key of this world's happiness is known ? 
That none but they, who make such proud pa- 
rade 
Of Pleasure's smiling favors, win the maid. 
Or that Religion keeps no secret place. 
No niche, in' her dark fanes, for Love to grace ? 
Fools ! — did they know how keen the zest that's 

given 
To earthly joy, when season'd well with heaven ; 
How Piety's grave mask improves the hue 
Of Pleasure's laughing features, half seen 

through. 
And how the Priest, set aptly within reach 
Of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each. 
Would they not, Decius — thou, whom th' an- 
cient tie 
'Twixt Sword and Altar makes our best ally — 
Would they not change their creed, their craft, 

for ours ? 
Leave the gross daylight joys that, in their 

bowers. 
Languish with too much sun, like o'erblown 
flowers, 

96 



For the veil'd loves, the blisses undisplay'd 
That slyly lurk within the Temple's shade ? 
And, 'stead of haunting the trim Garden's 

school — 
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule. 
Like the pale moon's, o'er passion's heaving 

tide. 
Till Pleasure's self is chill'd by Wisdom's pi-ide — 
Be taught by us, quit shadows for the true, 
Substantial joys we sager Priests pursue. 
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss. 
Or pleasure's substance for its shade to miss, 
Preach other worlds, but live for only this : — 
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round us flung. 
Which, like its type, the golden cloud that hung 
O'er Jupiter's love couch its shade benign, 
Round human frailty wraps a veil divine. 

Still less should they presume, weak wits, that 

they 
Alone despise the craft of us who pray ; — 
Still less their creedless vanity deceive 
With the fond thought, that we who pray be- 
lieve. 
Believe ! — Apis forbid — forbid it, all 
Ye monster Gods, before whose shrines we fall — 
Deities, fram'd in jest, as if to try 
How far gross Man can vulgarize the sky ; 
How far the same low fancy that combines 
Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's signs, 
And turns that Heaven itself into a place 
Of sainted sin and deified disgrace, 
Can bring Olympus ev'n to shame more deep, 
Stock it with things that earth itself holds cheap, 
Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen's sacred brood. 
Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for food — 
AH, worthy idols of a Faith that sees 
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities ! 

Believe ! — O, Decius, thou, who feel'st no 

care 
For things divine, beyond the soldier's shaie, 
Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds, 
A good, fierce God to swear by, all he needs — 
Little canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs 
Loose as thy summer war cloak, guess the pangs 
Of loathing and self-scorn with which a lieart. 
Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot's part — 
The deep and dire disgust with which I wade 
Through the foul juggling of this holy trade - 
This mud profound of mystery, where the 

feet. 
At every step, sink deeper in deceit. 
O, many a time, when, 'mid the Temple's blaze. 
O'er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise. 



762 



ALCIPHRON. 



Did I not keep still proudly in my mind 
The power this priestcraft gives me o'er man- 
kind — 
A lever, of more might, in skiKul hand, 
To move this world, than Archimede e'er 

plann'd — 
I should, in vengeance of the shame I feel 
At my own mockery, crush the slaves that kneel 
Besotted round; and — like that kindred breed 
Of reverend, well-dress'd crocodiles they feed, 
At fam'd ArsinoS ' — make my keepers bless. 
With their last throb, my sharp-fang'd Holiness. 

Say, is it to be borne, that scoffers, vain 

Of their own freedom from the altar's chain. 

Should mock thus all that thou thy blood hast 

sold. 
And I my truth, pride, freedom, to uphold ? 
It must not be : — think' st thou that Christian 

sect. 
Whose followers, quick as broken waves, erect 
Their crests anew, and swell into a tide, 
That threats to sweep away our shrines of 

pride — 
Think'st thou, with all their wondrous spells, 

ev'n they 
AVould triumph thus, had not the constant play 
Of Wit's resistless archery clear'd their way ? — 
That mocking spirit, worst of all the foes, 
Our solemn fraud, our mystic mummery knows, 
Whose wounding flash thus ever 'mong the signs 
Of a fast-falling creed, prelusive shines, 
Threat'ning such change as do the awful freaks 
Of summer lightning, ere the tempest breaks. 

But, to my point — a youth of this vain school. 
But one, whom Doubt itself hath fail'd to cool 
Down to that freezing point where Priests despair 
Of any spark from th' altar catching there — 
Hath, some nights since — it was, methinks, the 

night 
That foUow'd the full Moon's great annual rite — 
Through the dark, winding ducts, that downward 

slray 
To these earth-hidden temples, track'd his way. 
Just at that hour when, round the Shrine, and me. 
The choir of blooming nymphs thou long'st to 

see. 
Sing their last night hymn in the Sanctuary. 
The clangor of the marvellous Gate, that stands 
At the Well's lowest depth — which none but 

hands 



1 For the trinkets with which the sacred Crocodiles were 
ornamented, see tlie Epicurean, chap. x. 



Of new, untaught adventurers, from above. 
Who know not the safe path, e'er dare to move — 
Gave signal that a foot profane was nigh : — 
'Twas the Greek youth, who, by that morning's 

sky. 
Had been observ'd, curiously wand'ring round 
The mighty fanes of our sepulchral ground. 

Instant, th' Initiate's Trials were prepared, — 
The Fire, Air, Water ; all that Orpheus dar'd. 
That Plato, that the bright-hair'd Samian 

pass'd, 
With trembling hope, to come to — what, at last ? 
Go, ask the dupes of Priestcraft ; question him 
Who, 'mid terrific sounds and spectres dim, 
Walks at Eleusis ; ask of those, who brave 
The dazzling miracles of Mithra's Cave, 
With its seven starry gates ; ask all who keep 
Those terrible night myst'ries where they weep 
And howl sad dirges to the answering breeze, 
O'er their dead Gods, their mortal Deities — 
Amphibious, hybrid things, that died as men, 
Drown'd, hang'd, empal'd, to rise, as gods. 

again ; — 
Ask them, what mighty secret lurks below 
This sev'nfold myst'ry — can they tell thee ) 

No; 
Gravely they keep that only secret, well 
And fairly kept — that they have none to tell ; 
And, dup'd themselves, console their humbled 

pride * 

By duping thenceforth all mankind beside. 

And such th' advance in fraud since Orpheus' 

time — 
That earliest master of our craft sublime — 
So many minor Myst'ries, imps of fraud. 
From the great Orphic Egg have wing'd abroad, 
That, still t' uphold our Temple's ancient boast, 
And seem most holy, we must cheat the most ; 
Work the best miracles, wrap nonsense round 
In pomp and darkness, till it seems profound ; 
Play on the hopes, the terrors of mankind, 
With changeful skill ; and make the human mind 
Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray. 
But by the Priest's permission, wins its way — 
Where through the gloom as wave our wizar(? 

rods. 
Monsters, at will, are conjured into Gods ; 
While Reason, like a grave-faced mummy 

stands. 
With her arms swathed in hieroglyphic bands, 

s Pytliagoraa. 



ALCIPHRON. 



762 



But chiefly in that skill with which we use 
Man's wildest passions for Religion's views, 
Yoking them to her car like fiery steeds, 
Lies the main art in which our craft succeeds. 
And O be blest, ye men of yore, whose toil 
Hath, for our use, scoop'd out from Egypt's soil 
This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes, 
Gardens, and palaces, where Pleasure reigns 
In a rich, sunless empire of her own, 
With all earth's luxuries lighting up her 

throne ; — 
A realm for mystery made, which undermines 
The Nile itself and, 'neath the twelve Great 

Shrines 
That keep Initiation's holy rite. 
Spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly light, 
A light that knows no change — its brooks that 

run 
Too deep for day, its gardens without sun, 
"Where soul and sense, by turns, are charm' d, 

surpris'd. 
And all that bard or prophet e'er devis'd 
For man's Elysium, priests have realiz'd. 

Here, at this moment — all his trials pass'd, 
And heart and nerve unshrinking to the last — 
Our new Initiate roves — as yet left free 
To wander through this realm of mystery ; 
Feeding on such illusions as prepare 
The soul, like mist o'er waterfalls, to wear 



All shapes and hues, at Fancy's varying will, 
Through every shifting aspect, vapor still ; — 
Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas shown. 
By scenic skill, into that world unknown. 
Which saints and sinners claim alike their own ; 
And all those other witching, wildering arts. 
Illusions, terrors, that make human hearts. 
Ay, ev'n the wisest and the hardiest, quail 
To any goblin thx'on'd behind a veil. 

Yes — such the spells shall haunt his eye, his 

ear. 
Mix with his nightdreams, form his atmos- 
phere ; 
Till, if our Sage be not tam'd down, at length. 
His wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their strength, 
Like Phrygian priests, in honor of the shrine — 
If he become not absolutely mine. 
Body and soul, and, like the tame decoy 
Which wary hunters of wild doves employ, 
Draw converts also, lure his brother wits 
To the dark cage where his own spuit flits. 
And give us, if not saints, good hypocrites — 
If I eff'ect not this, then be it said 
The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled, 
Gone with that serpent god the Cross hath 

chas'd 
To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste. 





INDEX. 




A. 


%* The Odes are given in this In- 


Array thee, love, 296. 




dex in the order of the initial letter of 


Art, 317. 


Abdalla, King of the Lesser Bucharia, 


each Ode. 


As by his Lemnian forge's flame (Oa 


366, etc. See Lalla Rookh. 


Anacreon. Biographical and Critical 


XXVIL Anacreon), 100. 


Abdallah, 187. His Gazel, 188. 


Remarks, 79. Additional lyrics at- 


As by the shore, at break of day, 313. 


Abdul Pazil, 455, note. 


tributed to Anacreon, 122. Panegyr- 


As down in the sunless retreats, 287. 


A beam of tranquillity smil'd in the 


ics in the Anthologia on Anacreon, 


Ask not if still I love, 357. 


west, 133. 


123. 


As late I sought the spangled bowera 


A broken cake, with honey sweet. 


Anacreontics, modem, 28, 35, 38, 39, 


(Ode VL Anacreon), 86. 


(Ode LXX. Anacreon), 121. 


196, 198. 


As o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 


iEgean Sea, the, 998, 301. 


And doth not a meeting like this make 


686. 


Agnew, Sir Andrew, 603, 605, 667, et 


amends, 249. 


As o'er her loom the Lesbian maid. 


passim. 


And hast thou mark'd the pensive 


310. 


Ah ! where are they wlio heard, in for- 


shade, 64. 


As once a Grecian maiden wove, 317 


mer hours, 314. 


And now with all thy pencil's truth. 


Aspasia, 61. 


Albemarle, Lord, anecdote of, 542. 


(Ode XVn. Anacreon), 93. 


Aspen tree, the, 445. 


Album, the, 48, 556, 557. 


Angels and archangels of the celestial 


As slow our ship, 239. 


Alciphron, Athenian philosopher, an 


hierarchy of the primeval Syrians, 


As vanquish'd Erin wept, 250 


initiate in Egyptian Mysteries, 727, 


531, 546. 


Atalantis, island of, 692. 


728. His recojnition by the Roman 


Angels, the Fallen, 453, 546. 


Athens, and the Sectaries of the Gar- 


tribune, 747. His daring, 748. He 


Angerianus, Latin verses of, translated. 


den, 685. Alciphron, 798, 750-763. 


witnesses the death of the Christian 


87, n., 95, n. 


Pyrrho, 175, et seq. The mother of 


martyr Alethe, 750. Account of this 


Anglesea, Marquis of, lord lieutenant. 


art, 317. 


Epicurean philosopher, 750. 


585. 


Athol, Duke of, 559. 


Alciphron, a Fragment of " The Epi- 


Animal Magnetism, 629. 


Atkinson, Joseph, Epistle to, 58. Epis- 


curean," as originally commenced in 


Annual Pill, the, 594. 


tle from Bermuda to, 145. Tribute 


verse, 750-763. Epistle I. From Al- 


Antelope of Erac, 452. See also 746. 


to his memory, 555. 


ciphron at Alexandria to Cleon at 


Anthology, the Greek : — Translations 


At the mid hour of night, 223. 


Athens, 750. II. From Alciphron to 


of some Epigrams of, 123. Songs 


At length thy golden hours have wing'd 


Cleon, 753. IIL Alciphron to Cleon, 


from the Greek, 354. 


their flight (Anthologia), 125. 


755. IV. From Orcus, high priest 


Antipater, epigram of, 125 


At night, when all is still around, 679 


of Memphis, to Deciup,the Praetorian 


Antique, a Study from the, 144. 


Attar Gul, or (vulgarly) Otto of Roses, 


prefect, 761. 


Antiquity, a Dream of, 141. 


456. 


Alethe, Story of the Martyr, 722, 747, 


Apollo, the god of poetry, 283. 


Augustine to his Sister, 288. 


et seq. 


Apollo, tlie High Priest of, to a virgin 


Aurora Borealis, 456. 


Alexander, Right Hon. H., 189. 


of Delphi, 53. 


Aurungzebe, Mogul Emperor of Delhi, 


Aliris, King, 366, 442, 457. His nup- 


Apricots, the " Seed of the Sun," 452. 


366, 443. 


tials with Lalla Rookh, 457. 


Arab, the tyrant, Al Hassan, (vide Lal- 


Austrians, their entry into Naples, 526. 


All that's bright must fade, 266. 


la Rookh, the Story of The Fire Wor- 


Autumn and Spring, 283. 


Alia, name of God in Mahometan coun- 


shippers), 412, et seq. 


Avenging and bright fall the swift 


tries, 371. ( Fide Lalla Rookh), 531, 


Arab Maid, the, 413, 416, 452, 453. 


sword of Erin, 222. 


542. The throne of Alia, 535, 548. 


Arabia, 413, &c. 


Awake, arise, thy light is come, 290. 


Alone in crowds to wander on, 954. 


Arabian shepherd, his camel, 318, n. 


Awake to life, my sleeping shell (Ode 


Alps, Song of the, 361. 


Ararat, Mount, 414. 


LV. Anacreon), 117. 


America, Poems relating to, 126. Ded- 


Archangels, 531, 537, 546. 


Away, away, ye men of rules (Ode 


ication to Francis Earl of Moira, 126. 


Ariadne, dance so named, 319. 


LII. Anacreon), 112. 


Preface, 131. The poems, 132. 


Ariel, 141,553,569. 


Awful Event, 605. 


Amraianus speaking of Alexandria in 


Aristippus, to a Lamp given by Lais, 


Awhile I bloom'd a happy flower(Od« 


Egypt, 689, n. 


39. 


LXXin. Anacreon), 121. 


Amra, tree, 453, n. 


Arm'd with hyacinthine rod (Odo 


Azim, 370. See Lalla Rookh, 970 


Amrita, the Immortal tree, 354. 


XXXI. Anacreon), 102. 


Azor, idols of, 455. 


Amystis, the, a single draught ot wine. 


Around the tomb, bard divine ! (An- 


Azrael, the angel of death, 530. 


95, n. 


thologia), 123. 


Azure of the Chinese painting of por- 


Anacreon, Odes of, 77. 


Arranmore, loved Arranmore ! 256. 


celain, 455, 71. 

(765) 



r66 



INDEX. 



B. 



Babylon, 293. 

Ball and Gala described, 300. Allusion 
tu Almack's, 553. See Waltz, &;c. et 
passim. The Roniaika, 311. 

Ballads, legendary, 325-330. 

Ballads, miscellaneous, 334-354. 

Ballads, occasional, passim. 

Bank, coquetry of the, with Govern- 
ment, 557. JViites, 558. 

Bard, the Wandering, 254. 

Bards, of, 84, 215, 278, 344, 351, 353, et 
passim. 

Battle, after the, 217. 

Battle, before the, 216. 

Battle eve, song of the, 253. 

Battle, the parting before the, 333. 

Beaujolais, Count de, 439. 

Beauty and Song, 351. 

Beauty, of, 152, 229, 251, 254, 255, 267, 
279, 281, 298, 324, 366, &.C. &.C. 

Beckford, to Miss Susan (now Duch- 
ess of Hamilton,) 68. 

Bee, the, 222, 277. 

Behold the sun, how bright, 289. 

Believe me, if all those endearing 
young charms, 214. 

Bell, the silver, 278. 

Benab Hasche, or daughters of God, 
531. 

Benshee, or Banshe, superstition of 
the, 211. 

Bermuda, Farewell to, 142. Some ac- 
count of that island, 145, n. 

Big Ben, epistle from Tom Crib to, 460. 

Bigotry, Triumph of, 615. 

Bird, let loose m eastern skies (the), 
284. 

Birthday, my, 521. 

Birtliday, the, 57, 521. 

Bishops, the dance of, a dream, 610. 

Blackmore, Sir Richard, 502. 

Blue Love Song, 604. 

Blue Stocking, the, 677, 678. 

Boat glee, 678. 

Bohlen, Professor Von, his translation 
into German of the " Little Man and 
Little Soul," 162. 

Bowl, the, 209, 213, 224, 231, 249, 253, 
356, 276, 277, 279, 323, 324, 331. 

Bride of the Vale, the, 285. 

Biicn the Brave, 207. 

Boston Frigate, To the: — On leaving 
Halifax for England, 159. 

B.iy of the Alps, the, 344. 

Boy sitting on the lotus flower, 254, 
704, n. 

Boy statesman, the, 632. 

Boy with a watch, to a, 25. 

Boyle Farm, the Seat of Lord Henry 
Fitzgerald, Summer Fete at, 294, 
307. 

Boyne, river, 250. 

Box, the song of the, 630. 
Bright be tliy dreams, 273. 



Brighton, the Pavilion at, 458. 

Bring hither, bring thy lute, 301. 

Bring me the slumbering souls of flow- 
ers, 669. 

Bring the bright garlands hither, 279. 

Brougham, Lord, 560. 

Bruce, James, Esq., his journey, 507. 

Brummel, Beau, 196. 

Brunswick Club, the, 607. 

Brunswickers," Incantation from the 
Tragedy of, " The, 599. 

Bucharia, Abdalla, king of (in Lalla 
Rookh), 366, 442, 455, 456, &c. 

Buds of roses, virgin flowers (Ode 
XLIV. Anacreon), 108. 

Bull, John, 554; a pastoral ballad, by, 
580. 

Bunting, Mr., 232, 308, n. 

Burns, Robert, 258, 306. 

But who shall see the glorious day, 287. 
(Stevenson.) 

Butterflies denominated /tytn^ /ea»es in 
China, 451. 

Byron, Lord, his love of music, 305. 
Is visited by Mr. Moore at Venice, 
440. Dedication to him of Mr. 
Moore's Fables for the Holy Alli- 
ance, 489. On his autobiography, 
507. His " Heaven and Earth," 529. 

By that lake whose gloomy shore, 220. 



c. 

Cage, the Love, 275. 

Call the Loves around, 303. 

Calm as, beneath its mother's eyes, 
320. 

Calm be thy sleep as infants' slumbers, 
348. 

Cambridge Election, Ballad for the, 
563. 

Canadian Boat Song, 155. 

Candahar, 451. 

Canonization of the Saint, 570. 

Canova, his Venere Vincitrice, 441. 

Cara, to, 49. 

Care, 231. 

Case, a sad, 606. 

Cashmere, nuptials of Lalla Rookh at, 
366. " Cashmere, the vale of," sung 
by Feramorz, 444. The lake of, and 
islets, 445, n. Mountain portal to 
the lake, 445, n. Roses of, 444. The 
unequalled valley, 455. Supersti- 
tions of, 455, 71. A holy land, 455, 
n. The fountain Tirnagh, 455, n. 
" Though sunny the lake of cool 
Cashmere," 402. 

Castalia, the fountain, 327, n. 

Castlereagh, Lord, satirized, 458, 461, 
et seq. (See The Fudge Family, 463, 
et passim.) His departure for the 
Continent, 627, 628. See Satirical 
Poems, &c. 

Catholic auestion, the, 590, 594. 

Catholics, the Roman, 574, 673. 



Catullus, 55, 522. 

Caubul, or Caboul, gardens of, 452. 

Cecilia, Saint, 608. 

Cephahis and Procris, 327. 

Ceres, Ode to the Goddess, by Sir 
Thomas L., 560. 

Chabuk, the, 456, 457. 

Chaldeans, astronomical notions of the 
ancient, 537, n. 

Chantrey, Sir Francis, 440. His admi- 
ration of Canova, 441. 

Character, a, 635. 

Charity, Angel of, 288. (Handel.} 

Charles X., king of France, 439. An- 
ecdote, 439. 

Chatsworth, the Derbyshire ducal man- 
sion of, 237. 

Cherries, a conserve in the East, 452. 

Cherries, the, 589. 

Cherubim, 548. 

Child's song: I have a garden of my 
own, 350. 

China, butterfly of, 451. 

Chindara's warbling fount, 450. 

Chinese, peculiar porcelain painting of 
the, 455. 

Chinese Bird of Royalty, the, or 
" Fum," 545, &c. 

Christ, the Savior, 287, 288, 290, 292. 

Christianity, and the Fathers, 689. 

Church and State, 494. 

Church extension, 648. hongs of the, 

Circassian slaves, the, 297. 

Clare, Earl of, 235, 236. 

Cleopatra of Alexandria, 689. 

Clergy, the numbering of the, a Parody, 

606. 
Cloe and Susan, 275. 
Cloe, to, imitated from Martial, 63. 
Cloris and Fanny, 31. 
Cloud, a summer, 540. 
Cocker on Church Reform, 623. 
College Exercises, Fragments of, 24. 
Come, chase that starting tear away, 

272. 
Come hither, come hither, by night and 

by day, 453. 
Come not, O Lord, in the dread robe 

of splendor, 287. 
Come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, 

227. 
Come, play me that simple air again, 

Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 

547. 
Come, rest in this bosom, my own 

stricken deer, 230. 
Come, send round the wine, 213. 
Come, take my advice, 582. 
Come, take the harp ; 'tis vain to muse, 

70. 
Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you 

languish, 290. 
Comet, poetically described, 537. The 

mad Torj' and the, 613. 
Common Sense and Genius, 270 





INDEX. 


767 


Condolence, Epistle of: — From a 


David, the harp of, 290. 


Dreams, poetical mention of, 31, 273, 


Slave Lord to a Cotton Lord, 6ol. 


Davidson, Lucretia, 237. 


277, 279, 610, 612. 


Connor, Plielim, his patriotic Poetical 


Davy, Sir Humphrey, his lamp, 519. 


Drinking Songs, &c,, 213, 214, 224, 249, 


Letters, 467, 474, 485. 


Dawn is breaking o'er us, 354. 


253, 256, 276, 277. 


Consultation, tlie, 619. 


Day, 283, 296. 


Drink of tliis cup, 244. 


Cookery, art of domestic ; to the Rev- 


Daydream, the, 680. 


Drink of this cup, Osiris sips, 705. 


erend , 597. 


Deadman's Isle: — Romance, 158. 


Drink to her, who long, 214. 


Coolburga, or Koolburga, city of the 


Dear Fanny, 357. 


Druids, and Druidical superstitions, 


Deccan, 457. 


Dear .' Yes, though mine no more, 358. 


255. 


Corn Question, the, 560, 574, 591. 


Death, emblem of, 697. Opening of 


Duigenan, Doctor, 236. 


Correspondence between a Lady and 


the Gates of Oblivion, 699, 700. The 


Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, the, 


Gentleman respecting Law, 202. 


upright bodies in catacombs, 700. 


625. 


Corr.iption, an Epistle, by an Irish- 


Death and the dead, allusions to, 285, 




man, 164. 


289, 546. 




Corry, Mr., his merit as an amateur 


Debt, National, 61,5. 


E. 


comedian, 442, 518. To James Cor- 


Decius, Praetorian prefect, Orcus, high 


ry, Esq., on the present of a wine 


priest of Memphis, to, 761. 


East, poetical romances of the (Lalla 


strainer, 552. 


Delatorian Cohort, the, 461, &c. 


Rookh), 368, 442, 457. 


Cotton and Corn, a dialogue, 570. 


Delhi, visit of Abdalla to Aurungzebe 


Eblis, the evil spirit, 375, 535. 


Count me, on the summer trees (Ode 


at, 366. Splendors of the 'court and 


Echo, 246, 269, 301, 327, 374, 551. 


XIV. Anacreon), 90. 


city, 366, 367. Mogul, emperors of. 


Echoes, New-fashioned, 598. 


Country Dance and auadrille, 553. 


A51, notes. 


Eden, some of the poets' allusions to, 


Court Journal, the, 670. 


Delphi, transport of laurel to, 36. The 


256, 408, 532, 536. 


Cousins, Country, News for, 567. 


shrine, 3.52. To a virgin of, .53. 


Edinburgh Review, article by Mr. 


Crabbe, the Poet, Verses on the Ink- 


Deluge, tablets saved by Seth from the. 


Moore in the, 442. 


stand of, 524. 


548. 


Egerton, Lord Francis, 294. 


Crib, Tom, Epistle from, to Big Ben, 


Deluge, the, superinduced by the sign 


Egypt's dark sea, 286. The desolation 


4G0. 


of a comet, 739. 


of, 287. 


Critias of Athens, his verses on Anac- 


Den, Doctor, 673, 675. 


Egyptians, the ancient, 690, n. Of the 


reon, 125, n. 


Derbyshire, Mr. Moore's residence in. 


countenance of the women, 690, n. 


Criticism, the genius of, 556. 


528. 


Their hieroglyphics, 593. 


Cross, the, an emblem of future life in 


Desmond's Song, and tradition relating 


Eldon, Lord Chancellor, conservative 


Egyptian hieroglyphics, 698, 726, 759, 


to that chieftain, 251. 


tears of, 503, 584. Niglitcap of, 568 


763. 


Destiny, the Island of, 255. 


A wizard, 558. His hat and wig, 


Crowe, Rev. William, his poetic vein, 


Devil among the Scholars, the, 84. 


577. His Lordsliip, on the Umbrella 


305, 308, n. , 


Dewan Khafs, built by Shah Allum, its 


Question, 580. His conscientious 


Crown of virgin martyrs, poisoned. 


inscription, 453, n. 


conservatism {after Horace, Ode 


750, n. 


Dialogue, a recent, 635. 


XXIL lib. i.), 200. His wig, 198, 613. 


Crystal Hunters, the, 273. 


Dick , a character, 611. 


Eloquence, 459. 


' Cupid arm'd, 352. 


Dictionary, Revolution in the, headed 


Emmett, Robert, 232, 233. His elo- 


Cupid once upon a bed (Ode XXXV. 


by Mr. Gait, 602. 


quence, 233. His enthusiasm, 233. 


Anacreon), 104. 


Did not, 27. 


His offence, 235. 


Ciipiil, whose lamp has lent the ray 


Dissolution of the Holy Alliance ; a 


Emmett, Thomas Addis, 234. 


(Anacreontic), 122. 


Dream, 490. 


Enchanted tree, the, 731. 


Cupiil, poetical allusions to, 67, 74, 122, 


Doctors, the Three, 566. 


Enigma, 583. 


207, 342, 359. Vide Love, 359. 


Dodsworth, Mr, Roger (a«H« 1826), 563. 


Epicure's dream, 459. 


Cupid, Sale of, by Meleager, 355. 


Donegal, Marchioness of. Letter to. 


Epicurean, the, 685. 


Cupid's Lottery, 678. 


259. Poetical Epistle from Bermuda 


Epicureans, busts of the most cele- 


Curious Fact, a, 598. 


to her Ladyship, 136. Dedication to, 


brated philosophers of their sect at 


Curran, John Philpot, his pleasantry, 


206.- 


Athens, 686. 


439. 


Donkey and his Panniers, 572. 


Epicurus, 72, 141, 685, &c. 


Curran, Miss, 234. 


Dost thou remeujber, 268. 


Epigrams, by Mr. Moore, 56, 197, 198 




Dove, the, 238. 


199, 205, 552. 




Dove of Mahomet, the, 545, 571. 


Epigrams of the Anthologia in praise 


D. 


Drama, Sketch of the First Act of a 


of Anacreon, 123. 


new Romantic, 629. 


Epilogue, occasional, spoken by Mr. 


Dacre, Lady, Epilogue to her Tragedy 


Dream of Hindostan, a, 607. 


Corry in the character of Vapid, af- 


of Ina, 679. 


Dream of Home, the, 346. 


ter the play of the Dramatist, at the 


Dam;iscus, the Green Mosque at, 444, n. 


Dream of the Two Sisters, from Dante, 


Kilkenny theatre, 518. To the trage- 


Uan, some account of the late dinner 


681. 


dy of Ina, 679. 


to, 644. 


Dream of those days, the, 257. 


Erasmus on earth, to Cicero in the 


Oandies, 294, 299. 


Dream of Turtle, by Sir W. Curtis, 


shades ; an Epistle, 626. 


Danes, the, 212, 2.54, 257. The Scan- 


572. 


Erin, O Erin, 214. 


dinavian poetry, 502. 


Dream, Sir Andrews, 603. 


Erin ! the tear and the smile in thine 


Dante, his Inferno, imitation of, 587. 


Dream, the Limbo, &c., 586. 


eyes, 2!17. 


The Dream, 681. His contrition of 


Dreaming forever, vainly dreaming, 


Erin, poetical allusions to, 230, 250, 


mind, 541. 


360. 


254.257,258. 



768 


INDEX. 




Erin, some political allusions to, 580. 


Fly from the world, O Bessy, to me, 43. 


Gazelle, the, 278. 


See Ireland, et passim. 


Fly not thus, my brow of snow (Ode 


Genius, poetical allusions to 270. 


Essex, the late Earl of, 307. 


LI. Anacreon), 111, 


Genius and Criticism, 556. 


Eternal life, ancient belief of an, 698, 


Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour, 208. 


George III., King, 194, et passim. 


701, 706, 759. 


Fly swift, my light gazelle, 354. 


George IV. (Prince Regent and King.) 


Eve, the second Angel describes her, 


Fly to the desert, fly with me, 453. 


See Intercepted Letters, 179-191. Par- 


538. Alluded to by the third Angel, 


Flying Fish, to the, 133. 


ody of a celebrated Letter, 194. The 


550. 


Follies, tlie book of,— an album, 41. 


Prince's Plume, 196. Ich Dien, 197. 


Eveleen's bower, 212. 


Fontenelle, M., consistency of, 521. 


The Old Yellow Chariot, 197. The 


Evenings in Greece, 304. First Even- 


Fools' Paradise : Dream the First, 622. 


Privy Purse, 197. King Crack and 


ing, 308. Second Evening, 315. 


For thee alone I brave the boundless 


his Idols, 197. Prince of Wales's 


Ex-t-r, Henrj' of, to John of Tuam,639. 


deep, 345. 


Feathers, 196, 460. The Princess 


Exeter Hall, the Reverends of, 672, 675. 


Forbes, Lady Adelaide, portrait of, 65, 


Day, 219, 237. Bird of Royalty, 458, 


Exquisites, 294, 299. 


439. 


460, 592. 


Exile, the, 348. 


Forbes, to Lord; from the city of 


Georgian Maid, the, 453. 


Extinguishers, the, 498. 


Washington, 147. 


Geramb, Baron, and nmstachios, 197. 




Forget not the field where they per- 


Gheber, the, 416, et seq. 




ished, 242. 


Ghost Story, a, 636. 


F. 


Formosa, island of, 505. 


Give me the harp of epic song (Ode IL 




Fortune Teller, the, 245. 


Anacreon), 85. 


Fables for the Holy Alliance, 489. 


Fox, Right Hon. Charles James, 200. 


Glees, set of, 332. 


Fadladeen, great Nazir of tlie Harem 


Fragment, a, 54, 64. 


Gnomes, doctrine of, 542. 


(in Lalla Rookh), his vanity, 367, et 


Fragment of a Character, 552. 


Go forth to the mount, 293. 


seq. ; 442, 443. His criticisms, 399, 


Freedom, 298, 338, 339. 


Go, let me weep, there's bliss in tears, 


409, 454. His recantation, 457. 


Friend, on the death of a, 552, 555. 


286. 


Fairest ! put on a while, 249. 


Friends, on leaving some, 69. 


Go, now, and dream, 276. 


Fairy boat, the, 322. 


Friendship, a temple to, 266. 


Go, then, 'tis vain to hover, 273. 


Faith, 288, 291. 


Friendship and Love, 282. 


Go where glory waits thee, 206. 


Fall'n is thy thror^e, O Israel, 284. 


From dread Leucadia's frowning steep 


Gondolas and gondoliers, 269, 274, 276, 


Family way. All in the ; a pastoral, 562. 


(Anacreontic), 123. 


299. 


Fancy, 521. 


From the land beyond the sea, 156. 


Goose of the River Nile, 717. 


Fajicy, prismatic dyes of, 505. 


From this hour the pledge is given, 257. 


Government, tmancial, 557. 


Fancy, various allusions to, 68, 134,298. 


Fruit, varieties of eastern, 452. 


Gramraont, Count de, 74. 


Fancy Fair, the, 348. 


Fudge Family in Paris, the, 461. 


Grattan, on the death of, 247. 


Fanny, dearest ! 522. 


Fudges, the, in England, being a Se- 


Grecian girl's dream of the Blessed Isl- 


Farce, the triumphs of, 650. 


quel to the "Fudge Family in Par- 


ands ; to her lover, 61. 


Fare thee well, thou lovely one, 268. 


is," 651. 


Grecian Maiden, the — Song, 317. 


Fare thee well, perfidious maid (Ode 


Fudge, Phil., Esq., his political conduct 


Grecian Youth, the, 324, et seq 


LXXn. Anacreon), 121. 


and prrichant, 463-482. His Poetical 


Greece, Isles of, 298, 308. Zean maids, 


Farewell! — but whenever you wel- 


Letter to Lord C— st— r— gh, 463. To 


308, et seq. Allusions to Greece in 


come the hour, 226. 


Tim. Fudge, Esq., 471. To Viscount 


Lalla Rookh, 370, et seq. Evenings 


Farewell, Theresa, 276. 


C— st-r— gh, 479. His Journal, ad- 


in Greece : — First Evening, Zea, 


Fear not that, while around thee, 281. 


dressed to Lord C, 479. 


308. Second Evening, 315. 


Feramorz and the Princess, 368, 402, 


Fudge, Mr. Bob, his Letters to Richard 


Greek Ode, prefixed to the Translation 


410, 412, 442. His song, 444. De- 


, Esq., 465, 476. To the Rev. 


of Anacreon, 78. Corrections of this 


nouement of the fiction of his dis- 


Mortimer O'MuUigan, 670. 


Ode by an eminent Scholar, 78. 


guise, 457. 


Fudge, Miss Biddy, her Poetical Letters 


Greeks, The group that late in garb of, 


Ferdinand VII., Ode to King, 577. 




301. See 298. 


Fete, the, at Boyle Farm, 294. See Sum- 


Clonkilty, in Ireland, 461, 469, 482, 


Grenada, the young muleteers of, 336. 


mer Fete. 


486. See also 657, 659, 665, 667. 


Guess, guess; — the lady of my love, 


Fill me, boy, as deep a draught (Ode 


Fudge, Miss Fanny's Epistles, 659, 


358. 


LXIl. Anacreon), 118. 


669. Her uncle's bequest, 677. 


GuidI, sonnet by, with a translation, 96 


Fill the bumper fair, 231. 


%* S^ Connor, O'Branigan, and 


Ode by Guldi on the Arcadians, 441. 


Fin M'Cumhal, the Finians, and Fin- 


O'MuUigan, in this Index. 


Guitar of India, the Syrinda, 453. 


gal, 256. 


Fum and Hum, the two Birds of Roy- 


Gull language, translation from the. 


Fionuuala, theSongof,213. 


alty, 458. 


615. 


Firefly, to the, 146. 




Gulliver, Captain Lemuel, 557. 


Fireflies, 135, 256, 459, 545. 


G. 


Gun, the Evening, 334. 


Fire worship of Persia and the East, 




Gynffiocracy, proposals for a, 60&, 


411. ■ The persecuted Ghebers, 412. 


Gait, Mr., and the Dictionary, 602. 




Story, " The Fire worshippers," 412- 


Galaxy, or Milky Way, 73. 




438. Vide Lalla Rookh. 


Ganges, blue current of the, 452. 


H. 


Fitzgerald, the late Lord Henry, 294. 


Garden, the dream of the, 685, 687, 701. 




Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows, 361. 


Festival of the, 686. 


Hafiz, the poet, 541, n. 


Flow on, thou shining river, 266. 


Gayly .sounds the castanet, 271. 


Halcyon hangs o'er ocean, the, 350. 


Flowers, the language of, 354. 


Gazel and Maami, 555. 


Harem, Jehanghir's ; the Light of the 


Fly and the Bullock, the, 493. 


Gazel, by Abdallah, 188. 


Harem. 444. 



INDEX. 



769 



Hark, the vesper hymn is stealing, 269. 
Hark, 'tis the breeze of twilight calling, 

292. 
Harmony, the genius of, 50. 
Haroun-al-Raschid, the Caliph, 444. 
Harp, certain of the poetical allusions 
to that instrument, 42, 239, 247, 253, 
255, 270, 290. 
Harp of my country! in darkness I 

found thee, 231. 
Harp, the origin of the, 218. 
Harp, Farewell to the, 237. 
Harp that once through Tara's halls, 

the, 208. 
Harut and Marut, the Angels, 534. 
Has soiTow thy young days shaded, 227. 
Hassan, Al, the Prophet Chief of Ara- 
bia, 414. See Story of the Fire Wor- 
shippers. 
Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed 

spear (Ode LXIV. Anacreon), 119. 
Hastings, Marquis of (Earl Moira), and 
visit to his mansion at Donington, 
155,438,439. His Library, 439. Ded- 
ication to Francis, Earl of Moira, 130, 
Hat, Ode to a, 567. 
Hat versus Wig, 577. 
Have you not seen the timid tear, 26. 
He who instructs the youthful crew 

(Ode LVI. Anacreon), 115. 
Headfort, Marchioness of. Dedication 

to, 265. 
Hear me but once, while o'er the grave, 

272. 
Heard, Sir Isaac, and the Peerage, 566. 
Heart and lute, my, 343. 
Heart to rest, no, leave my, 279. 
Heathcote, to Lady : — on a ring found 

at Tunbridge Wells, 74. 
Hebe, the fall of: — a dithyrambic ode, 

65. 
Henley, Lord, and St. Cecilia, 609. 
Henry to Lady Emma, 614. 
Her last words at parting, how can I 

forget.' 345. 
Hercules to his daughter, song of, 346. 
Here, take my heart, 335. 
Here recline you, gentle maid (Ode 

XIX. Anacreon), 95. 
Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied 

shade (Anthologia), 124. 
Here sleeps the Bard, 278. 
Here, while the moonlight dim, 315. 
Here's the bower she loved so much, 

338. 
Hero and Leander, 326. 
High-born Ladye, the, 328. 
Hinda, the Arabian maid. See the Sto- 
ry of Ihe Fire Worshippers, 412-438. 
Hither, gentle Muse of mine (Ode 

LXXVI. Anacreon), 122. 
Holland, Lord, regret for the death of, 

592. Translations by, 592. 
Holland, to Lady, on a legacy by Na- 
poleon* 679. 
Holy Alliance, Fables for the, 489. 
Hooker, Bishop, on oi and on, 570. 

97 



Hope comes again, to this heart long a 
stranger, 281. 

Hope, poetical allusions to, 269, 277, 
293, 355, 677. 

Horace, free translations of some Odes 
of : — Come, Yarmouth, my boy, 
never trouble your brains (Ode XI. 
lib. 2), 199. The man who keeps a 
conscience pure (Ode XXII. lib. 1), 
200. I hate thee, O Mob, as my lady 
hates delf (Ode L lib. 3), 205. Boy, 
tell the cook that I hate all knick- 
knackeries (Ode XXXVni. lib. 1), 
205. Parody of " Donee gratus eram 
tibi," or Horace's return to Lydia, 
300, On an assessment of revenue, 
576, 

Horn, the, 279. ' 

How am I to punish thee (Ode X. An- 
acreon), 88. 

How dear to me the hour, 210. 

How happy once, though wing'd with 
sighs, 342. 

How I love the festive boy (Ode 
XXXIX. Anacreon), 106. 

How lightly mounts the Muse's wing, 
292. 

How shall I woo > 282. 

How sweetly does the moonbeam smile, 
415. 

Hudson, Edward, recollections of him 
and of his musical taste, 232, 234, 
235, 237. 

Hume, David, History of England by, 
178. 

Hume, Joseph, Esq., 559, 561, n. et 
passim. 

Hume, to Thomas, Esq., M. D. ; writ- 
ten at Washington, 149. 

Humorous and Satirical Poems, 557, 
592-654. 

Hunt, Henry, Esq., his spurious coffee, 
560. 

Hunter boy, the, 272, 279. 

Hush, hush ! — a Glee, 333. 

Hush, sweet lute, 360, 

Hussun Abdaul, valley of, 443. Royal 
gardens near, 444. 

Hymen, poetical allusions to, 275. 

Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi, at the 
Tomb of her Mother, 36. 

Hyperborean, song of a, 352. 



I, 

I care not for the idle state (Ode IX. 
Anacreon), 87. 

I dreamt that in the Paphian groves, 
332. 

I had, last night, a dream of thee, 544. 

I fear that love disturbs my rest, (Anac- 
reontic,) 122. 

I found her not — the chamber seem'd. 
51. 

I know that heaven hath sent me here 
(Ode XL. Anacreon), 107 



I know thou lov'st a brimming measure 
(Anacreontic), 129, 

I often wish this languid lyre (Ode 
XXIV, Anacreon), 98. 

1 pray thee, by the gods above ! (Ode 
IX. Anacreon), 88. 

I pray you, let us roam no more, 140. 

I saw, from yonder silent cave, 313. 

I saw from the beach, when the morn- 
ing was shining, 230. 

I saw the moon rise clear, 338. 

I saw the smiling bard of pleasure, 
(Ode I. Anacreon), 84. 

I saw thy form in youthful prime, 220, 

I stole along the flowery bank, 143. 

I thought this heart enkindled lay, 35, 

I've a secret to tell thee, 254. 

I will, I will, the conflict's past (Ode 
XIII. Anacreon), 89, 

I wish I was by that dim lake, 251. 

lanthe, 294. Before her glass, 295. 

I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, 227, 

Idols in the house of Azor, 455, Of 
King Crack, 197. Of Jaghemaut, 
367. 

If hoarded gold possess'd the power 
(Ode XXXVI. Anacreon), 105. 

If I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 25 

If I were yonder wave, my dear, 142 

If in loving, singing, night and daj 
280. 

If thou'lt be mine, 241. 

If thou wouldst have me sing and play 
348. 

If to see thee be to love thee, 303. 

Ill omens : — Young Kitty, &c., 216. 

Imagination, &c., 298. 

Imitation, from the French, 523. Set 
also Anthologia, Horace, &c. 

Immortality, stars the beacons of, 731. 

Impromptu, 35, 69, 158, 205, &c. 

In myrtle wreaths my votive sword, 
357, 

In the morning of life, 239. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 35 

Ina, by Lady Dacre, 679. 

Incantation, an, 571. 

Inconstancy, 34. 

India, poetical allusions to, 366, etseq, 
443, 451, 452, et seq. 

Indian boat, the, 329. 

Indian maid, the young, 347. 

Indian tree, tlie, 525. 

Inkstand, the poet's, 524. 

Innisfail, Song of, 255. 

Innisfallen, isle of, 248. 

Insurrection of the Papers , a Dream. 
193. 

Intercepted Despatch, Diabolo's, 5E4. 

Intercepted Letters, the, of the Two- 
penny Post Bag, 179. 

Intolerance, a Satire : Account of" Cci- 
ruption " and " Intolerance." See 
Preface to vol. iii. p. 160 ; PreCace t(. 
Intolerance and Corruption (addition- 
al), 162. The Satire, 169-173. jlp. 
pendix, 173, 



770 



INDEX. 



Invisible Girl, the, 44. 

Invitation to dinner ; addressed to Lord 
Lansdowne, 523. 

Iran, Land of, 452. See Lalla Rookh, 
passim. 

Ireland and her national music, 932, 237. 

Ireland ; certain traditions and roman- 
ces respecting, 207, 213, 220, 222, 223, 
225, 246, 250, 251, 253, 255, 256, 257. 

Ireland, politics and political sensibili- 
ty of the kingdom of (see the Fudge 
Family), 461-489, 679. The penal 
cod e, 564. The outbreak of 1798, 235 
-237. Romanism in, 647. Thoughts 
on the present government of (1828), 
585. 

Irish antiquities, 598. 

Irish bed of roses, an, 205, n. 

Irishman, Satires, &c., addressed to an 
Englishman by an, 162-175. 

Irish Melodies, 206. Dedication to the 
Marchioness Dowager of Donegal, 
206. Preface, 206. The Melodies, 
206-258. Advertisements to the first 
and second Nos., 258 ; to the third 
No., 259. Letter on Irish music, 
259. Advertisements to the fourth, 
fifth, sixth, and seventh Nos., 263, 
264, 265. Dedication to the Mar- 
chioness of Headfort, 265. See 
National airs, 266, et seq. 

Irish patronymics, 672, 675. 

Irish peasant to his mistress, 217. 

Irish Slave, the, 576. 

Irving, Washington, 528. 

Irving, Mr. Washington, 250. 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
(Haydn,) 293. 

Is not thy mind a gentle mind .' 28. 

Israfil, the angel, 453, 530. 

It is not the tear at this moment shed, 
218. 



Jeffrey, Francis, Lord ; allusion to his 

house at Craig Crook, Edinburgh, 

130, 305, 306. 
Jehan Gheer, or Jehanguire, Emperor 

of Delhi and Hindostan, 443. His 

palace, 451, TO. Romance, 446. His 

early name of Selim, 448. His bride, 

451, 454. 
Jerome's love, (St.) 284. St. Jerome's 

first visit on earth, 617. His second 

visit, 618. 
Jerusalem, the holy city of, 284. 
Jessica, young, 342. 
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, on Mallet, 675, n. 
Joys alone be remembered now, 343. 
Joys of youth, how fleeting! 272. 
Juan, Don, 200. 
Jubal's shell, alluded to, 296. 
Judgment Day ; and a supposed wind 

from Syria Damascena to announce 

it, 456, n. 



Judgment, the day of, 289. 

Julia, to ; in allusion to some illiberal 
criticisms, 28. Mock me no more 
with love's beguiling dream, 28. 
Though fate, my girl, may bid us 
part, 29. On her birthday, 30. To 
Julia, weeping, 31. Inconstancy, 34. 
Elegiac stanzas, supposed to be writ- 
ten by Julia on the death of her 
brother, 34. I saw the peasant's 
hand unkind, 36. Sympathy, 36. 

Juvenal on superstition, 719. 

Juvenile Poems, 22. Preface by " the 
late Thomas Little," 22. Dedication 
to Joseph Atkinson, Esq., 24. 



K. 

Kathleen, 221. 

Kedar Khan of Turkistan,367. 

Kenmare, Earl of, 248. 

Kevin, Saint, tradition, 220. 

Khorassan, the Veiled Prophet of, 369- 

Kilkenny amateur actors, talent of the, 
442, 518. Extract from a prologue, 
etc., 519. 

Killarney, lakes and traditions of, 246, 
248. 

King, Lord, an expostulation to, 558. 

Kishma, wine of, 452. 

Kiss, the, 54, 137. 

Kublai Khan, 452. 



Labyrinth, in Egypt, 699. 

Lahore, description of the city of, 
and the midland districts of India, 
410. 

Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 135. 

Lalla Rookh. an Eastern Romance; 
Preface to Vol. VI. furnishing the 
history of this poem, 361. Repre- 
sentation of it as a dramatic pageant 
at the Chateau Royal, Berlin, in 
1822, when the Emperor and Em- 
press of Russia personated Aliris and 
Lalla Rookh, 365. " The Veiled 
Prophet of Khorassan," 369, 399. 
The criticisms by Fadladeen on tliis 
story, 399. Paradise and the Peri, 
402. Fadladeen renews his criti- 
cism, 409. The Fire Worshippers, 
412. The Light of the Harem, 444. 
Design of this poetic undertaking 
related, 528. 

Lansdowne, Lord, invitation to dinner, 
addressed to, 523. 

Lawrence, Dr., friend of Edmund 
Burke, 21. His letter to Dr. Hume 
respecting the version of Anacreon 
by Mr. Moore, 21. 

Lay his sword by his side, 256. 



Leaf and the Fountain, a ballad, 397 

Learning, 61. 

Lebanon, Mount, 291. 

Legacy, the, 211. 

Leila's lute, 677. 

Les horames automates, 624. 

Lesbia, to, 522. 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 220. 

Let Erin remember the days of old, 211 

Let me resign this wretched breath, 

(Anacreontic,) 122. 
Let's take this world as some wide 

scene, 345. 
Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, (Odo 

XXXVIIL Anacreon,) 106. 
Levee and couchee, the, 303. 
Libel, a case of, 574. 
Liberty, 213, 230, 256, 257, 278, 308, 

313, 678, et seq. 
Liberty, the torch of, 493. 
Life is waning, do not say that, 278 
Life is all checker'd with pleasures 

and woes, 223. 
Life for me hath joy, etc., 344. 
Life without fl-eedom, 338. 
Light sounds the harp when the combat 

is o'er, 42. 
Like morning, when her early breeze, 

290. 
Like one who doom'do'er distant seas, 

281. 
Like some wanton filly sporting (Ode 

LXV. Anacreon), 119. 
Like the bright lamp that shone in Kil- 

dare's holy fane, 214. 
Lilis, 544. 

Lily of the Nile, the white, 694. 
Limbo of lost reputations, 586. 
Lion, dead, and the living dog, 584. 
Lionardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa, 301. 
Listen to the Muse's lyre (Ode Hi 

Anacreon), 85. 
Literary advertisement, to authors, 575. 
Literati, sick, 645. 
Literature, speed of, 643. 
Little Grand Lama, the, 496. 
Little man and little soul — a ballad 

See p. 162. " There was a little man, 

and he had a little soul," 204. 
Lizard {Stellio), account of the, 443, n. 
Looking Glasses, the, 491. 
Lord, who shall bear that day, 289. 
Lotus tree, 452. 
Lotus branch, and the bird taking flight, 

mythi ^ of the, 698, 760. 
Lotus flower, 68. Statue of the winged 

boy seatea on a, 705. The spell, 705 

An emblem of beauty, 413, n. 
Louis Pliilippe, King, 439. Account 

of, when at Donington Park, 440. 
Louis the Fourteenth's wig, 499. 
Love, a tutor, 722. 
Love alone, 283. 
Love, all-defying love, 414. 
Love and Hope, 269. (Swiss air.j 
Love and Marriage, 37 





mDEX. 


771 


Love came by, 328 


Mahommed Shaw, feast and throne of. 


Montpensier, Duke of, to the, 65. 


Love resting his wings, 459. 


457, n. 


Moon, poetical mention of the, 314, 


Love and the vine, 325. 


Maiden, the sleeping, 279. 


315, 323, et passim. 


Love a sentinel: Glee— Hush, hush, 


Maidens of Zea, 315, et passim. 


Moon, that high in heav'n art shining, 


333. 


Malthus, allusions to, 555, 558, 583. 


360. 


Love, one summer eve, was straying. 


March ! nor heed those arms that hold 


Moore, Mrs., 234. To my mother, 525. 


34. 


thee, 324. 


Moore, to Miss, from Norfolk in Vir- 


Love and the Novice, 222. 


Martyrs, the, 292, 746, 748, et seq. ; the 


ginia, 134. 


Love and Hymen, 524. 


crown of martyrdom, 749, 750. 


Moral positions, a dream, 612. 


Love is a hunter boy, 272. 


Mary, 220. 


Morality, an epistle, 58. 


Love knots, who'll buy my, 275. 


Mary, star of the sea, 315. 


Morgan, George, Esq. (of Norfolk, Vir- 


Love, a few allusions to, 119, 121, 142, 


Mary, I believ'd thee true, 57. 


ginia), epistle to, from Bermuda, 137 


14C, 2)7, 223, 224, 251, 252, 253, 268, 


Mathews, Mr. Charles, 632. 


Morning, 230, 290. 


269, 272, 275, 276, 278, 281, 292, 293, 


Matriculation, scene from a play acted 


Morning Herald, the, 566. 


297, 303, 310, 317, 335, 341, 355, 357, 


at Oxford, called, 621. 


Morning Post, the, 670. 


532, 538, 542, 549, 552, 677. 


Mauri-ga-Sima, or the sunken island, 


Morris, Capt., his song, "My Muse, 


Love, mythological hymn to, 64. 


452. 


too, when her wings are dry," 306. 


Love and Learning, 61. 


May moon, the young, 224. 


Moschus, his first Idyl, quoted, 96, n. 


Love and Reason, 69. 


Melanius, the hermit, 737-740, 744-748. 


Moses, 289. 


Love and Time, 339. 


Meleager : — Here at thy tomb these 


Mountain Sprite, the, 250. 


Love and the Sundial, 338. 


tears I shed, 354 ; various imitations 


" Mum " to the editor of the Morning 


Love wandering through the golden 


from, 42, 355, 356. 


Chronicle, 458. 


maze, 339. 


Melodies, Irisli, 206-265. Succeeded 


Murray, Mr., his contemplated Mail 


Love, unbind thee, 358. 


by the National Airs, 266, et seq. 


coach edition of Rokeby, 186 


Love, who ruled as admiral o'er, 359. 


Memorabilia of last week (March 13, 


Muse, the, 303. 


Love tliee ? — so well, so tenderly, 340. 


1826), 562. 


Music and Melodies, an account ol 


Love thee, dearest ? 343. 


Memory, poetical allusions to, 2G9, 532, 


some of our modern poets who had a 


Love but thee, I, 342. 


548. 


taste for, and a knowledge of, 304, 


Love's day, 341. 


Memphis, on the Nile, 694; sacred col- 


306. 


Love's light summer cloud, 339. 


lege of, 707. 


Music, the Prefatory Letter on Irish, 


Love's victory, 346. 


Menage, Anacreontic in Greek by, 


258, 259. 


Love's young dream, 219. 


with a translation, 101, n. 


Music, on: -Song, 218, 353. 


Lover, the, 282, 296, 315, 327, 413, 539, 


Merou, city of Khorassan, 369. 


Music, poetical allusions to, 252, 257, 


540, n. 


Methinks the pictur'd bull we see (Ode 


278, 279, 551. 


Lover, the Persian, 188. 


LIV. Anacreon), 113. 


Music, a Melologue upon National, 33L 


Luver, the Russian, 361. 


Miguel, Don, Ode to, 585. 


Music of the spheres, 538. 


Loves of the Angels, Preface, 529. 


Milesius and the Milesians, 255. 


Musical Box, the : — Rose and the Poet, 


Preface to the poems, 530. The 


Millennium, the, — and the Rev. Sir. 


353. 


poem, 531. First Angel's Story, 532. 


Irving, 565. The year of a, 671. 


My gentle harp, 239. 


Second Angel's story, 533. Third 


Miltiades, the Ghost of, 601. 


My harp has one unchanging theme, 


Angel's Story, 548. 


Minaret, chants from an illuminated. 


270. 


Loves, the Sale of, 32. 


441, n. 


Mythology, Egyptian and Greek, 685, 


Lowe, Sir Hudson, to, 557. 


Minerva or Pallas, and Love, 321. 


et passim. 


Lusitanian war song, 341. 


Minerva's thimble, 342. 




Lute, the, 452, 677. 


Ministers, the new costume of the, 201. 




Lying, 39. 


The Sale of the Tools, 203. 


N. 


Lyre, the poet's, 281. 


Ministers, wreaths for the, 198. 


Lyre, the telltale, 59. 


Minstrel Boy, the, 225. 


Nama, 548, 550. 




Miriam's Song, 286. 


Namouna, the enchantress, 448. Calls 




Miscellaneous Poems, 518, 551, 679. 


down sleep on Nourmahal, 450. 


M. 


Mischief, thoughts on, by Lord St-n- 


Naples, lines on the entry of the Aus- 




1-y, his first attempt, 652. 


trians into, in 1821, 526. 


Machiavelian policy, condemned, 506, 


Missing, Lord de * * *, 610. 


Napoleon, the Emperor, consigned to 


507. 


Mithra, heathen observances in the su- 


tlje rock of St. Helena, 466, 557. Al- 


Macrianus, praetor.ai prefect, 745. 


perstition of, 699. 


lusions to his fallen fortunes, 195, 19S, 


Magan, Patrick, Esq., his Epistles to 


Mix me, child, a cup divine (Anacre- 


552, G79. 


a Curate in Ireland, 655, 662, 675. 


ontic), 123. 


Natal Genius, the, a Dream : to , 


Magic Mirror, the, 398. 


Moeris, island of the lake, 715. 


the morning of her birthday, 34. 


Mnciiet, wom:ui a, 542. 


Mohawk River, lines written at the 


National Airs, 266, &c. 


Maliomet, religion o((_see Lalla Rookh), 


CohosorFallsofthe, 151. 


National Music, a Melologue upon. 


371, etseq. 


Mokanna, the prophet chief of Kho- 


331. 


Mahomet, the Seal of preceding pro- 


rassan, 369, 370, et seq. 


Nature's Labels, a fragment, 30. 


pliecy, 543. The familiar dove of. 


Monarch Love, resistless boy (Ode 


Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear, 61. 


545, 571. 


LXXIV. Anacreon), 121. 


Nay, look not there, my love, 542. 


(.lahometans, belief of the, 531, 533, 


Monopoly, present spirit of, 561. 


Nay, tempt me not to love again, 139. 


543, 548. The paradise, 535. Tlie 


Mont Blanc, sublime prospect of, 503. 


Nea, Odes to: — Written at Bermuda, 


chief angels, 531, 532. 536, 535, 548. 


Montaigne quoted, 501. 


139-145. 



772 


INDEX. 




Necropolis, and .ake near Memphis, 


O, breathe not his name, 208. 




696, et seq. 


0, banquet not in those shining bow- 


P. 


Nets and Cages, 275. 


ers, 246. 


Ne'er ask the hour, what is it to us > 


O, blame not the bard, if he fly to the 


Paddy's Metamorphosis, 623. 


243. 


bowers, 215. 


Painting, 136, 317, 360, 509. 


Ne'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy schools, 


O, but to see that head recline, 534. 


Palestine and the river Jordan, 407. 


278. 


0, call it by some better name, 335. 


Paradise and the Peri, 402-409. Criti- 


Never mind how the pedagogue proses. 


O, come to me when daylight sets. 


cisms of Fadladeen on this romance, 


33. 


268. 


409. 


Night Dance, the, 255. 


O, could we do with this world of 


Paradise of Epicurus, 704. Of Ma- 


Night thought, a, 54. 


ours ! 256. 


homet, 534, 535. 


Niglitingales, song of, 341, 347, 351, 


O, days of youth and joy, 274. 


Parallel, the, 243. 


444. 


O, do not look so bright and blest, 353. 


Parliament, the recess of, a hymn, 561. 


Niglits, such as Eden's calm recall, 


O, doubt me not, — the season, 226. 


Occasional Address, for the opening 


301. 


O fair ! O purest ! be thou the dove, 288. 


of the New Tlieatre of St. Stephen 


Nile, river, 718 ; the Isle of Gardens, or 


for the swords of former time ! 243. 


(Nov. 24, 1812), 202. Satirical notice 


Antirrhodus, near Alexandria, 705. 


O, guard our affection, 279. 


of some Members of the H. of Lords, 


Nile, navigation of the, 694, 716, 720, 


O, had we some bright little isle of our 


595-606, 610, &c. Report of Speech- 


721. 


own, 225. 


es relative to Maynooth college, 611. 


Nile, the Garden of the, 451. Sources 


O, hint to the bard, 'tis retirement 


Exhibition of models of the two 


of the river, 507. 


alone, 528. 


houses of, 642. 


No life is like the mountaineer's, 319. 


O, idol of ray dreams ! 540. 


Passion, 292, 335, 360. 


No, not more welcome the fairy num- 


O, Love, Religion, Music, all, 549. 


Patrick's Purgatory, and mystic lake 


bers, 228. 


O, Memory, how coldly, 313. 


in Donegal, 252. 


Noble and illustrious authors, 595, 600. 


O, no ! not ev'n when first we loved. 


Patrons and Puffs, &c., 651. 


Nonsense, 56. 


270. 


Paul the Silentiary, 137, 356. 


Nora Creina, 220. 


O, say ! thou best and brightest, 281. 


Peace, 737. 


Not from thee the wound should come, 


O, soon return, 340. 


Peace and glory, 59. 


3.58. 


O, stranger ! if Anacreon's sliell (An- 


Peace be around thee, 270. 


Nourjehan, =' the Light of the World," 


thologia), 124. 


Peace to the slumberers ! 274. 


444, „. 


O, teach me to love thee, 289. 


Peace ! peace to him that's gone, 343. 


Nourmahal, the Light of the Harem, 


O, the sight entrancing, 247. 


Pearls, 141, 278, 542. Mythos as to 


446, 447. Her spells, 448, 449. Her 


O, think not my spirits are always as 


their production, 453, n. 


sleep, 450. She is regretted by Se- 


light, 208. 


Pearls, Irish, 249. 


lim, 452. Her disguise, 453. The 


O think, when a hero is sighing, 678. 


Peer, how to make one's self a, 625. 


Georgian maid's song, 453 Suc- 


O thou! of all creation blest (Ode 


Peers, batch the first, 579. 


ceeded by that of Nourmahal herself, 


XXXIV. Anacreon), 103. 


Perceval, Right Hon. Spencer, on the 


453. Her reconciliation with Selim, 


0, thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, 


death of, 457. 


454. 


285. 


Perfumes for the hair and beard, 87, n. 


Now Neptune's month our sky deforms 


O tidings of freedom! accents of 


Peri, Paradise and the, 402-409. 


(Ode LXVin. Anacreon), 120. 


hope, 594. 


Peris and fairies, 451, 505. yide Lalla 


Now the star of day is high (Ode 


0, where art thou dreaming .' 302. 


Rookh, &c. 


XVIIL Anacreon), 95. 


O, Where's the slave so lowly, 229. 


Periwinkles, fiscal, 57a 


Nymph of a fair but erring line, 402. 


woman, if through sinful will, 56. 


Periwinkles and Locusts, 578. 




O, ye dead ! 245. 


Persecution, the Decian, 737. 




Olden time, tlie Song of the, 344. 


Persia and the Persians, 187, 188. nda 


o. 


Olympus, latest accounts from, 649. 


Lalla Rookh, 372, 455, ct passim. 




On one of those sweet nights that ofl. 


Superstitious notions of this eastern 


O'Branigan, Larry, to his wife Judy, 


301. 


people, 531, 532, n. 


663, 672. To Murtagh O'Mulligan, 


Once in each revolving year (Ode 


Philadelphia and the Schuylkill river, 


633. 


XXV. Anacreon), 99. 


151. 


O'Connell, his election for Clare, 593. 


One bumper at parting, 224. 


Phillis, to, 57. 


O'Connor, Arthur, Esq., 234. 


One day the Muses twined the hands. 


Philodemus: — "My Mopsa is little," 


O'Donohue's Mistress, 245. 


(Ode XX. Anacreon), 96. 


356. 


O'Keefe's song for the character of 


Oppression, memory and record of, 278. 


Philosophy, a vision of, 70. Vide tba 


Spado, 442. 


Orangemen of Ireland, their Petition, 


classical notes to this poem, 70-73. 


O'Mulligan, Mortimer, his epistle {vide 


569. 


Philosophy : Poems relative to, treating 


" Fudge Family in England "), 674. 


Orcus, the heathen priest, 747, 761. 


of Philosophers, ancient and modern, 


O'Ruark, Prince of BretTni, the song of. 


Orcus, High Priest, to the Prefect De- 


39,223,537. Aristotle, 5G3, n. Pythag- 


225. 


cius, 761. 


oras, 564. Democritus, 564. Plato, 


Oblivion, the fabled gates of, 699, et seq. 


Origen, 722, 740. 


564, n. Epicurus, 72, n. ; 685 et seq 


Observe when mother earth is dry (Ode 


Ormuzd, of the ancient Persians, and 


He recognized a future life, 702, 760 


XXI. Anacreon), 96. 


his angels, 530. 


Alciphron, 727, et seq. Pyrrho, 175- 


Utt, in the stilly night, 269. 


Osiris, or Serapis, 704. 


179. Aristippus, 39. Zeno, 58. 


Oft, when the watching stars grow 


Ossian, allusions to, 256, 258. 


Maupertius, 40, n. 


pale, 277. 


Ossian, fragments in imitation of, 234. 


Philostratus, a thought of. Imitated bj 


0, Abyssinian tree, 731. 


Our home is on the sea, boy, 298. 


Ben Jonson, 84, n. 





INDEX. 


77$ 


Pictures, Italian galleries of, 441. 




Rokeby, allusions to, 186, 189 


Pigeons, carrier, 284. 


R. 


Romaika, the, danced in Zea, 311. 


Pilgrim, Man a, 291. 




Romaldkirk, to the Curate of, 620. 


Pilgrim, the, 318. Still thus, when 


Raise the buckler, poise the lance, 312. 


"Romanism in Ireland," see the 


twilight gleam'd, 329. 


Raphael, his Fomarina,509. 


Quarterly Review, 647. 


Planets, the, 537, n. 


Rawdon, to the Lady Charlotte, from 


Rondeau ; " Good night ! good night," 


Plato, Epigram of, 96, n. He wrote 


the banks of the St. Lawrence, 155. 


41,42. 


abed, 502. 


Romance ofthe Indian Spirit, 156. 


Rosa, to, 37. 


Platonic philosophy, and followers of 


Reason, 60, 226, 267, 338. 


Rosa, to, written during illness, 32 


Plato, 171, et seq. 


Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, 267, 


Rosa, to, 41, 42, 56. 


Pleasure contrasted with Pain, 276. 


355. 


Rose, the Alpine, 273. 


Plumassier, to a (Anacreontic), 196. 


Red Fox, the, 233. 


Rose, the, and summer bee, 277. 


Poco-Curante Society, the, 501. (See 


Redbreast, the, in December, 267. 


Rose of the Desert ! 343. 


Rhymes on the Road.) Song of, 681. 


Rector and his curate, the, 623. 


Rose and Nightingale, 351. 


Poesy, 254, 256. 


Reform, notions on, 616. 


Kose, the young, 341. 


Poet's dream, dinner of Type and Co., 




Rose tree, the pretty, 336. 


648. 


Religion and trade, 646. 


Rose in nettles hid, the: — Conun- 


Police Reports, case of imposture, G41. 


Religion in the East, Brahma, &.c. 370. 


drum, 74. 


Political allusions, by the author of 


(See Lalla Rookh.) 


Roses, the Feast of, 366, 445, n. 454. 


these volumes : — Preface to Vol. 


Religious emblems and types, 288. 


Of the Garden of the Nile, 451. At- 


III., and Satirical Poems, 257. See 


" Intolerance " satirized, 169, et seq. 


tar Gul, 456. 


" The Fudge Family," 461, et seq. ; 


On Toleration, 187, et passim. 


Roses, political, 205, n. 


552, 655, et seq. See the Satirical 


Remember him thou leav'st behind, 25. 


Round the world goes, by day and 


Poems, 557-590. See also 592-655, et 


Remember the time in La Mancha's 


night, 352. 


passim. For the poet's allusions to 


shades, 340. 


Row gently here, 274. 


the alTairs of North America and of 


Remember thee ! 240. 


Rubi, the second Angel, 536. His Sto- 


France, see 131-160. 


Remonstrance : addressed to Lord John 


ry, 536. 


Political and Satirical Poems, 457. 


Russell, after a conversation in which 


Ruby, magnificent, 452. 


Politician, how to make a good, 680. 


he had intimated some idea of giving 


Russell, Lord John, remonstrance on 


Politics, Irish, allusions to, see 232, 


up all political pursuits, 520. 


his intended retirement from poUtics, 


237, 592-665, et passim. 


Resemblance, the : Yes, if 'twere any 


520. 


Polycrates of Samos, 79. 


common love, 43. 


Russian Lover, the : — Fleetly o'er the 


Poor broken flower, 336. 


Reuben and Rose, 26. 


moonlit snows, 361. 


Porcelain and china, 452, 455. 


Revenue, decimating, — and decimal 




Porte, ode to the Sublime, 573. 


arithmetic, 578. 




Power, Mr. Richard, 442. 


Reverend Pamphleteer, the, 634. 


S. 


Prayer of Mahometans, 408. 


_ Reverends, and Right Reverends, reso- 




Preface to vol. i., 17 ; vol. ii., 126 ; vol. 


lutions passed at a meeting of, 603. 


Sacred Songs, 283. Dedication to Ed 


lii., 160 ; vol. iv., 232 ; vol. v., 304 ; 


Reynolds, Mr. Thomas, 461. 


ward Tuite Dalton, Esq., 283. 


vol. vi., 361 ; vol. vii., 438 ; vol. viii.. 


Rhodope, 699. Fable of the Lady of 


Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark,243. 


527; vol. ix., 590; vol. x., 683. 


the Pyramid, 699. 


Sailor boy, 'tis day, 357. 


Press the grape, and let it pour, 28. 


Rliymes on the Road, extracted from 


Salmagundi, 578. 


" Press, the," newspaper, 234. 


the Journal of a Travelling Mem- 


Sannazaro, his Gallicio nell' Arcadia, 


Priestess of the Moon, the, 711. 


ber of the Poco-Curante Society, in 


quoted, 86, n. 


Prologue, spoken at the opening of the 


1819, 501. 


Sappho, lyre of, 301. Legends of Leu- 


Kilkenny Theatre, October, 1809, 519. 


Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 


cadia, 310. 


Proxy, how to write by, 586. 


209. 


Sarpi, Fra Paolo, 506. 


Psaphon, his birds taught to pronounce 


Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn (Ode 


Satirical and Humorous Poems, 193, &c. 


his name, 507. 


LXVIL Anacreon), 120. 


Satirical and Political Poems, 457, &c. 


Psyche, 52, 64, 551, 552. 


Ring, the ; a tale of Rupert, 45. 


Say, what shall be our sport to-day, 273. 


Puck, song of old, 640. 


Ring, the: — The happy day at length 


Say, what shall we dance, 334. 


Puir, profligate Londoners, 605. 


arriv'd, 45. 


Sceptic, the, a Philosophical Satire, 175. 


Purgatory, 541. 


Ring, the; — No, Lady! Lady! keep 


The Preface on Ancient Philosophy, 


Put ofi"the vestal veil, nor, O, 48. 


the ring, 43. 


and the Pyrrhonists, 175. The Sal 


Pyramids of Memphis, 692. Rhodope, 


Rings and Seals, 68. 


ire, 176-179. 


the Lady ofthe Pyramid, 699. 


Ripen'd by the solar beam (Ode LVIII. 


Scepticism, 551. 




Anacreon), 117. 


Scott, Sir Walter, his musical taste, 




Rival Topics : — an Extravaganza, 632. 


305. Interesting scene at Jite Edin- 


Q. 


Roche, Sir Boyle, his blunders, 584. 


burgh theatre, 305. Anecdote told 




Rock, Captain, his epistle to Lord 


by, to the Prince Regent The Re 


Quadrilles, 553. Episcopal, 610. 


Lyndhurst, 653. His letter to Terry 


gent's remark, 305. 


Quakers, 671. 


Alt, Esq., 654. 


Scriptures, the Holy, 288. 


Quarterly Review, the, 603, 647. Re- 


Rogers, Mr., accompanied by the author 


Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soa' 


flections addressed to the author of 


to Paris, 438. See the Dedications to 


(Ode V. Anacreon), 86. 


the article of " the Church," in the. 


Samuel Rogers, Esq. 


Sculptures, or Statues, 705. 


647. 


Rome, artists at, 440. The Palatine 


Sea, the Old Man of the, 576. A Re- 


Quick ! we have but a second, 249. 


Mount, 441. 


flection at, 30. 



774 


INDEX. 




See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 


26, 28, 32, &c. Many early songs 


Summer webs that float and shine, 349 


158. 


occur from page 39-77 ; 206-227, &c. ; 


Sunday Ethics, a Scotch ode, 605. 


See the dawn from Heaven, 275. 


239-283, 296, 297, 298, 299, 301, 302, 


Surprise, the, 38. 


See the young, the rosy Spring (Ode 


303, &c. 


Susan, 677. 


XLVI Anacreon), 109. 


Songs, interspersed in the " Evenings 


Swallow, the, 740. 


Selim and Nourraahal, 448-454. 


in Greece," 308-325. 


Swans, the Muse's, 303. 


Sephiroths or Splendors of the Cabala, 


Songs from the Greek Anthology, 354- 


Sweet is your kiss, my Lais dear, 137. 


550, n. 


357. 


Sweet lady, look not thus agaif, 30, 


Sepulture, ancient Egyptian mode of, 


Songs, unpublished, &c., 357-361. Oc- 


Sweet spirit ! if thy airy sleep, 33. 


701. 


casional Songs, 630, 680, 681, &c. 


Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 248. 


Seraphim, 548. 


Songs from " M. P., or the Blue Stock- 


Swings, an Eastern pastime and exer 


Serapis, the God, 705. 


ing," 677, 678. 


cise, 445. 


Seth, traditions relative to the patriarch. 


Songs of the Church, No. 1, No. 2,639. 


Sword, the warrior's, 243, 247. 254 25& 


548. 


*** The Sacred Songs, 283-294. 


Sylph's Ball, the, 519. 


Shalimar Palace, the, 451, 456. 


The Songs and Melodies, 205- 


Sylphs and Gnomes, 542, n. 


Shall the harp then be silent, 247. 


266. 


Syra, holy fount of, 316. 


Shamrock, the, 223. 


The National Airs, 266-283. 




Shannon, Stanzas from the banks of 


Sovereign, a golden, 558. 




the, 593. 


Sovereign woman, a ballad, 682. 


T. 


She is far from the land where her 


Soul, the, 709. 




young hero sleeps, 221. 


Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's 


Tables of Stone, the Seven, 711. 


She never look'd so kind before, 35. 


dark sea, 286. 


Take back the sigh, 60. 


She sung of love, 252. 


Southey, to Robert, Esq., Announce- 


Take back the virgin page, 210. 


She has beauty, but still you must keep 


ment of a new Thalaba, 631. 


Take hence the bowl, 276. 


your heart cool, 337. 


Spartan, stealthy habits of an ancient. 


Tar barrels. Thoughts on, 619. 


Sheridan, Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley, 


759. 


Tara, the halls of, 208. 


Lines on the Death of, 459. His char- 


Speculation, a, 524. 


Tear, the, 37, 207, 218. 


acter described, 459. Intended Life 


Speeches, a Corrected Report of some 


Tears, 286, 288, 336, 354. 


of, 528. 


late, 611. 


Tears, poetical allusions to, 272, 276, 


Sheridan, Mrs., air composed by, 283. 


Spencer, Hon. W. R., lines addressed 


285, 292. 


Shield, the, 31. 


to him from Buffalo and Lake Erie, 


Teflis, or Tiflis, brooks of, 453. 


Shine out, stars, 336. 


in N. America, 153. 


Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee (Ode 


Ship ahoy ! — Song, 306. 


Spirit of joy, thy altar lies, 677. 


XL Anacreon), 88. 


Ships, and wrecks, 132, 137, 139, 230, 


Spirit, the Indian (or N. American), 


Tell me not of joys above, 411. 


279, 281, 291. 


156. 


Tell me why, my sweetest dove (Ode 


Ships, the meeting of the, 332. 


Spirit of love, whose locks unroll'd 


XV. Anacreon), 91. 


Shiraz wine, 452. 


(Ode LXXV. Anacreon), 122. 


Thalaba, announcement of a new, to 


Should those fond hopes, 267. 


Spirit of the Woods, the Evil : - Song, 


Mr. Southey, 631. 


Shrine, the, 29. 


152. 


That wrinkle, when first I espied it, 27. 


Silence, emblem of, 254, 704, n. 


Spring and Autumn, 283, 357. 


Temple, the, at Jerusalem, 288, 291. 


Silence is in our festal halls, 257. 


St. Lawrence, River, 155 ; Gulf of, 158. 


The bird, let loose in Eastern skies, 284. 


Silence, chain of, 231, n. 


St. Senanus and the Lady, 243. 


The garland I send thee, 282. 


Siiuonides, epitaphs on Anacreon by. 


Star of the Waters, Sothis, 720. 


The more I view'd this world, 521. 


124, n., 125, n. 


Stars, some of the poet's allusions to 


The Phrygian rock, that braves the 


Sin, 531, 545. 


the, 211, 276, 277, 286, 315, 318, 321, 


storm (Ode XXII. Anacreon), 97. 


Suice first thy word, 291. 


361, 537, 542, 720. 


The sky is bright, the breeze is fair, 30a 


Sing, sweet harp, 253. 


Steersman's Song, the, 146. 


The song that lightens our languid 


Sing, sing, music was given, 252. 


Stephens, Henry, wrote on horseback. 


way, 678. 


Sinking Fund cried, 559. 


501. 


The time I've lost in wooing, 229. 


Sinners, 292. 


Stevenson, Sir John, poetical tribute to. 


The turf shall be my fragrant shrine, 


Sirmio, peninsula of, 522. 


257. See also 258, 285, 286, 287, 289, 


286. 


Slumber, O, slumber, if sleeping thou 


293, 308, 71. 


The women tell me every day (Ode 


mak'st, 279. 


Still, like dew in silence falling, 356. 


VII. Anacreon), 87. 


Slumber, poetical allusions to, 269. 


Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee. 


The world had just begun to steal, 33. 


Smile, one dear, 340. 


359. 


The world was hush'd, 350. 


Smoothly flowing through verdant 


Still when daylight o'er the wave, 349. 


The wreath you wove, 32. 


vales, 299. 


Storm at Sea, Lines written in a, 139. 


Thee, thee, only thee, 246. 


Snake, the, 37. 


Stranger, the heart-wounded, 330. 


Then fare thee well, 271. 


Snow Spirit, the: — No, ne'er did the 


Strangford, to Lord ; written on board 


Then first from Love, 360, 


wave in its element steep, 143. 


the Phaeton frigate, off the Azores, 


Theocritus, in praise oi Anacreon, 


So warmly we met, 2C7 


132. 


124, n. 


Boliman, throne of, was called the Star 


Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves (Ode 


Theora of Alexandria, and her daugh- 


of the Genii, 371. 


XXXII. Anacreon), 102. 


ter Alethe, 722. Death of a mother, 


=!ome mortals there may be, so wise or 


Sublime was the warning that Liberty 


726. 


so fine, 297. 


spoke, 213. 


There are sounds of mirth, 255 


Songs, some of the occasional, inter- 


Sulpicia to Tibullus, 523. 


There comes a time, 270. 


woven in Mr. Moore's Poems : — 25, 


Summer Fete, the, 294. 


There is a bleak desert 291 





INDEX. 


775 


There's something strange: — Bu^ 


To sigh, yet feel no pain, 677. 


Tyrolese Song of Liberty : — Merrily 


Son^, 358. 


To thee, the queen of nymphs divine 


every bosom boundeth, 339. 


They know not my heart, 251. 


(Ode LXVL Anacreon), 120. 




They may rail at this life, 242. 


To-day, dearest ! is ours, 334. 




They met but once in youth's sweet 


To see thee every day that came, 73. 


XJ. 


hour, 349. 


To weave a garland for the rose, 355. 




They tell how Atys, wild with love 


Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 


Up and march ! the timbrels sound, 


(Ode XII. Anacreon), 89. 


280. 


318. 


They tell us of an Indian tree, 525. 


Torch of Liberty, the, 493. 


Up with the sparkling brimmer, 323. 


They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest, 


Tories, destructive propositions of the, 




347. 


637. 




They wove the lotus band to deck 


Tortoise shell of Pegu, triple colored. 


V. 


(Ode LXIX. Anacreon), 120. 


456. 




Think on that look whose melting ray, 


Tory, Mad, and the Comet, 613. 


Valerian, the emperor, 745. 


54. 


Tory Pledges, 617. 


Valletort, to Caroline Viscountess, 


Those evening bells! 267. 


Tory, Doctor, and Dr. Whig, 619. 


writen at Lacock Abbey in the year 


Thou art, God, the life and light! 


Tory pledges, 617. The mad Tory and 


1832, 525. 


283. 


the Comet, 613. 


Valley of Visions, 7n. 


Thou art not dead ; Song, 320. 


Translations : — From Catullus, 522. 


Vallev. the Unequalled, 455. 


Thou lov'st no more, 280. 


From Tibullus, 523. Dante imi- 


Van, the Euthanasia of, 696. 


Thou, whose soft and rosy hues (Ode 


tated, 681. 


Variety, 24. 


XVI. Anacreon), 92. 


Translations. See Horace, Anthology, 


Venice, former glory of, 505. Wars 


Thou bidd'st me sing the lay I sung to 


&c. 


against the Turks, 506. Her tyran- 


thee, 352. 


Tribune, the young, 747, 748, 750. 


nical oligarchy, 506. Tortures, 507. 


Though humble the banquet, 253. 


Trinity College, Dublin, an examina- 


Her fall a retribution, 507. 


Tiiough sacred the tie that our country 


tion political, 235, 236. 


Venus, poetical allusions to the god- 


intwineth, 678. 


Tripe, tout pour la, 582. 


dess, 252. 


Though sorrow long has worn my 


Truth, 230, 289, 354. 


Venus, the planet, 138, 242, 683. 


heart, 34. 


Truth characterized, 278, 291, 749. 


Venus Anadyomene, 509. 


Though the last glimpse of Erin, 209. 


Tuckt Suliman, mountain, 445, 7^ 


Venus Papyria, 558. 


Though 'tis all but a dream at the best. 


'Twas in a mocking dream of night 


Virgin of Delphi, the, 36. 


277. 


(Ode XXX. Anacreon), 101. 


Virtue, 133, 141. 


Through grief and through danger. 


'Twas night, and many a circling bowl 


Vishnu, 582. 


217. 


(Ode XXXVII. Anacreon), 105. 


Vision, a, by the author of Chrlstabel, 


ITiuiider and lightning imitated, 713. 


'Twas noon of night, when round the 


568. 


Thus have I charm'd with visionary 


pole (Ode XXXIII. Anacreon), 103. 


Voice, the, 325. 


lay, 157. 


'Twas one of those dreams, 248. 


Voiture's Kiss, rendered by Mrs. , 


Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms 


'Twas when the world was in its 


4L 


(Ode XXVI. Anacreon), 99. 


prime, 531. 


Vulcan ! hear your glorious task (Ode 


Thy song has taught my heart to feel. 


'Twas but for a moment, and yet in 


IV. Anacreon), 85. 


57. 


that time, 158. 




Tibullus to Sulpicia, 523. 


Twin'st thou with lofty wreatl. tliy 




Tighe, to Mrs. Henry, on reading her 


brow, 356. 


w. 


Psyche, 52. 


Twopenny Post Bag, by Thomas 




Time, a poet's allusions to the hand of. 


Brown the Younger, 179. Dedica- 


Wake thee, my dear— thy dreaming, 


220, 224, 270, 274, 279, 280, 550. 


tion to Stephen Woolriche, Esq., 179. 


344. 


'Tis gone, and forever, the light we 


Prefaces, 186. The Intercepted Let- 


Wake up, sweet melody, 347. 


saw breaking, 230. 


ters:— Ffora the Princess Charlotte 


Wales, Princess Charlotte of, 181, ei 


'Tis sweet to think that, where'er we 


of Wales to Lady Barbara Ashley, 


seq. 


rove, 217. 


Letter L, 181. From Colonel M'Ma- 


Walton, Israak, 444, n. 


" 'Tis the vine ! 'tis the vine ! " said 


hon to G. F. Leckie, Esq., Letter 11., 


Waltz Duet, 300. 


the cup-loving boy, 325. 


182. Its postscript, 183. From the 


Waltzing, 554. 


Tis true, my fading years decline (Ode 


Regent to Lord Yarmouth, Letter 


Warning, a, 69. 


XL VII Anacreon), 110. 


IIL, 184. From the Right Hon. 


War against Babylon ! 293 


'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now, 69. 


Patrick Duigenan to the Right Hon. 


War's high-sounding hai:p, 29SL 


'Tis the last rose of Summer, 224. 


Sir John Nichol, Letter IV., 185. 


Warrior, the dying, 328. 


Tithe Case, late, 621. 


(Enclosing an " Unanswerable Ar- 


Washington, city of, and the American 


Tithe, Song of the Departing Spirit of. 


gument against the Papists," 185.) 


rivers, &c., 147, 149, et seq. 


595. 


From the Countess Dowager of Cork, 


Watchman, the; a Glee, 333. 


To all that breathe the air of heaven 


Letter V., 186. Its postscript, 187. 


Waterioo coin. Advertisement of a 


(Ode XXIV. Anacreon), 98. 


From Abdallah, in London, to Mo- 


missing or lost, 609. 


To ladies' eyes around, 241. 


hassan, in Ispahan, Letter VI., 187. 


We care not ; Song, 681. 


To Love and Bacchus ever young. 


From Lackington and Co., to , 


We read the flying courser's name (Ode 


80, «. 


Esq., Letter VII., 188. From Colonel 


XXVn. Anacreon), 100. 


Vo Love, the soft and blooming child 


Thomas to Skeflington, Esq., 


Weep, children of Israel ! 289. 


(Ode LXriL Anacreon), 119. 


Letter VIIL, 189. Appendix to these 


Weep not for those whom the veil of 


To my Shadow, 659. 


Epistles, 190-193. 


the tomb. 285. 



776 


INDEX. 


/-' 


Weep on ! weep on ! your hour is past, 


When through the Piazzetta, 276. 


Would that I were a tuneful lyre ")d 


219. 


When Time, who steals our years 


LXXVIL Anacreon), 123. 


Weeping for thee, my love, through 


away, 26. 


Wreathe the bowl, 240. 


the long day, 310. 


When wearied wretches sink to sleep. 


Wreath and the Chain, the, 63. 


Welcome, sweet bird, through the 


37. 


Write on, write on, ye Barons dear 


sunny air winging, 323. 


When wine I quafT, before my eyes 


595. 


Well ! peace to thy heart, though 


(Ode L. Anacreon), 111. 




another's it be, 142. 


Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 241. 




Well, the Holy; alleged miraculous 


When twilight dews are falling soft, 


Y. 


J^)pearance of the moon night and 


341. 




d»y In the, 393. 


When 'midst the gay 1 meet, 341. 


T th, Earl of, 458. Letter addressed 


Wellington Spa, the, 635. 


Where is the heart that would not give. 


to, by Thomas Brown the Younger, 


Wellington, Field Marshal the Duke 


680. 


184. Some remarks on the same 


of, preface to vol. iv., 237. Reen- 


Where are the visions, 279. 


194, 199, 201, 202. 


forcements for him, 204. His Grace 


Where is your dwelling, ye sainted. 


Years have pass'd, old friend, since wb, 


and the Ministers, 206, 613. 


293. 


360. 


Wellington, Napoleon, and Waterloo, 


Where shall we bury our shame .' 278. 


Yemen, and the rest of Arabia, alluded 


552, 583. 


Whig, Dr., and Dr. Tory, their consul- 


to, 413, et seq. 


Were not the sinful Mary's tears, 287. 


tation, 619. 


Yes, be the glorious revel mine (Od» 


What's my thought like.'' 198. 


While gazing on the moon's light, 215. 


XLII. Anacreon), 107. 


What shall I sing thee .' 553. 


While our rosy fillets shed (Ode XLIIL 


Yes — loving is a painful thrill (Ode 


What the bee is to the floweret, 222. 


Anacreon), 108. 


XXIX. Anacreon), 101. 


When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy. 


While we mvoke the wreathed spring 


Yes, sad one of Zion, if closely resem- 


(Ode XLIX. Anacreon), 110. 


(Ode LV. Anacreon), 113. 


bling, 244. 


When, casting many a look behind, 29. 


Who comes so gracefully, 320. 


Yes, yes, when the bloom of Love'a 


When cold in earth lies the friend thou 


Who is the maid my spirit seeks, 284. 


boyhood is o'er, 341. 


hast loved, 240. 


Who'll buy my love knots? 275. 


You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 


When Cupid sees how thickly now 


Who'll buy.' 'tis Folly's shop, 302. 


140. 


(Ode LXXViri. Anacreon), 122. 


Whose was the artist hand that spread 


You bid me explain, my dear angry 


When evening shades are falling, 315. 


(Ode LVIL Anacreon), 115. 


Ma'amselle, 614. 


When first that smile, 274. 


Why does azure deck the sky .' 41. 


You remember Ellen, our hamlet's 


When first I met thee warm and 


Why does she so long delay ? 355. 


pride, 226. 


young, 228. Preface to vol. iv., 237. 


Wind thy horn, my hunter boy, 279. 


You, who would try (vide the Epicure- 


When gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion 


Wine cup is circling, the, 256. 


an), 701. 


(Ode LVIII. Anacreon), 116. 


Wine, praise of, in Lalla Rookh, 452, 


Young Love, 283, 328. 


When he who adores thee has left but 


455. See also other poems and songs. 


Young love lived once in a humble 


the name, 208. 


209, 213, 224, 231, 249, 253, 256, 276, 


shed, 677. 


When I behold the festive train (Ode 


277, 280, 393, 324, 332. 


Youth, poetical allusions to, 272, 274, 


LIII. Anacreon), 112. 


Wisdom, 223, 229, 278. 


299. 


When I lov'd you, I can't but allow, 


Wit, 395. The quiver of, 223. 


Youth's endearing charms are fled (Odi» 


28. 


With all my soul, then, let us part, 35. 


LXL Anacreon), 118. 


When Love is kind, 282. 


With twenty chords my lyre is hung 


Youth and Age, 328. 


Wlien Love, rock'd by his mother, 252. 


(Ode LXXL Anacreon), 121. 


Youth and Death, 699 


When night brings the hour, 281. 


Within this goblet, rich and deep (Ode 




When Love was a child, 272. 


XLV. Anacreon), 109. 




When my thirsty soul I steep (Ode 


Woe ! woe unto him ! 581. 


z. 


XLVIIL Anacreon), 110. 


Woman, 151, 255, 317, 321, 531, 536, 


When Spring adorns the dewy scene 


538, 539, 549, 682, 711. 




(Ode XLL Anacreon), 107. 


Woman : — Away, away — you're all 


Zaraph, 548. His bride, 551. 


When o'er the silent seas alone, 332. 


the same, 70. 


Zea, or Ceoa, Island of the Archipela- 


When the first summer bee, 277. 


Wonder, the, 38. 


go : — Scene of the First Evening in 


When the wine cup is smiling before 


Woods and Forests, Ode to the (politi- 


Greece, 308. 


us, 277. 


cal), 592. 


Zeilan, King of, his ruby, 452, n. 


When thou Shalt wander, 274. 


Woodpecker, the: — I knew by the 


Zelica. See " The Veiled Prophet o 


When the sad word, "Adieu," 356. 


smoke, that so gracefully curl'd. 


Khorassan," 372, et seq. 


When thou art nigh, it seems, 351. 


154. 


Zinge, and the Zingians, 443. 


When to sad music silent you listen, 


World is all, a fleeting show, this. 


Zion, 284, 287. 


353. 


285. 


Zodiac, the, 543, 711. 


When on the lip the sigh delays, 334. 


World, when abroad in the, 280. 


Zone of bells of an Indian danciaggirl 


When through life unblest we rove, 


Word awaked my heart, thy, 292. 


444. 


218. 


World, the fashionable, 295. 








» ^v 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN CDLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



